In front of them and a few short miles above them stretched a high fuzzy blanket of haze. Beyond it the torn and twisted remains of the ships of the two previous expeditions, a gruesome chaos of almost unrecognizable wreckage. All this could be seen but dimly through the yellow film.
A moment more and they would pierce the blanket. A feeling of impending doom seized them. Horror-stricken, they huddled together, the instruments and dials now forgotten. The indicator which warned them of their approach had long since burst into fragments, the magnetic pull on the great needle too much even for the duraglass shield to withstand.
The Quest pierced the yellow haze. There was a terrific explosion. Great forces, like unseen hands, tore at the ship, rending the strong Staluminum hull to fragments as though it were an eggshell. When the last fragments had come to rest there was nothing to be seen of the former occupants but a few crimson splotches here and there, scattered about the wreckage.
Only one huge Staluminum plate which had been thrown clear of the ship at the beginning of the explosion remained recognizable. Still legible on one side of the bronze-hued plate were two words:—OR BUST.