He spun the ship in a tight circle, sent it flashing to the west, toward a low bit of blackness that hugged the water line. His eyes lighted, when he finally made out the turtle-like outline of the island. His lips were firm and his gaze intent as he circled the island slowly, searching for the blot of brightness that would be the terrestrial ship.
He saw it at last, tucked beneath the fronds of gigantic ferns, sent the cruiser roaring over it several times, hoping the rockets' echoes would bring any survivors into the open. His features tightened, when no one appeared, and he peered about for a landing place for his ship.
And as he turned, his sleeve caught on a knife switch, pulled it open.
There was an instant, gargantuan explosion of auxiliary rockets, and the Patrol cruiser went corkscrewing toward the island in an insane dive.
Val Kenton went utterly white, his hands darting for the controls, panic driving every bit of expression from his face. He cut all rockets with a swoop of one hand, then fired the two nose tubes in a frantic attempt to spin the ship into the air again.
He sensed, rather than saw, the upward rush of the tangled plants below. One second, he had, in which to regret the lack of precision caused by his drug-steeped body, and then the cruiser plowed into the jungle-like growth.
He was wrenched from his seat, the safety belts parting like rotten thread, and then he was smashed against the forward bulkhead. His hands groped feebly for support, and then he sagged unconscious, his body tossed back and forth in the tiny cabin as the ship plowed through the interlaced branches and vines to the muddy ground two hundred feet below.
With one final bounce, the Patrol ship struck the ground, slid on its side for a few yards, then came to a grinding halt, its nose crumpling a trifle as it smashed into the great trunk of a tree.
Val Kenton groaned feebly, opened his eyes to stare uncomprehendingly about the cabin of the rocket ship. He lay for seconds against the curved wall, utterly unnerved by the horror of that last flashing moment. He was afraid to move, certain that his injuries would be such that he would have been better off had he died in the crash.