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waiting…"
    "Well, you can take this as definite," replied Krull; "it's not just routine. If it was, we'd have heard before now."
    "Yes, yes, I suppose we would."
    "What d'ya mean 'suppose we would'? You know we would. It just isn't possible for a routine fight to blast off and then refuse to answer. They should have checked in every four hours. They haven't checked in for the last thirteen and a half hours. Now that's not routine. It may be that there's some kind of force field around this thing. Maybe the radio's out of action; maybe the direction locator's loose. I don't know what's happened; I've got no idea at all. I'm an astrophysicist. I'm not a spaceman! There's a thousand and one things can go wrong up there. But we do know this. Greg Masterson's in charge of that crew, and there's no trouble up in space that Greg Masterson can't handle."
    "If anyone can handle it," said Jonga dolefully. "I agree, but what if it's something nobody can handle?"
    "Well, if it's that bad, we shall know soon enough," said Krull.
    A bell rang, summoning them to Rotherson's office.
    Hello, what breaks? they wondered. Jonga's eyes flashed a question to Krull.
    They made their way hurriedly to the general's office. Rotherson looked tired, and his enormous frame seemed to be sagging at the shoulders. It was obvious that nothing had come through.
    "What's on your mind, Chief?" asked Krull.
    "Plenty," said the general.
    Dolores came in with a tray of drinks.
    "Boy, can I use some of the 'hard' stuff," cracked Jonga. "Just what the doctor ordered. I'm in favor of an increased dose!"
    "I reckon you'll need it by the time this is finished," said the general. "Listen, chaps, you're aware that there's been no word from the survey ships for thirteen and a half hours." He looked at the huge, deadly accurate chronometer. "Thirteen and a half hours and three and a half minutes," he corrected himself. "They should have checked in at least three times during that period. I don't like it, not one little bit! First we have this unknown meteorite, this asteroid that suddenly pops up among our two thousand eight hundred and twelve. We don't know which one it is, so we send one of the most experienced men we've got, with a fully equipped squadron of five different ships. He makes the first normal check-in four hours after blast-off, reaches the belt—and disappears. What I want to know is why? He's too good a man to lose five ships, unless there's something up there that's so far ahead of us that we might as well say 'Curtains' right away."
    "I see what you mean," agreed Jonga. The general had put all their thoughts into words.
    "—And so?" There was a question in Krull's voice. "What do we do now, Chief?"
    "Well, I've got to the state, and I don't mind admitting it, where I want a consultation. You are two of the senior men on the post. I called you in first. Have you any ideas?"
    "I appreciate the compliment, sir," said Krull, "but I'm afraid I can't come up with anything. When you rang the summons bell, we thought you had something for us."
    Rotherson shook his massive bull-like head. He was biting his lip.
    "There must be something we can do. I don't want to send another squadron up there if I can avoid it. If the first ran into some kind of trouble, the second would probably go the same way unless we can find out something more about it."
    "On the other hand," said Jonga, "if they're in some kind of trouble from which they might be rescued, the longer we delay, the less their chances will be."
    "You mean the fleet itself?" questioned Rotherson. "It's a pretty big move. I should have to call in the P.M., and we haven't got anything to go on yet. If we send a fleet up there, and it turns out to radio interference, we're going to look pretty silly. We could get away with sending a survey expedition up before it was needed— but to send the fleet up—" He shuddered at the thought of the questions that would be asked in the Inter-planetary Council. "Can't