There was a scant, dense atmosphere close to the ground—that had been known. It was a strange-looking substance, Rob thought. It lay like a blanket of gray-blue mist between the space ship, which was several thousands of feet up, and the ground below. The compressed atmosphere was filled with small clouds of icelike particles which floated lazily near the surface like tiny fish in a cosmic ocean. Everything about the scene suggested a terrible coldness almost beyond human realization. “Our bearings indicate this is approximately the area where the _Capella_ was last heard from,” the skipper declared. “But I see nothing of the ship. Do any of you?” With the others, Rob strained his eyes to pick out a shiny cigar shape in the bleak stretches below. It seemed an impossible task, and he was reminded of an old analogy of the elusive needle in the haystack. There were broad areas of dark rock between the icebergs, filmed over lightly with rime. Such dark expanses could account for Pluto’s weak solar reflection, Rob decided. The _Rigel_ cut its power to a low cruising speed and began making a detailed search. Scanning scopes were used to magnify the view, but the job promised to be a long and painstaking one. Perhaps it would even take too long to be of any service to the _Capella_, Rob thought gloomily, as his scope swept the ground. His speculations then took an even grimmer turn. Perhaps the lake of oxygen had swallowed up the space ship! Or maybe the craft lay buried under layers of frost. The hours of search, many of them, dragged by. At last the skipper called his crewmen together and make a pronouncement that shocked Rob. “There’s no purpose in keeping up the search any longer,” he said decisively. “Even if we should find the ship now, we don’t have enough fuel to land and blast off again. I’m afraid the elements have claimed the _Capella_ and that the first expedition to Pluto will have to be written off the books.” “But, sir,...!” Rob burst out. The spacemaster looked at him levelly. “I’m sorry, Rob. I realize you’ve got a more personal interest in the _Capella_ than the rest of us. But we’re simply licked.” Rob turned away from him in abject despair and stared unseeingly out of the port. Filling his inner eye, to the oblivion of all else, was the sight of a grinning young spaceman, with a perpetually rumpled shock of blond hair. _He’d never see Jim Hawley again._ Knowing this, it was as though a part of himself had suddenly died. As the Rigel headed away from the area over which it had cruised unsuccessfully for so long a time, a burst of static came over the long-silent, open circuit of the space ship’s radio. Rob’s heart thrilled with hope. Could it really be the _Capella_ trying to make contact? More static followed, then a muffled voice, barely audible, saying: “_Capella_ to space ship. Can you hear?” Spacemaster O’Leary scooped up the radio mike, eager as a child. “Yes! Yes! Give your location!”