Reaching the platform, Phil instantly realized the need for the dark glasses. The interior of the saucer was polished to such a degree that even the sodium-reflected sunlight flashed from it with a pale brown blindingness. He clamped his eyes shut and quickly put on the black specs. "As you are aware," Frobisher was saying, "the exact nature of thought waves is unknown. It may be that they move instantaneously, or at least at speeds far greater than that of light. We have yet to get a figure on them, although we have carefully timed thought-casts between here and Montevideo--but the human or physiological factor confounds us. They may not be waves at all. On the other hand it is possible that they are reflected and refracted like ordinary light." "Is right," interjected da Silva, a vague blur beside Phil, who hadn't yet got over the first blinding glimpse of the saucer's interior. "You believe so?" Frobisher questioned sharply. _La Prensa_'s faun-like representative shrugged his muscular shoulders. "Just guessing," he said. "At any rate," Frobisher continued, "we are working on that latter supposition here. This copper structure is a parabolic mirror. Thought waves originating at its focus are concentrated into a beam which is directed upward into the sky toward any stellar planetary systems which may happen to lie above." "Amazing," da Silva grunted. "Explains everything." "What do you mean?" Frobisher asked sharply. "Just humble before wonders of science," da Silva told him. Frobisher nodded. "You're right," he said. "Who knows but what the message now being beamed, with its appeal for help from a war-threatened and deluded humanity, may some day or century be received by a truly mature and benign race, which will swiftly come to our aid? By the by, Mr. Gish, watch that railing. It's broken." Phil jerked his hand away from the rusted pipe. "Yes," he said to Frobisher, "but how do these thought waves originate at the focus?" "Just look," Frobisher told him. Phil squintingly studied the gleaming saucer through his dark glasses and it became less of a jumble of highlights. Projecting from a hole in the center of the bowl was a brownish-red blob wearing goggles that looked as if they were made of a darker glass than his own specs. The blob's lips moved and Phil heard a hauntingly familiar voice saying, of all things, "S-O-S, earth. S-O-S, earth." "Our star esper," Frobisher chortled, "if you'll pardon a pun of which we're rather fond. To be sure, it's thought waves, not sound waves, he's originating, but it helps him esp if he says the message at the same time he thinks of it. He's a bit of an eccentric--a religious scholar--but that's the case with most of our best people."