"I wouldn't know," said Randy listlessly. "We're not on the ball," said McCauley. "We've got to do something about this!" He rose from his chair. It took but the slightest of effort, and he floated free. He reached out his hand to the wall and directed the motion of his whole body. He approached the soundproof barrier that now divided the ship into two separate parts. He caught a handhold on the door and knocked. Minutes later the door opened. There was no gravity, so Bramwell did not stand in the opening. He floated there, scowling. He and McCauley faced each other, very much like swimmers, except that they swam in air. "Radiation's coming through the screen," said McCauley. "It shouldn't. Not this early, anyhow. Shouldn't something be done? I'm ordered to consult you about all adjustments of the screen." He was vaguely dissatisfied with himself for asking. He should not have to ask anyone for instructions. He was ordered to in this case, but decisions were his job. "Turn it up!" said Bramwell peevishly. Then he seemed to notice that he had not been actively unpleasant. He moved quickly to correct the omission. "How many times," he demanded furiously, "have I told you not to disturb me! Noise upsets me! Leave me alone! Isn't it enough that I have to share the ship with clods, without having you bang on my door?" He glared around the forward part of the ship. Mr. Perkins sang again, a half-hearted attempt at a warble. "Noise! Noise! Noise!" rasped Bramwell. He pulled the door shut. McCauley floated lethargically to the screen unit and made an adjustment. Nothing important apparently happened, but something ceased to happen so often. The sharp, slightly irregular clicking of the particle counter seemed to stop. It was a full five seconds before it clicked again, six before it clicked a second time, and five before it clicked a third. "I wish," said McCauley lethargically, "that I'd been a little more on the job. Why didn't we notice the radiation count going up, Randy?" "Bramwell complains if we touch the side of the ship because it makes noises inside his sanctum," Randy answered. "Maybe we've been trying not to think for fear the noise would disturb him." McCauley considered the comment carefully, which was itself an indication that he was not up to par. "No," he said slowly, "it's not that. But we don't feel right. Maybe we'd better take our temperatures. It would be ghastly if we were getting sick! Bramwell couldn't feed himself, let alone get the ship around Venus!" With some effort he found a clinical thermometer. But they did not have any fever. In fact, their temperatures were considerably lower than the 98.6° F. which is considered the norm for men in good health. * * * * *