"Hilly country!" said Matt and buckled his safety strap. "But where?"
Most of the others straggled into their seats. There was no conversation. Their faces were strained and white.
"Four thousand feet!" came the captain's voice over the broadcaster. "Visibility zero. Check your safety belts."
Matt was conscious of a nervous rustle in the messroom. He realized that he was biting his lip.
The Argus lurched, fell another hundred feet and brought up with a stuttering roar from her tubes. The business of landing a rocket ship without a beam was nasty and uncertain. Matt could feel his heart pumping almost in his mouth.
He looked about for Lynn and found her three seats off. She gave him a wan grin, but blanched as the Argus rolled sickeningly.
"Three thousand feet!" came the voice through the loud speaker. "Clouds and rain."
An eternity went by.
At a thousand feet the suspense made Matt ill. The jets were striking the surface now, bouncing back, dispelling the clouds directly beneath them.
"Wooded hills below," said the loud speaker. "Five hundred feet!"