to. A thing like trouble is an old friend to you."

Travis remembered the polyps in the Venusian water-caves where he'd almost lost an arm before he got past them to bring the museum the only specimen of the primal undine race of Venus ever seen above the sea-mists. He had found a petrified boat on Sirius' third planet, to prove that at one time there had been seas on that baked potato of a planet. But for the last six months he had moped around Mars Port, studying alluvial deposits, wishing for something to take him and his equipment out into the star-paths again.

"I'll go, Mart. And if you'd only shaved this morning I might kiss you for the chance!"

Kent laughed and waved a hand. "Order what you need. I guess the museum can afford a few thousand credits, considering your record—even on such a gamble."

Travis took his spaceboat out from Mars to Titan, and then on to Proxima Centauri. He asked questions in taverns and study halls. He heard of the arklings, of the ruined cities and temples. He heard of the arklings' hate for strangers. But Travis didn't scare easily. He checked his weapons and equipment, tossed in an extra case of safusas-wine and waved a farewell.

In the darkness he tried to grin and failed. He could hear them coming, at a distance. Their queer slip-pat footsounds carried a long way. He couldn't tell just how far away they were.

Travis went on, into the darkness.

The light came suddenly, as he rounded a bend in the tunnel. It was milky-red, like the ancient ko-yao porcelains, delicately flushed and tinted. It shook as a veil might in a breeze. It bellied and leaped. It sent its streamers into the blackness and lighted up the tunnel.

There was a queer menace about the light, a beating like the breath of an angry Sindri, Venus-god of fire. It came in little pinkish puffs. There was no heat, only that overbearing menace. Through the pink light, Travis thought he saw queerly shaped forms standing still and brooding. There was a series of cones, and huge globes that seemed to float in an orbit—

He did not hear the slip-pat until too late. A hairy body landed on his shoulders and he pitched to his knees on the eon-old stone floor. As he fell he whirled and brought his stil-gun up. It was empty, but the long, ringed barrel sideswiped the arkling's face and knocked him away.

Travis got to his 

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