Channing found the men in the beam-control room worried and ill at ease. The fine co-ordination that made them expert in their line was ebbing. The nervous work, that made it necessary to run the men in ten-minute shifts with a half hour of rest in between, demanded perfect motor control, excellent perception, and a fine power of reasoning. The barely perceptible lack of oxygen at this high level was taking its toll already. "Look, fellows, we're in a mess. Until further notice, take five-minute shifts. We've got about thirty hours to go. If the going gets tough, drop it to three-minute shifts. But, fellows, keep those beams centered until you drop!" "We'll keep 'em going if we have to call our wives up here to run 'em for us," said one man. "What's up?" "Air plant's sour. Losing oxy. Got a shipload coming out from Terra, be here in thirty hours. But upon you fellows will rest the responsibility of keeping us in touch with the rest of the system. If you fail, we could call for help until hell freezes us all in--and no one would hear us!" "We'll keep 'em rolling," said a little fellow that had to sit on a tall stool to get even with the controls. Channing looked out of the big plastiglass dome that covered the entire end of the Venus Equilateral Station. "Here messages go in and out," he mused. "The other end brings us things that take our breath away." Channing was referring to the big air lock at the other end of the station, three miles away, right through the center. At the center of the dome, there was a sighting 'scope. It kept Polaris on a marked circle, keeping the station exactly even with the Terrestrial North. About the periphery of the dome, looking out across space, the beam control operators were sitting, each with a hundred-foot parabolic reflector below his position, outside the dome, and under the rim of the transparent bowl. These reflectors shot the interworld signals across space in tight beams, and the men, half the time anticipating the vagaries of space-warp, kept them centered on the proper, shining speck in that field of stars. Above his head, the stars twinkled. Puny man, setting his will against the monstrous void. Puny man, dependent upon atmosphere. "Nature abhors a vacuum," once said Torrecelli. What braggadocio! If Nature abhorred a vacuum, why did she make so much of it? * * * * * Arden Westland entered the apartment without knocking. "I'd give my right arm up to here for a cigarette," she said, marking above the elbow with the edge of her other hand. "Na-hah," said Channing. "Can't burn oxygen." "I know. I'm tired, I'm cold, and I'm ill. Anything you can do for a lady?"