"Not a chance," cut in Cragley, both amused and annoyed. "The cylinder wouldn't take us anywhere. All the cylinder is good for is an emergency descent. It has no driving power."
Preparations were made for a trip to the wrecked space ship.
"Might I go with you and the men, Captain?" I ventured.
"Sure, Hantel, come along! I'll have to leave part of the crew here with the passengers and the cylinder, so I'm glad to have a few volunteers."
"Count on me, then," another of the passengers spoke up.
I recognized him as Chris Brady. He was a man about my own age, possibly younger, perhaps in his late twenties. Brady and I had become friends during the trip, having spent many hours together. This was my second trip to the clouded planet. Brady had made many trips to Venus, spending considerable time among the colonies. I had learned much about the man which had interested me.
Our party consisted of Cragley, Brady, three of the crew, four other passengers and myself. Well armed, we set out through the yellow jungle in search of the remains of the C-49. Quentin insisted that it was not far away according to the proximity detector which was especially attuned to the bulk and metal composition of the space ship.
Progress was difficult in spots, and we found it necessary to hack our way through lush growths of vegetation, taking numerous detours around interlaced verdure. We were out of sight of the cylinder almost immediately.
One of the passengers who had volunteered to accompany us complained at the prospects of becoming lost. Cragley calmed the man's anxiety with a brief explanation of the directometer he carried. It was an elaborate perfection of the old compass. On a square plate, our position was always designated in relation to the C-49. By telescopic condensation of the field, Cragley was capable of bringing Deliphon on the instrument. It was well over two hundred miles beyond us.