Thurlow watched his radar altimeter, checking it against 1110 height-time plan for grounding.
"If we are going to dodge around any, it's got to be now," he said quietly to Matt. "What do you see?"
"Looks fairly smooth. Can't tell much."
Thurlow sneaked a look. "It's not water, anyway-and it's not forest. I guess we'll chance it."
Down they dropped, with Matt watching the ghostly infra-red-produced picture narrowly at the end, ready to tell Thurlow to give her full power if it were a meadow.
Thurlow eased off his jet-and cut it. There was a bump as if they had fallen a couple of feet. They were down, landed on Venus.
"Whew!" said the pilot and wiped sweat from his forehead. "I don't want to have to try that every day."
"Nice landing, Skipper!" called out Oscar.
"Yea boy!" agreed Tex.
"Thanks, fellows. Well, let's get the stilts down." He punched a stud on the control board. Like most rockets built for jet landings, the jeep was fitted with three stabilizing jacks, which came telescoping out of the craft's sides and slanting downward. Hydraulic pressure forced them down until they touched something solid enough to hold them, whereupon the thrusting force was automatically cut off and they locked in place, propping the rocket on three sides, tripod fashion, and holding it erect.