Yet Jean Palmer was gone, taken by the—the things that had slain fourteen men without leaving wounds on their bodies.
Don Denton swore bitterly, his hands clutching the arms of the seat until the knuckles were like polished bone. It was only too evident that the terror had struck but recently; the men's bodies were not decomposed in the slightest.
The trouble shooter came from his seat, slid back the panel of the arms cabinet. He slipped into the silk-like folds of the cellu-ray suit, first discarding the oxy-helmet. Then he fitted on the wide belt that held the super ati-guns, checked them to make certain their loads were at maximum power.
He felt a slight dizziness from the tainted air that had filled the ship when the port had been opened, shrugged the feeling away with the knowledge that his space-hardened body could easily combat the slight toxic poison without effort.
He packed a small knapsack with a compact medicine box and food, left a water bottle behind, knowing that he could find rain puddles in the heavy Lanka leaves.
The rain started then without warning, coming down in a solid smashing sheet, the blasting wind rocking the Comet with titanic strength. Don Denton scowled through the storm, his vision stopped five feet from the quartzite port window by the smashing curtain of water from the low hanging clouds.
He paced the control room in tight anxiety, feeling the fear mounting within him, conscious of the driving urgency of quick action, but knowing that he could not fight the torrential downpour.
The rain battered down in a solid sheet for more than an hour.
And then the rain was over, and there was only the eerie silver light reflected from the clouds. Don Denton uncoiled impatiently from his seat, fitted on the knapsack, slipped the oxy-helmet over his head, tied the bottom strings about his throat.
He felt a momentary panic at the thought of stepping from the safety of his ship on the land where death might strike unseen. Then he grinned wryly, shrugged broad shoulders. He had his job to do, a job that he had elected for himself. Too, there was the memory of Jean's presence that drove him on. If for no other reason, he could not desert the girl who had expressed such complete faith in himself.