"Dr. Channing, I am handing the microphone over to Ling Wey, our electronics engineer, who knows the system in and out. He'll work with you on this problem." Ling Wey said: "Hello. This is great. But I'm not certain of how it's done. The output of the phono system is very small, and certainly not capable of putting out the power necessary to reach Venus Equilateral from here. However, we are using a wired-radio system at seventeen hundred and ninety kilocycles in lieu of the usual cable system. The crew all like music, and, therefore, we play the recordings of our ancestral musicians almost incessantly." He paused for breath, and Channing said: "Walt, tap out a message concerning the lead-length of the cables that supply the driver anodes. Have him check them for radio frequency pickup." "I get it." The 'type began to click. * * * * * This communication was carried on for hour after hour. Don's guess was right, it turned out; the lead that connected the first driver anode was tuned in wave length to almost perfect resonance with the frequency of the wired-radio communicator system. Channing thanked them profusely, and they rang off. Soon afterward the wailing, moaning music returned to the air. "Wonder if we could get that without the radio," said Don. "Don't know. We can pack the juice on in the amplifier and see, now that we have it tuned on the button," said Walt. "It won't," said Wes. "I've been all across the dial of the alloy disk. Nothing at all." "O.K. Well, so what if it doesn't. We've still got us a ship-to-ship communications system. Hey! What was that?" _That_ was a pale, flat-sounding human voice saying: "Kingman! I. C. Pfd. has been at six hundred and nine for two days, now. What's our next move?" "Kingman!" exploded Channing. "Why, the ... the--" "Careful," warned Arden. "There's a lady present." "Huh?" "Her," said Arden pointing at Christine. "Wait," said Walt. "Maybe he'll answer." Don fiddled with the dials for a full fifteen minutes, keeping them very close to the spot marked, hoping that Kingman's answer might not be too far out of tune. He gave up as the answer was not to be found, and returned to the original setting. Ten minutes later the voice said: "Kingman, where in the devil is my answer? I want to know what our next move is. There isn't a bit of V. E. stock available. Why don't you answer?" Then, dimly in the background, a voice spoke to the operator of the instrument. "Kingman's probably asleep. That terrible moaning-stuff he's been complaining about makes him turn the thing off as soon as the day's market is off. He--and the rest of that crew--can't stand it. You'll have to wait until tomorrow's market opens before he'll be listening." "O.K.," said the operator, and the set went silent.