[Illustration] THE DOPE on Mars By JACK SHARKEY _Somebody had to get the human angle on this trip ... But what was humane about sending me?_ Illustrated by WOOD My agent was the one who got me the job of going along to write up thefirst trip to Mars. He was always getting me things likethat--appearances on TV shows, or mentions in writers' magazines. If hedidn't sell much of my stuff, at least he sold _me_. "It'll be the biggest break a writer ever got, " he told me, two daysbefore blastoff. "Oh, sure there'll be scientific reports on the trip, but the public doesn't want them; they want the _human_ slant onthings. " "But, Louie, " I said weakly, "I'll probably be locked up for the wholetrip. If there are fights or accidents, they won't tell _me_ aboutthem. " "Nonsense, " said Louie, sipping carefully at a paper cup of scaldingcoffee. "It'll be just like the public going along vicariously. They'll_identify_ with you. " "But, Louie, " I said, wiping the dampness from my palms on the knees ofmy trousers as I sat there, "how'll I go about it? A story? An article?A _you-are-there_ type of report? What?" Louie shrugged. "So keep a diary. It'll be more intimate, like. " "But what if nothing happens?" I insisted hopelessly. Louie smiled. "So you fake it. " I got up from the chair in his office and stepped to the door. "That'sdishonest, " I pointed out. "Creative is the word, " Louie said. So I went on the first trip to Mars. And I kept a diary. This is it. Andit is honest. Honest it is. * * * * * _October 1, 1960_ They picked the launching date from the March, 1959, New York _Times_, which stated that this was the most likely time for launching. Trip timeis supposed to take 260 days (that's one way), so we're aimed towardwhere Mars will be (had _better_ be, or else). There are five of us on board. A pilot, co-pilot, navigator andbiochemist. And, of course, me. I've met all but the pilot (he's verybusy today), and they seem friendly enough. Dwight Kroger, the biochemist, is rather old to take the "rigors of thejourney, " as he puts it, but the government had a choice between sendinga green scientist who could stand the trip or an accomplished man whowould probably not survive, so they picked Kroger. We've blasted off, though, and he's still with us. He looks a damn sight better than Ifeel. He's kind of balding, and very iron-gray-haired and skinny, buthis skin is tan as an Indian's, and right now he's telling jokes in thewashroom with the co-pilot. Jones (that's the co-pilot; I didn't quite catch his first name) isscarlet-faced, barrel-chested and gives the general appearance ofbelonging under the spreading chestnut tree, not in a metal bulletflinging itself out into airless space. Come to think of it, who _does_belong where we are? The navigator's name is Lloyd Streeter, but I haven't seen his face yet. He has a little cubicle behind the pilot's compartment, with all kinds ofmaps and rulers and things. He keeps bent low over a welded-to-the-wall(they call it the bulkhead, for some reason or other) table, scratchingaway with a ballpoint pen on the maps, and now and then calling numbersover a microphone to the pilot. His hair is red and curly, and he looksas though he'd be tall if he ever gets to stand up. There are freckleson the backs of his hands, so I think he's probably got them on hisface, too. So far, all he's said is, "Scram, I'm busy. " Kroger tells me that the pilot's name is Patrick Desmond, but that I cancall him Pat when I get to know him better. So far, he's still CaptainDesmond to me. I haven't the vaguest idea what he looks like. He wasalready on board when I got here, with my typewriter and ream of paper, so we didn't meet. My compartment is small but clean. I mean clean now. It wasn't duringblastoff. The inertial gravities didn't bother me so much as thegyroscopic spin they put on the ship so we have a sort of artificialgravity to hold us against the curved floor. It's that constant whirlyfeeling that gets me. I get sick on merry-go-rounds, too. They're having pork for dinner today. Not me. * * * * * _October 2, 1960_ Feeling much better today. Kroger gave me a box of Dramamine pills. Hesays they'll help my stomach. So far, so good. Lloyd came by, also. "You play chess?" he asked. "A little, " I admitted. "How about a game sometime?" "Sure, " I said. "Do you have a board?" He didn't. Lloyd went away then, but the interview wasn't wasted. I learned that he_is_ tall and _does_ have a freckled face. Maybe we can build achessboard. With my paper and his ballpoint pen and ruler, it should beeasy. Don't know what we'll use for pieces, though. Jones (I still haven't learned his first name) has been up with thepilot all day. He passed my room on the way to the galley (the kitchen)for a cup of dark brown coffee (they like it thick) and told me that wewere almost past the Moon. I asked to look, but he said not yet; theinstrument panel is Top Secret. They'd have to cover it so I could lookout the viewing screen, and they still need it for steering orsomething. I still haven't met the pilot. * * * * * _October 3, 1960_ Well, I've met the pilot. He is kind of squat, with a vulturish neck andclose-set jet-black eyes that make him look rather mean, but he waspleasant enough, and said I could call him Pat. I still don't knowJones' first name, though Pat spoke to him, and it sounded like Flants. That can't be right. Also, I am one of the first five men in the history of the world to seethe opposite side of the Moon, with a bluish blurred crescent beyond itthat Pat said was the Earth. The back of the Moon isn't much differentfrom the front. As to the space in front of the ship, well, it's allblack with white dots in it, and none of the dots move, except in acircle that Pat says is a "torque" result from the gyroscopic spin we'rein. Actually, he explained to me, the screen is supposed to keep theimage of space locked into place no matter how much we spin. But there'ssome kind of a "drag. " I told him I hoped it didn't mean we'd land onMars upside down. He just stared at me. I can't say I was too impressed with that 16 x 19 view of outer space. It's been done much better in the movies. There's just no awesomeness toit, no sense of depth or immensity. It's as impressive as a piece ofvelvet with salt sprinkled on it. Lloyd and I made a chessboard out of a carton. Right now we're usingbuttons for men. He's one of these fast players who don't stop and thinkout their moves. And so far I haven't won a game. It looks like a long trip. * * * * * _October 4, 1960_ I won a game. Lloyd mistook my queen-button for my bishop-button andleft his king in jeopardy, and I checkmated him next move. He said chesswas a waste of time and he had important work to do and he went away. I went to the galley for coffee and had a talk about moss with Kroger. He said there was a good chance of lichen on Mars, and I misunderstoodand said, "A good chance of liking _what_ on Mars?" and Kroger finishedhis coffee and went up front. When I got back to my compartment, Lloyd had taken away the chessboardand all his buttons. He told me later he needed it to back up a starmap. Pat slept mostly all day in his compartment, and Jones sat and watchedthe screen revolve. There wasn't much to do, so I wrote a poem, sort of. _Mary, Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With Martian rime, Venusian slime, And a radioactive hoe. _ I showed it to Kroger. He says it may prove to be environmentallyaccurate, but that I should stick to prose. * * * * * _October 5, 1960_ Learned Jones' first name. He wrote something in the ship's log, and Isaw his signature. His name is Fleance, like in "Macbeth. " He prefers tobe called Jones. Pat uses his first name as a gag. Some fun. And only 255 days to go. [Illustration] * * * * * _April 1, 1961_ I've skipped over the last 177 days or so, because there's nothing muchnew. I brought some books with me on the trip, books that I'd alwaysmeant to read and never had the time. So now I know all about _VanityFair_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _War and Peace_, _Gone with the Wind_, and_Babbitt_. They didn't take as long as I thought they would, except for _VanityFair_. It must have been a riot when it first came out. I mean, allthose sly digs at the aristocracy, with copious interpolations by Mr. Thackeray in case you didn't get it when he'd pulled a particularly goodgag. Some fun. And only 78 days to go. * * * * * _June 1, 1961_ Only 17 days to go. I saw Mars on the screen today. It seems to bedescending from overhead, but Pat says that that's the "torque" doingit. Actually, it's we who are coming in sideways. We've all grown beards, too. Pat said it was against regulations, butwhat the hell. We have a contest. Longest whiskers on landing gets aprize. I asked Pat what the prize was and he told me to go to hell. * * * * * _June 18, 1961_ Mars has the whole screen filled. Looks like Death Valley. No sign ofcanals, but Pat says that's because of the dust storm down below. It'snice to have a "down below" again. We're going to land, so I have to goto my bunk. It's all foam rubber, nylon braid supports and magnesiumtubing. Might as well be cement for all the good it did me at takeoff. Earth seems awfully far away. * * * * * _June 19, 1961_ Well, we're down. We have to wear gas masks with oxygen hook-ups. Krogersays the air is breathable, but thin, and it has too much dust in it tobe any fun to inhale. He's all for going out and looking for lichen, butPat says he's got to set up camp, then get instructions from Earth. Sowe just have to wait. The air is very cold, but the Sun is hot as hellwhen it hits you. The sky is a blinding pink, or maybe more of a palefuchsia. Kroger says it's the dust. The sand underfoot is kind ofrose-colored, and not really gritty. The particles are round and smooth. No lichen so far. Kroger says maybe in the canals, if there are anycanals. Lloyd wants to play chess again. Jones won the beard contest. Pat gave him a cigar he'd smuggled on board(no smoking was allowed on the ship), and Jones threw it away. Hedoesn't smoke. * * * * * _June 20, 1961_ Got lost today. Pat told me not to go too far from camp, so, when Itook a stroll, I made sure every so often that I could still see therocket behind me. Walked for maybe an hour; then the oxygen gauge gotpast the halfway mark, so I started back toward the rocket. After maybeten steps, the rocket disappeared. One minute it was standing there, tall and silvery, the next instant it was gone. Turned on my radio pack and got hold of Pat. Told him what happened, andhe told Kroger. Kroger said I had been following a mirage, to step backa bit. I did, and I could see the ship again. Kroger said to try andwalk toward where the ship seemed to be, even when it wasn't in view, and meantime they'd come out after me in the jeep, following myfootprints. Started walking back, and the ship vanished again. It reappeared, disappeared, but I kept going. Finally saw the real ship, and Lloyd andJones waving their arms at me. They were shouting through their masks, but I couldn't hear them. The air is too thin to carry sound well. All at once, something gleamed in their hands, and they started shootingat me with their rifles. That's when I heard the noise behind me. I wastoo scared to turn around, but finally Jones and Lloyd came runningover, and I got up enough nerve to look. There was nothing there, but onthe sand, paralleling mine, were footprints. At least I think they werefootprints. Twice as long as mine, and three times as wide, but kind offeatureless because the sand's loose and dry. They doubled back onthemselves, spaced considerably farther apart. "What was it?" I asked Lloyd when he got to me. "Damned if I know, " he said. "It was red and scaly, and I think it had atail. It was two heads taller than you. " He shuddered. "Ran off when wefired. " "Where, " said Jones, "are Pat and Kroger?" I didn't know. I hadn't seen them, nor the jeep, on my trip back. So wefollowed the wheel tracks for a while, and they veered off from my trailand followed another, very much like the one that had been parallelingmine when Jones and Lloyd had taken a shot at the scaly thing. "We'd better get them on the radio, " said Jones, turning back toward theship. There wasn't anything on the radio but static. Pat and Kroger haven't come back yet, either. * * * * * _June 21, 1961_ We're not alone here. More of the scaly things have come toward thecamp, but a few rifle shots send them away. They hop like kangaroos whenthey're startled. Their attitudes aren't menacing, but their appearanceis. And Jones says, "Who knows what's 'menacing' in an alien?" We're going to look for Kroger and Pat today. Jones says we'd betterbefore another windstorm blows away the jeep tracks. Fortunately, thejeep has a leaky oil pan, so we always have the smears to follow, unlessthey get covered up, too. We're taking extra oxygen, shells, and rifles. Food, too, of course. And we're locking up the ship. * * * * * It's later, now. We found the jeep, but no Kroger or Pat. Lots of thosebig tracks nearby. We're taking the jeep to follow the aliens' tracks. There's some moss around here, on reddish brown rocks that stick upthrough the sand, just on the shady side, though. Kroger must be happyto have found his lichen. The trail ended at the brink of a deep crevice in the ground. Seems tobe an earthquake-type split in solid rock, with the sand sifting overthis and the far edge like pink silk cataracts. The bottom is in theshade and can't be seen. The crack seems to extend to our left and rightas far as we can look. There looks like a trail down the inside of the crevice, but the Sun'ssetting, so we're waiting till tomorrow to go down. Going down was Jones' idea, not mine. * * * * * _June 22, 1961_ Well, we're at the bottom, and there's water here, a shallow streamabout thirty feet wide that runs along the center of the canal (we'vedecided we're in a canal). No sign of Pat or Kroger yet, but the sandhere is hard-packed and damp, and there are normal-size footprintsmingled with the alien ones, sharp and clear. The aliens seem to havesix or seven toes. It varies from print to print. And they're barefoot, too, or else they have the damnedest-looking shoes in creation. The constant shower of sand near the cliff walls is annoying, but it'ssandless (shower-wise) near the stream, so we're following thefootprints along the bank. Also, the air's better down here. Still thin, but not so bad as on the surface. We're going without masks to saveoxygen for the return trip (Jones assures me there'll _be_ a returntrip), and the air's only a little bit sandy, but handkerchiefs overnose and mouth solve this. We look like desperadoes, what with the rifles and covered faces. I saidas much to Lloyd and he told me to shut up. Moss all over the cliffwalls. Swell luck for Kroger. * * * * * We've found Kroger and Pat, with the help of the aliens. Or maybe Ishould call them the Martians. Either way, it's better than what Jonescalls them. They took away our rifles and brought us right to Kroger and Pat, without our even asking. Jones is mad at the way they got the rifles soeasily. When we came upon them (a group of maybe ten, huddling behind aboulder in ambush), he fired, but the shots either bounced off theirscales or stuck in their thick hides. Anyway, they took the rifles awayand threw them into the stream, and picked us all up and took us into ahole in the cliff wall. The hole went on practically forever, but itdidn't get dark. Kroger tells me that there are phosphorescent bacterialiving in the mold on the walls. The air has a fresh-dug-grave smell, but it's richer in oxygen than even at the stream. We're in a small cave that is just off a bigger cave where lots oftunnels come together. I can't remember which one we came in through, and neither can anyone else. Jones asked me what the hell I kept writingin the diary for, did I want to make it a gift to Martian archeologists?But I said where there's life there's hope, and now he won't talk to me. I congratulated Kroger on the lichen I'd seen, but he just said a shortand unscientific word and went to sleep. There's a Martian guarding the entrance to our cave. I don't know whatthey intend to do with us. Feed us, I hope. So far, they've just left ushere, and we're out of rations. Kroger tried talking to the guard once, but he (or it) made a whistlingkind of sound and flashed a mouthful of teeth. Kroger says the teeth arein multiple rows, like a tiger shark's. I'd rather he hadn't told me. * * * * * _June 23, 1961, I think_ We're either in a docket or a zoo. I can't tell which. There's a rathersquare platform surrounded on all four sides by running water, maybetwenty feet across, and we're on it. Martians keep coming to the faredge of the water and looking at us and whistling at each other. Alittle Martian came near the edge of the water and a larger Martianwhistled like crazy and dragged it away. "Water must be dangerous to them, " said Kroger. "We shoulda brought water pistols, " Jones muttered. Pat said maybe we can swim to safety. Kroger told Pat he was crazy, thatthe little island we're on here underground is bordered by a fast riverthat goes into the planet. We'd end up drowned in some grotto in theheart of the planet, says Kroger. "What the hell, " says Pat, "it's better than starving. " It is not. * * * * * _June 24, 1961, probably_ I'm hungry. So is everybody else. Right now I could eat a dinner raw, ina centrifuge, and keep it down. A Martian threw a stone at Jones today, and Jones threw one back at him and broke off a couple of scales. TheMartian whistled furiously and went away. When the crowd thinned out, same as it did yesterday (must be some sort of sleeping cycle here), Kroger talked Lloyd into swimming across the river and getting the redscales. Lloyd started at the upstream part of the current, and was abouta hundred yards below this underground island before he made the farside. Sure is a swift current. But he got the scales, walked very far upstream of us, and swam backwith them. The stream sides are steep, like in a fjord, and we had tolift him out of the swirling cold water, with the scales gripped in hisfist. Or what was left of the scales. They had melted down in the waterand left his hand all sticky. Kroger took the gummy things, studied them in the uncertain light, thentasted them and grinned. The Martians are made of sugar. * * * * * Later, same day. Kroger said that the Martian metabolism must be likeTerran (Earth-type) metabolism, only with no pancreas to make insulin. They store their energy on the _outside_ of their bodies, in the form ofscales. He's watched them more closely and seen that they have longrubbery tubes for tongues, and that they now and then suck up water fromthe stream while they're watching us, being careful not to get theirlips (all sugar, of course) wet. He guesses that their "blood" must bealmost pure water, and that it washes away (from the inside, of course)the sugar they need for energy. I asked him where the sugar came from, and he said probably their bodiesisolated carbon from something (he thought it might be the moss) andcombined it with the hydrogen and oxygen in the water (even _I_ knew theformula for water) to make sugar, a common carbohydrate. Like plants, on Earth, he said. Except, instead of using special cellson leaves to form carbohydrates with the help of sunpower, as Earthplants do in photosynthesis (Kroger spelled that word for me), they usedthe _shape_ of the scales like prisms, to isolate the spectra (anotherKroger word) necessary to form the sugar. "I don't get it, " I said politely, when he'd finished his spiel. "Simple, " he said, as though he were addressing me by name. "They have atwofold reason to fear water. One: by complete solvency in that medium, they lose all energy and die. Two: even partial sprinkling alters theshape of the scales, and they are unable to use sunpower to form moresugar, and still die, if a bit slower. " "Oh, " I said, taking it down verbatim. "So now what do we do?" "We remove our boots, " said Kroger, sitting on the ground and doing so, "and then we cross this stream, fill the boots with water, and _spray_our way to freedom. " "Which tunnel do we take?" asked Pat, his eyes aglow at the thought ofescape. Kroger shrugged. "We'll have to chance taking any that seem to slopeupward. In any event, we can always follow it back and start again. " "I dunno, " said Jones. "Remember those _teeth_ of theirs. They must befor biting something more substantial than moss, Kroger. " "We'll risk it, " said Pat. "It's better to go down fighting than to dieof starvation. " The hell it is. * * * * * _June 24, 1961, for sure_ The Martians have coal mines. _That's_ what they use those teeth for. Wepassed through one and surprised a lot of them chewing gritty hunks ofanthracite out of the walls. They came running at us, whistling withthose tubelike tongues, and drooling dry coal dust, but Pat swung one ofhis boots in an arc that splashed all over the ground in front of them, and they turned tail (literally) and clattered off down another tunnel, sounding like a locomotive whistle gone berserk. We made the surface in another hour, back in the canal, and were luckyenough to find our own trail to follow toward the place above which thejeep still waited. Jones got the rifles out of the stream (the Martians had probablythought they were beyond recovery there) and we found the jeep. It wasnearly buried in sand, but we got it cleaned off and running, and gotback to the ship quickly. First thing we did on arriving was to breakout the stores and have a celebration feast just outside the door of theship. It was pork again, and I got sick. * * * * * _June 25, 1961_ We're going back. Pat says that a week is all we were allowed to stayand that it's urgent to return and tell what we've learned about Mars(we know there are Martians, and they're made of sugar). "Why, " I said, "can't we just tell it on the radio?" "Because, " said Pat, "if we tell them now, by the time we get back we'llbe yesterday's news. This way we may be lucky and get a parade. " "Maybe even money, " said Kroger, whose mind wasn't always on science. "But they'll ask why we didn't radio the info, sir, " said Jonesuneasily. "The radio, " said Pat, nodding to Lloyd, "was unfortunately brokenshortly after landing. " Lloyd blinked, then nodded back and walked around the rocket. I heard acrunching sound and the shattering of glass, not unlike the noise madewhen one drives a rifle butt through a radio. Well, it's time for takeoff. * * * * * This time it wasn't so bad. I thought I was getting my space-legs, butPat says there's less gravity on Mars, so escape velocity didn't have tobe so fast, hence a smoother (relatively) trip on our shock-absorbingbunks. Lloyd wants to play chess again. I'll be careful not to win this time. However, if I don't win, maybe this time _I'll_ be the one to quit. Kroger is busy in his cramped lab space trying to classify the littlemoss he was able to gather, and Jones and Pat are up front watching thewhite specks revolve on that black velvet again. Guess I'll take a nap. * * * * * _June 26, 1961_ Hell's bells. Kroger says there are two baby Martians loose on boardship. Pat told him he was nuts, but there are certain signs he's right. Like the missing charcoal in the air-filtration-and-reclaiming (AFAR)system. And the water gauges are going down. But the clincher is thosetwo sugar crystals Lloyd had grabbed up when we were in that zoo. They're gone. Pat has declared a state of emergency. Quick thinking, that's Pat. Lloyd, before he remembered and turned scarlet, suggested we radio Earthfor instructions. We can't. Here we are, somewhere in a void headed for Earth, with enough air andwater left for maybe three days--if the Martians don't take any more. Kroger is thrilled that he is learning something, maybe, about Martianreproductive processes. When he told Pat, Pat put it to a vote whetheror not to jettison Kroger through the airlock. However, it was decidedthat responsibility was pretty well divided. Lloyd had gotten thecrystals, Kroger had only studied them, and Jones had brought themaboard. So Kroger stays, but meanwhile the air is getting worse. Pat suggestedKroger put us all into a state of suspended animation till landing time, eight months away. Kroger said, "How?" * * * * * _June 27, 1961_ Air is foul and I'm very thirsty. Kroger says that at least--when theMartians get bigger--they'll have to show themselves. Pat says what dowe do _then_? We can't afford the water we need to melt them down. Besides, the melted crystals might _all_ turn into little Martians. Jones says he'll go down spitting. Pat says why not dismantle interior of rocket to find out where they'reholing up? Fine idea. How do you dismantle riveted metal plates? * * * * * _June 28, 1961_ The AFAR system is no more and the water gauges are still dropping. Kroger suggests baking bread, then slicing it, then toasting it till itturns to carbon, and we can use the carbon in the AFAR system. We'll have to try it, I guess. * * * * * The Martians ate the bread. Jones came forward to tell us the loaveswere cooling, and when he got back they were gone. However, he did finda few of the red crystals on the galley deck (floor). They're good-sizedcrystals, too. Which means so are the Martians. Kroger says the Martians must be intelligent, otherwise they couldn'thave guessed at the carbohydrates present in the bread after a lifelongdiet of anthracite. Pat says let's jettison Kroger. This time the vote went against Kroger, but he got a last-minutereprieve by suggesting the crystals be pulverized and mixed withsulphuric acid. He says this'll produce carbon. I certainly hope so. So does Kroger. * * * * * Brief reprieve for us. The acid-sugar combination not only producescarbon but water vapor, and the gauge has gone up a notch. That meansthat we have a quart of water in the tanks for drinking. However, theair's a bit better, and we voted to let Kroger stay inside the rocket. Meantime, we have to catch those Martians. * * * * * _June 29, 1961_ Worse and worse. Lloyd caught one of the Martians in the firing chamber. We had to flood the chamber with acid to subdue the creature, whichcarbonized nicely. So now we have plenty of air and water again, butbesides having another Martian still on the loose, we now don't haveenough acid left in the fuel tanks to make a landing. Pat says at least our vector will carry us to Earth and we can die onour home planet, which is better than perishing in space. The hell it is. * * * * * _March 3, 1962_ Earth in sight. The other Martian is still with us. He's where we can'tget at him without blow-torches, but he can't get at the carbon in theAFAR system, either, which is a help. However, his tail is prehensile, and now and then it snakes out through an air duct and yanks food rightoff the table from under our noses. Kroger says watch out. _We_ are made of carbohydrates, too. I'd rathernot have known. * * * * * _March 4, 1962_ Earth fills the screen in the control room. Pat says if we're lucky, hemight be able to use the bit of fuel we have left to set us in adescending spiral into one of the oceans. The rocket is tighter than asubmarine, he insists, and it will float till we're rescued, if theplates don't crack under the impact. We all agreed to try it. Not that we thought it had a good chance ofworking, but none of us had a better idea. * * * * * I guess you know the rest of the story, about how that destroyer spottedus and got us and my diary aboard, and towed the rocket to SanFrancisco. News of the "captured Martian" leaked out, and we all becamenine-day wonders until the dismantling of the rocket. Kroger says he must have dissolved in the water, and wonders what _that_would do. There are about a thousand of those crystal-scales on aMartian. So last week we found out, when those red-scaled things began clamberingout of the sea on every coastal region on Earth. Kroger tried to explainto me about salinity osmosis and hydrostatic pressure and crystallinelife, but in no time at all he lost me. The point is, bullets won't stop these things, and wherever a crystalfalls, a new Martian springs up in a few weeks. It looks like the fiveof us have abetted an invasion from Mars. Needless to say, we're no longer heroes. I haven't heard from Pat or Lloyd for a week. Jones was picked upattacking a candy factory yesterday, and Kroger and I were allowed tosign on for the flight to Venus scheduled within the next fewdays--because of our experience. Kroger says there's only enough fuel for a one-way trip. I don't care. I've always wanted to travel with the President. --JACK SHARKEY Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Galaxy Magazine_ June 1960. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.