It was this state of affairs that prevailed when Anson Durwent finished the construction of the Solarian. A scientific genius made wealthy by various patents, he built the vessel entirely out of his own funds. Nor were his motives those of amassing further wealth, for the conditions which he set were that the Solarian was to conduct a true voyage of exploration, and that any profits arising from the discovery of precious metals or minerals were to be divided equally among everyone involved in the expedition.
The crew of the Solarian consisted of George Pearce, Barton Sandley, and myself, Richard Farris. Three or less was the usual number on these early rockets, due to the demands upon space made by fuel, food, and equipment. Pearce was the chemist and captain of the expedition, Sandley the biologist and photographer, and I the physicist and pilot.
None of the excitement produced by interplanetary ventures was attendant upon our takeoff. Only a few newscasters whom Durwent had notified at the very last minute were present. And these were bored by something which had become mere routine, and were plainly skeptical of our chances for success.
Our objective was the mysterious, cloud-covered planet Venus. It was an obvious choice, since it was the nearest planet to Earth other than Mars, and as far as we knew had not yet been reached.
I shall not detail the long flight through space, monotonous after the first novelties had died. But it is necessary to record that the interminable months and the restricted confines of the ship produced a strain upon our nerves that led to frequent, heated quarrels over the most trivial matters. It is certain that the effect upon our minds caused a serious unbalance, explaining many of the irrational actions which we made later.
The landing upon the surface of Venus was the most difficult part of the voyage. I brought the ship down through the miles-deep layer of clouds like a blind man groping for obstructions in an unfamiliar room. Once under the clouds, however, our progress was easier. I forgot my exhaustion in a surge of renewed eagerness for exploration.
After a short discussion between Pearce, Sandley, and myself, it was agreed to take an aerial reconnaissance before landing. I sent the Solarian into a slow cruise over the surface, while Sandley busied himself with the special cameras and Pearce began taking samples of the atmosphere.
Venus proved to be a wild and fantastic world. To picture it in any great detail is impossible. It was too vast, too different. My mind retains only a sort of montage of turbulent seas dotted with immense islands, mighty jagged mountains, and endless lush sprawling jungles in unearthly yellow and green hues. And it seemed to exude an aura of vibrant youth, a kind of primeval grandeur.
We saw no cities, buildings, or other indications of the existence of intelligent beings. I don't believe we expected to find any. On Mars there had been only incalculably ancient ruins, long since crumbled into dust. Mars had been too old for a civilized race, as Venus was too young.