The Traveler nosed downward into the rolling clouds. A whistling whine arose as the craft struck the atoms of the atmosphere. Repulsion jets set up their thunder and the landing operation began.
The ship settled slowly through the clouds. The mist completely obscured everything outside the craft and Arlen flew blind, trusting his meteor detection devices to warn him of mountain peaks, which he feared despite Renzu's assurance that there were no high ranges at this latitude.
At last the craft dropped through the wispy canopy to float serenely over a calm ocean which bulged upward toward them in the solar flood tide.
To the northwest was a dim coastline. High mountains were faintly visible against the horizon.
"Perfect!" said Renzu. "That is my continent—our destination. Sail toward it."
The ship zoomed toward the land at the comparatively slow speed of five hundred miles an hour. In a few minutes it was decelerating again, with the continent before them.
The high mountain range clambered up from a narrow plain that skirted the sea. This plain was sandy, a desert waste, but Renzu indicated it was the spot for the landing.
Arlen brought The Traveler down gently alongside a broad stream that emptied into the sea. When the dust of the landing cleared away, he looked with dumbfounded amazement at the Venusian scene.
As far as his eyes could see were barren rocks and sand: there were no trees, no grass, no signs of life. The planet was as sterile as an antiseptic solution. Even seaweed and mosses were missing from the seashore.
"Maybe you know what you're doing, Renzu," Arlen said, "but it looks to me as if you've directed us to the edge of a desert."