"Sorry, boys," he said, smelling of our liquor. "There was a letter for me on this week's mail rocket. A job in Kenya."
"Kenya, Africa, Earth?" I said, as if I were addressing a letter.
"That's right," Kramer said, lowering himself through the hatch. In a moment the swamp-buggy shuddered and made growling noises and shook itself clear of the mud. Out of habit, Harry and I waved as the buggy churned across a hundred feet of thick mud and moved ponderously toward the stockade gate. We stood there and watched the buggy fade into the green twilight swamps of Venus. It was very hot out there in the open and Harry and I were drenched with sweat before the sound of the buggy's motor faded entirely.
"A hunter's paradise," Harry said.
"Aw, lay off," I told him.
Nearby, the buggy suddenly roared again, its motor racing.
"Is he coming back?" Harry asked hopefully.
"It wasn't the buggy," I said.
"Are you kidding. I'd know that motor anywhere. She needs a valve job like we need customers."
"That," I said without smiling, "was the Wompan."