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answered Jan. "They may as well putthe fuel back in my groundcar."

  Sanchez called orders to the men at the platform. While they worked, Janstared out at the furiously spinning windmills that dotted Rathole.

  "There's nothing that can be done," he repeated. "We can't make the tripoverland because of the chasm out there in Den Hoorn, and we can't flythe platform because we have no power for it."

  Windmills. Again Jan could imagine the flat land around them as hisnative Holland, with the Zuider Zee sparkling to the west where here thedesert stretched under darkling clouds.

  * * * * *

  Jan looked at his watch. A little more than two hours before theG-boat's blastoff time, and it couldn't wait for them. It was nearlyeight hours since he had left Oostpoort, and the afternoon was gettingnoticeably darker.

  Jan was sorry. He had done his best, but Venus had beaten him.

  He looked around for Diego. The boy was not in the dome. He was outside,crouched in the lee of the dome, playing with some sticks.

  Diego must know of his ailment, and why he had to go to Oostpoort. IfJan was any judge of character, Sanchez would have told him that.Whether Diego knew it was a life-or-death matter for him to be aboardthe _Vanderdecken_ when it blasted off for Earth, Jan did not know. Butthe boy was around eight years old and he was bright, and he mustrealize the seriousness involved in a decision to send him all the wayto Earth.

  Jan felt ashamed of the exuberant foolishness which had led him to spoutancient history and claim descent from William of Orange. It had been ahobby, and artificial topic for conversation that amused him and hiscompanions, a defense against the monotony of Venus that had begun toaffect his personality perhaps a bit more than he realized. He did notdislike Spaniards; he had no reason to dislike them. They were allhumans--the Spanish, the Dutch, the Germans, the Americans, even theRussians--fighting a hostile planet together. He could not understand aword Diego said when the boy spoke to him, but he liked Diego and wisheddesperately he could do something.

  Outside, the windmills of Rathole spun merrily.

  There was power, the power that lighted and air-conditioned Rathole,power in the air all around them. If he could only use it! But to turnthe platform on its side and let the wind spin the propellers waspointless.

  He turned to Sanchez.

  "Ask the men if there are any spare parts for the platform," he said."Some of those legs it stands on, transmission belts, spare propellers."

  Sanchez asked.

  "Yes," he said. "Many spare parts, but no fuel."

  Jan smiled a tight smile.

  "Tell them to take the engines out," he said. "Since we have no fuel, wemay as well have no engines."

  * * * * *

  Pieter Heemskerk stood by the ramp to the stubby G-boat and checked hiswatch. It was X minus fifteen--fifteen minutes before blastoff time.

  Heemskerk wore a spacesuit. Everything was ready, except climbingaboard, closing the airlock and pressing the firing pin.

  What on Venus could have happened to Van Artevelde? The last radiomessage they had received, more than an hour ago, had said he and thepatient took off successfully in an aircraft. What sort of aircraftcould he be flying that would require an hour to cover eightykilometers, with the wind?

  Heemskerk could only draw the conclusion that the aircraft had beenwrecked somewhere in Den Hoorn. As a matter of fact, he knew thatpreparations were being made now to send a couple of groundcars out tosearch for it.

  This, of course, would be too late to help the patient Van Artevelde wasbringing, but Heemskerk had no personal interest in the patient. Hisworry was all for his friend. The two of them had enjoyed chess and goodbeer together on his last three trips to Venus, and Heemskerk hoped verysincerely that the big blond man wasn't hurt.

  He glanced at his watch again. X minus twelve. In two minutes, it wouldbe time for him to walk up the ramp into the G-boat. In seven minutesthe backward count before blastoff would start over the arealoudspeakers.

  Heemskerk shook his head sadly. And Van Artevelde had promised to comeback triumphant, with a broom at his masthead!

  It was a high thin whine borne on the wind, carrying even through thewalls of his spacehelmet, that attracted Heemskerk's attention andcaused him to pause with his foot on the ramp. Around him, the rocketmechanics were staring up at the sky, trying to pinpoint the noise.

  Heemskerk looked westward. At first he could see nothing, then there wasa moving dot above the mountain, against the indigo umbrella of clouds.It grew, it swooped, it approached and became a strange little flyingdisc with two people standing on it and _something_ sticking up from itsdeck in front of them.

  A broom?

  No. The platform hovered and began to settle nearby, and there was VanArtevelde leaning over its rail and fiddling frantically with whateverit was that stuck up on it--a weird, angled contraption of pipes andbelts topped by a whirring blade. A boy stood at his shoulder and triedto help him. As the platform descended to a few meters above ground, theDutchman slashed at the contraption, the cut ends of belts whipped outwildly and the platform slid to the ground with a rush. It hit with aclatter and its two passengers tumbled prone to the ground.

  "Jan!" boomed Heemskerk, forcing his voice through the helmet diaphragmand rushing over to his friend. "I was afraid you were lost!"

  Jan struggled to his feet and leaned down to help the boy up.

  "Here's your patient, Pieter," he said. "Hope you have a spacesuit inhis size."

  "I can find one. And we'll have to hurry for blastoff. But, first, whathappened? Even that damned thing ought to get here from Rathole fasterthan that."

  "Had no fuel," replied Jan briefly. "My engines were all right, but Ihad no power to run them. So I had to pull the engines and rig up apower source."

  Heemskerk stared at the platform. On its railing was rigged a tripod ofbattered metal pipes, atop which a big four-blade propeller spun slowlyin what wind was left after it came over the western mountain. Over theedges of the platform, running from the two propellers in its base, hunga series of tattered transmission belts.

  "Power source?" repeated Heemskerk. "That?"

  "Certainly," replied Jan with dignity. "The power source any goodDutchman turns to in an emergency: a windmill!"

  THE END

  Transcriber's Note

  This etext was produced from _Amazing Science Fiction Stories_ April1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling andtypographical errors have been corrected without note.

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