 What were the lights Lowry saw in the dark?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Winter 1944. The Executive Officer was moodily smoking a cigarette in the open lock, staring out over the dank Venusian terrain at the native town. "Everything shipshape, I take it!" But after all, they're human beings, just like us—" "Not any more. Four or five generations ago they were. "Acclimation," Lowry said scientifically. "They had to acclimate themselves to Venus's climate. He stared at the wooden shacks that were the outskirts of the native city, dimly visible through the ever-present Venusian mist. The native guard of honor, posted a hundred yards from the Earth-ship, stood stolidly at attention with their old-fashioned proton-rifles slung over their backs. A few natives were gazing wonderingly at the great ship, but made no move to pass the line of guards. "Of course," Lowry said suddenly, "there's a minority who are afraid of us. They think there will be hordes of immigrants from Earth, now that we know Venus is habitable. And there's some sort of a paltry underground group that is spreading the word that the immigrants will drive the native Venusians—the descendants of the first expedition, that is—right down into the mud. That's a basic law of—" The annunciator over the open lock clanged vigorously, and a metallic voice rasped: "Officer of the Deck! Lowry, interrupted in the middle of a word, jerked his head back and stared unbelievingly at the tell-tale next to the annunciator. Sure enough, it was glowing red—might have been glowing for minutes. But even while he was giving orders, the warning light flickered suddenly and went out. "From their own mouths you have heard it. Therefore, it must not return." "The Council did not know what we would face. The Councilmen could not come to the city and see what strength the Earth-ship has." Like the girl, the old man retreated before his eyes. He reached to a box at his feet, held up a shiny metal globe. It will be set by means of this dial—" he touched a spot on the surface of the globe with a pallid finger—"to do nothing for forty hours. Atomite." Abruptly he set the bomb down, savagely ripped six leaves off a writing tablet on the table next him. There will be danger, I think...."
 Svan and his conspirators
 Svan and his conspirators  The guards  The delegation  Another spy-ray