"What's up?" he demanded of the operator, a thin freckled youth who was staring at the banks of equipment in perplexity. Sparks knit his brows. "Nothing--that I can find." "What!" "There isn't a damn thing wrong at this end. The broadcast was interrupted. Power failure, maybe." Matt Magoffin ran his hand through his short crisp black hair, alarm in his blue eyes. "Have you tried to contact Earth?" "No. Not yet." The operator sat down at his instruments, threw in a switch and spoke into a microphone. "_Argus_ calling Earth. _Argus_ calling Earth. _Argus_ calling Earth. Come in Earth." Silence! * * * * * Matt's jaw shut with a click. The operator tried again and again, but without success. He was still trying when the director of the expedition burst into the radio shack, followed closely by the captain. "What interrupted the broadcast, Sparks?" the director burst out. The operator shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with our instruments. But I can't raise a peep from Earth." The captain said, "Um. Keep trying." "Yes, sir." "And report at once as soon as you establish contact." "Yes, sir." The captain turned on his heel and left. Isaac Trigg, the director, prepared to follow when Matt said: "Just a minute, Isaac. I'm coming with you." The director paused, allowing Matt Magoffin to come abreast of him. "What do you make of it, Matt?" he asked. "I don't know." Matt shook his head. For two long years, between favorable oppositions with Earth, the expedition had been searching the airless, waterless wastes of Mars for any evidence of life. And had arrived at the disappointing conclusion that not only was Mars devoid of life, but that the ruddy planet never had supported life in any form. But during the two years they had been in daily two-way communication with Earth. Not once had they lost contact. Now that they were almost returned.... The director suggested hopefully, "Perhaps they had a power breakdown." "I don't think so." Matt shook his head. "But anyway we're only seven months out. We should be able to contact other radio stations. I don't understand it at all." Their return to the messroom was greeted by an excited volley of questions from the others. The director held up his hands in dismay. "The trouble is on Earth," he explained when quiet was restored. "Our instruments are functioning quite all right. There probably has been a power stoppage of some sort. We should re-establish contact any minute." But by the beginning of the rest period seven hours later, Earth was still silent. No one slept that night. Matt Magoffin tried, but at length he gave up and switched on the lights in his cabin. He drew on comfortable gray coveralls, which made him look even stockier than he was, and departed for the messroom.