We landed on a stage of one of the upper crescent terraces. A crowd of Venus people surrounded us. Even in the turmoil of our debarkation, I wondered where the official landing director might be. None of the governing officials were in sight. The place was in confusion. Crowds were on the spider bridges; the terraces and the sloping steps were jammed. Milling, excited people. The foreign police, pompous Venus men in gaudy uniforms, were herding the people about.
But none of our Earth officials! Where were they, who should have been in charge of all this confusion?
My heart sank. Something drastic, sinister, had occurred. We had no time to guess what it might be. Argo drove us forward, with scant courtesy now, down in a vertical car, through a tunnel on foot to what they called here in Venia the Lower Plaza. We crossed it, and entered one of their queerly flat buildings at the ground level; entered through an archway, passed through several rooms and came at last into a room whirring with instruments.
Argo said triumphantly, yet humbly: "Tarrano, Master—we are here."
A man at a table of helio-sending instruments turned and faced us. We were in the presence of the dread Tarrano!
CHAPTER VI
Man of Destiny
Tarrano! He rose slowly to his feet, his gaze on us for an instant, then turning to Argo.
"So! You took them? Well done, Argo!"