As usual she was right. We calmed down and, out of respect for her, followed her advice. As I said, I'd noticed that we all were edgy. Joel had sort of pulled his head into his shell like a turtle, and was having nothing to do with any of us, except Dr. Spartan, whom he followed around like a hound. And Axel seemed preoccupied. I couldn't put my finger on what had happened to him. I thought it was the same sort of space madness that was gripping us all. "What we ought to do, Axel," I said one day, in an effort to draw him out, "is to tell each other what's bugging us, rather than to bottle it up inside." "Meaning me?" he asked. "Meaning you," I said. "You've been acting like the ghost at the banquet. I don't even know whether I can call you a friend any more. What's the trouble?" Axel shook his head. "I'm not sure," he said. "Psychological? Depression?" He gave me a crooked grin. "I wish it were something like that," he replied. "Trouble is, I know what does it, but I'm damned if I know what it is." "Animal, vegetable or mineral?" I asked. He started to get halfway cheerful. "I tried to tell Spartan about it and he accused me of imagining things," he said. "I guess it won't hurt to tell you. I'm getting some stuff on the radio I can't explain." "Signals? From the earth?" "Not from the earth. From the general direction of Mars." The way he said it, it sent chills up my spine and down again. "Somebody's trying to signal us?" "Sometimes I think so, sometimes not," he replied with a heavy sigh. "The signals--if that's what they are--are still very weak." "Damn it, Axel," I said, "it's ridiculous. If anybody were trying to signal us from Mars, it would mean they knew we were on our way." "Maybe they do," he said tersely. It was so damned fantastic, I hardly knew what to say. "But how?" I asked. "I don't know," he said, "but they could have radio, even radar--and they could be a million times better than ours." We talked about it for about an hour and Axel couldn't add anything to what he'd already told me, which wasn't much. During the next few days Gail exerted herself trying to restore a friendly relationship between Morrie and me. I think it was more because Morrie wanted to win her approval than for any other reason that she succeeded, partially. When we were off duty at the same time, she'd bring us together and try to engage us in conversation. The only trouble was, we'd run out of anything to talk about. "If we could only invent a game!" she exclaimed in one of her desperate moods. "Charades?" I asked. "They make me sick," said Morrie in his usual disagreeable manner. "We don't even have extra paper and pencil," she went on. "All writing materials are under lock and key, being conserved for taking notes when we reach Mars." Suddenly Morrie smiled. "You know, I'm a little stupid," he said. "I brought along a deck of cards." "You what?" Gail exclaimed.