Louise herself would have had an answer to that, if he had ever put the question to her. He was careful never to do so. She laid the book aside and looked up at him again. She said, "Jim, darling, do you think you could get the television set working again?" "Not without a mesotron rectifier." "Even the radio would be a comfort." "It wouldn't do any good, any way. Too much static from both Mars and Earth this time of year." That was the beauty of the marak, he thought. It changed his mood, and left him calm and in full command of his faculties, able to handle any problem that came up. He himself, of course, missed neither the radio nor the television, and he never touched the fine library of micro-books. He didn't need them. A shadow flitted by outside the thick window, blotting out for a moment the blaze of stars. It was the shadow of death, as he knew, and he was able to smile even at that. Even death was wonderful. When it finally came, it would find him happy. He would not shudder away from it, as he saw Louise doing now at the sight of the ominous shadow. He smiled at his wife again, remembering the six years they had lived together. It had been a short married life, but--again the word suggested itself to him--a wonderful one. There had been only one quarrel of importance, in the second year, and after that they had got along perfectly. And then, two years ago, he had begun to take marak, and after that he couldn't have quarreled with anyone. It was a paragon among drugs, and it was one of the mysteries of his existence that anybody should object to his using it. Louise had tried to argue with him after she had found out, but he had turned every exchange of views into a peaceful discussion, which from his side, at least, was brimming over with good humor. He had even been good-humored when she tried to slip the antidote into his food. It was this attitude of his that had so often left her baffled and enraged, and he had a good chuckle out of that, too. Imagine a wife getting angry because her husband was too good-natured. But she was never going to get angry again. He would see to that. Not after tonight. A big change was going to take place in her life. She had picked up another book, and for the moment he pitied her. He knew that she wasn't interested in any books. She was merely restless, looking for something to do with herself, seeking some method of killing time before the shadows outside killed it for her for good and all. She couldn't understand his being so peaceful and contented, doing nothing at all. She threw the second book down and snarled--yes, that was the word, "You're such a fool, Jim! You sit there, smug and sure of yourself, your mind blank, just waiting--waiting for them to kill you and me. And you seem actually happy when I mention it." "I'm happy at anything and everything, dear." "At the thought of dying too?"