Lynne said nothing--she was too scared to talk. IV Rolf turned, tight-lipped, from the communicator panel and said, “_Crehut_, a video white-out. They’re either cripped or dead!” Lynne said, “What are you going to do?” In the confusion of bringing the ship in, she was unable to sort out the mental messages she was receiving. But she got a wild impression of thoughts and emotions, transcending anything human. It was like being inside some immeasurably vast, utterly lunatic cathedral. “I’m going to land right beside those other ships--if I don’t go crazy first,” said Rolf. He had to speak aloud, just as Lynne did, because in the turmoil of telepathic disturbance it was impossible to select and tune personal thoughts. It was a rocky landing, since the apparently level ground proved to be dangerously uneven as they settled down upon it. But although the ship rocked in heart-stopping fashion, he finally got it steady on its pintels and mopped sweat from his brow. For a long moment, he sat before the control panel, letting the strain leave him. With the thrum of the engines silent, Lynne became aware of another steady pulse of power--unheard, for its pitch was far too great for human eardrums. Her mind seemed to burst with visions of the planets, of the stars, of distant nebulae and galaxies, interspersed with unheard paeans of indescribably magnificent music, of concepts of such surpassing beauty, of such dread and terror and love and ugliness and sheer passion that, inevitably, Lynne found herself recalling Mr. Mole, in Kenneth Grahame’s archaic but still-loved _Wind in the Willows_, when that little animal heard the magic Pipes of Pan and found their song beyond his limited ken. “I must be mad,” she told Rolf. He said, “You and I both, _vinral_. But if we both get it, we must be sane. What in _purt_ do you suppose it is?” Lynne tried to put it into words. “It’s like--like--It’s far beyond anything we’ve ever encountered.” Rolf got up and told her, “Come on--let’s find out what’s going on. This is like being caught inside an old-fashioned circus calliope going full blast.” He crossed the tiny cabin, almost floating in the light gravity of the satellite, opened a locker and got a couple of heavy-duty space-suits. It was the first time Lynne had seen such an outfit save in vidar entertainments and, by the time Rolf had locked her into it, she felt like a cross between an Egyptian mummy and a deep-sea diver of several centuries before. It was hot and her nose itched and there was no way to scratch it. But the heavy composition of the suit mercifully blacked out some of the radiant alien messages that had been overwhelming her thoughts.