She glanced at the quartzite dome, beyond which the veil of iridescence wove and cross-wove and shimmered like a pallid aurora. Greg nodded. "Yes, Miss Andrews." Enid Andrews spoke languidly from the other end of the table. "But what is it, Gregory? A local phenomenon?" "You might call it that," said Greg, selecting his words cautiously. "It's an ionized field into which we've blasted. It--it--shouldn't stay with us long. But while it persists, our radio will be blanketed out." Breadon's chestnut head came up suddenly, sharply. "Ionization! That means atmosphere!" Greg said, "Yes." "And an atmosphere means a body in space somewhere near--" Breadon stopped, bit his lip before the appeal in Malcolm's eyes, tried to pass it off easily. "Oh, well--a change of scenery, what?" But the moment of alarm in his voice had not passed unnoticed. Crystal Andrews spoke for all of them, her voice preternaturally quiet. "You're hiding something, Malcolm. What is it? Is there--danger?" But Greg didn't have to answer that question. From the doorway a harsh, defiantly strident voice answered for him. The voice of Bert Andrews, Crystal's older brother. "Danger? You're damn right there's danger! What's the matter with you folks--are you all deaf, dumb and blind? We've been caught in a space-vortex for hours. Now we're in the H-layer of a planet we can't even see--and in fifteen minutes or fifteen seconds we may all be smashed as flat as pancakes!" The proclamation brought them out of their chairs. Greg's heart sank; his vain plea, "Mr. Andrews--" was lost in the medley of Crystal's sudden gasp, Enid Andrews' short, choking scream, J. Foster's bellowing roar at his only son. "Bert--you're drunk!" Bert weaved precariously from the doorway, laughed in his father's face. "Sure I'm drunk! Why not? If you're smart you'll get drunk, too. The whole damn lot of you!" He flicked a derisive hand toward Greg. "You too, Boy Scout! What were you trying to do--hide the bad news from them? Well, it's no use. Everybody might as well know the worst. We're gone gooses ... geeses ... aw, what the hell! Dead ducks!" He fell into a chair, sprawled there laughing mirthlessly with fear riding the too-high notes of his laughter. J. Foster turned to his secretary slowly. His ire had faded; there was only deep concern in his voice. "Is he telling the truth, Malcolm?" Greg said soberly, "Partly, sir. He's overstating the danger--but there is danger. We are caught in a space-vortex, and as Mr. Breadon realized, the presence of these ionics means we're in the Heaviside-layer of some heavenly body. But we may not crack up." Maud Andrews glanced at him shrewdly. "Is there anything we can do?" "Not a thing. The officers on the bridge are doing everything possible."