MacAloon rose in the stirrups of his saddle-lizard. His guide, a Venusian fishman, trembled nervously at the mount's side and pointed straight ahead. MacAloon followed the direction of the quivering four-jointed, scaly arm. "See, bossmac?" the reptilian native hissed in fright. "Bosslimpy speak truth. Cen'pedes ready to march. Soon they attack us. Then is all over." On the other lizard, little Al Birchall tried to peer through the bright white fog of Venus. It was like attempting to gaze through