The button went black, and Len stood there, remembering things. "It was Mystic X who blew up the Martian Clinic the _Free Martian_ started in Scarnston." "Right," said Scat. "Let's get some sleep." * * * * * Toward morning he awoke with a start. He groped out and found the switch, but the lights didn't come on; the darkness was absolute. While he slept, the glastic had somehow been rendered opaque. As he lay there, he heard the unmistakable click of pinchers from the transmission room and the faint moan of the beam. He realized then what must have happened. Lighting power was local--in conformity with some Bronsco ordinance. So they'd been able to cut it off. But beam power was regional--and they weren't tampering with that yet. Click-Click had taken in the situation and had decided not to wake him or Len while he and his pals got out the morning edition. Human beings couldn't operate very effectively until the lighting system had been jury-rigged on beam power. The busy clicking continued. Scat smiled. Martian perception was independent of light; Click-Click must be getting a kick out of this. Still, he'd better get up. He'd dreamed some improvements in the editorial. Probably gone out already, but they could always back-tape and dub in the changes. In the morning he and Len strolled out in front. Every square inch of glastic was covered with black paint, still sticky and glistening from the spray guns. "Kinda like the new color," remarked Len, loudly for the benefit of some passers-by. "Black for Free Martia!" Scat sent him out to try and buy some food and rent sleeping quarters in the Bronsco Recreational Center, which occupied the Number Two skylon. Just for the sake of the record. Len would discover that the hostelry was full up and that, by some strange mischance, there didn't happen to be any food in Bronsco today. A chalked sign--_Kill the Bugs_--came coasting by on the slidewalk. Scat put down his foot in front of it and let the slidewalk do the erasing. Back in the transmission room he discovered that Click-Click's three companions had increased to five during the night. "Passengers for the Underground Skyway?" asked Scat. And this time he just thought the question. Click-Click coded an affirmative. "From Ten Mile. They guessed we must be in the neighborhood from the Martian Tape we're running in the _Newsbeam_. All the Martians out at Ten Mile are picking up the Tape--beam-perception or the good old telepathic grapevine. They're crazy about it; it's the first entertainment they've had in months."