Mr. Perkins chirped again. The canary was still bewildered, but at least it could see now, and it'd found out how to get at its food and water, and it felt quite cheerful. "... And you might start," rasped Bramwell, "by strangling that blasted canary! I abominate canaries!" "Things are looking up, Ed," Randy said cheerfully. "There can't be anything very much wrong with a man who hates dogs, children, and canary birds!" But McCauley had begun thoughtfully to examine the layout of the interior of the ship. * * * * * They were two weeks on the way toward Venus. The flare-particle counter clicked every second and a half. The sun's disk, ahead, was appreciably larger and Venus was a thinner crescent than before. Earth was a small object, though still larger than Venus, and the moon was very small indeed. At this distance the Space Platform was, of course, invisible. But the changes inside the ship were more marked than those outside. The interior of the ship was now divided into two parts. McCauley and Randy had pulled down the small cubicle made of soundproofing material that had been built for Bramwell to work in. They had used the same material to wall off a full half of the ship. There was a door in the wall, and part of the air-freshening system operated through sound baffles so that the air in the walled-off space was changed, quite silently, with the same regularity as the air in the forward end of the ship, where McCauley and Randy did their work. But McCauley was vaguely disturbed. It had developed gradually, but he did not feel right. Even though he could not become physically exhausted in a total absence of gravity, he felt dull and weary. There were measurements of flare-particle frequency to be recorded, both from outside the ship where the Bramwell-Faraday screen did not operate, and from inside where it did. The figures were curiously difficult to copy. But there was no reason for him to feel weak and stupid. The air system worked perfectly. The food was adequate. The ship moved steadily, silently, perfectly on its way at a certain number of miles per second, which was increasing a trifle because of the sun's gravitational field. Everything seemed perfect. But he didn't feel right. Randy was not himself, either. And Mr. Perkins sang only half-heartedly. The canary began, now, what started out to be a beautifully executed trill, but which died away after half a dozen tremolos. "Mr. Perkins isn't in good voice today. What's troubling him?" Randy spoke with a certain effort. McCauley concentrated on the report he was filling out. He shook his head and looked again; he was startled. "Look here!" he said sharply. "We had the screen on when we left the Platform. It kept out the radiation when we went through the Van Allen belt. But now we're nearer the sun. Stuff's coming through the screen! It's been coming through for days! And we haven't noticed it! What's the matter with us?"