The Moon's Fire-Eating Daughter — John Myers Myers

She gave him a look that made him feel warm all over. “How would you like to make a survey of the Road for me? All I need is a clear, objective report based on first-hand observation. All the others I commissioned never lived long enough to give me one.”

“What was the matter with them, except being dead?” the professor asked nervously.

“They got tangled up because they didn't know how to look at things. I don't know why I never thought of turning the job over to a scientist before.”

“That's a mistake voters make, too” he allowed modestly, then loosened his collar. “Er, when do you want me to start?”

“Right away wouldn't be to soon.”

“Oh! I couldn't miss my one-thirty class,” he hedged.

“You won't,” she assured him. “That is unless you get drowned in space, chewed up on land or sea, mobbed, or worse.” She ran a hand reassuringly though his hair.

“Just do, for my sake, be careful, pet.”

Resistance was useless. She was Venus. He was the merest of mortals. Ten minutes later, in spite of all his best efforts, he found himself being borne off through the sky in a chariot drawn by four eagles!