"And I still want to enroll at the Centropolitan Institute of Atomics." Jon's eyes were shining. "Aren't you boys forgetting one little detail?" their father asked drily. While the long sleeps had relaxed his body, and had practically completed the healing of his broken leg, the pressure had not been good for him, and his condition as a whole was worse. But his spirits were high, and he was careful not to let any of his family know just how weak he felt. At his question they all looked up, astonished, and he continued, "There's the small matter of getting the Colonial Board's approval of our claim against the counter-claim we feel so sure Bogin is coming in to make." "Pooh, he hasn't got a chance," Jon said airily. "You hope," Jak scoffed, suddenly serious and worried. "How about it, Mr. C.?" Mrs. Carver asked. "Our pictures and data are so detailed I don't see how Bogin can possibly match them," her husband answered slowly and thoughtfully. "I think we can prove our claim. Besides, their receivers there on Terra should have picked up the broadcasts of our signals, and then the change--and that should have made them wonder why, so our explanation ought to satisfy them." "That reminds me." Jon swung back to his panel. "Let's see if we can pick up our signals from here ... or Bogin's, rather!" His lips tightened. In a few moments his tubes had warmed up, but nothing came in over his ultra-range receivers. He stepped up the power, and swung his directional loops forth and back, although mostly he aimed them directly toward the Carveria system's known coordinates. For long, anxious minutes he worked, but still no sounds, save the noise of cosmic rays and the other forces of the void that made long-distance communication such a problem. With a weary gesture Jon finally turned off the set, and swung about with a stricken face. "What do you suppose is wrong, Pop?" The elder shook his head slowly. "Only thing I can think of is that we're so far away the senders can't reach this far." "Won't that be in our favor?" Jak asked. "If they can't hear any signals at all, our records ought to be enough." "Maybe yes, maybe no," Mr. Carver answered with a tired smile. "And after all our hard work, too." Jon's tone was dispirited. "And the dangers you were up against." Mrs. Carver's eyes were tear-dimmed. Their father caught himself and looked at each with a disarming grin. "Hey, we're all crossing bridges where maybe there isn't even a creek to be spanned." He made his voice mockingly cheerful. "What's happened to the good old Carver spirit?" "You're right, Pop." Jon shook away his dismay and began to smile. "We're not licked yet." But while they were eating, a short time later, Jon turned his seat to face his father. "Don't like to start worrying again, Pop," he said in a low voice, "but our receptor is picking up atomic activity behind us again. Of course," he added quickly, "this close to Terra it could be some other ship, not Bogin's."