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got enough trouble on their hands, trying to work out our position.”
    “Think they’ll do it, Doc?” he asked, seriously.
    “I guess so. But it’ll take them some time. Our real hope is you, Lemmy--you and the radio.”
    He didn’t reply to that but instead asked: “What made Mitch flare up like that?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe the thought that he might not get to the Moon after all, or maybe the cramped conditions and lack of gravity have something to do with it. Who can tell? Nobody has ever been in our circumstances before.”
    The radio was now almost reassembled. Lemmy was just putting the final screws into place when a thought occurred to me. “Was the recorder switched on during that row, Lemmy?”
    He paused for a moment. “Er--no, it wasn’t.”
    “Pity!”
    “Eh?”
    “I’d have liked to have kept a record of every word spoken during this trip.”
    “What for?”
    “All manner of things can be concluded from the way men act and what they say, and a record of our reactions might help other crews in the future. There must be some reason why two men, perfectly stable on Earth, should jump at each other’s throats less than twenty-four hours after leaving it. There was no need for it, Lemmy. It doesn’t make sense.”
    “I’m not jumping at anybody’s throat, Doc. Neither are you.”
    “Not yet you aren’t, but watch it. There’s no knowing what might happen if you had nothing to do but sit and wait as Jet and Mitch were doing.”
    Lemmy grunted. “Fat chance of that.” After a few minutes he looked up from his work and said: “Do you think we should turn back, Doc?”
    “Yes,” I told him. “Unless you can get that radio working.”
    “That’s what I think, too. Jet was right. Mitch ought to have known better.”
    “Maybe. But that still doesn’t excuse Jet for losing his temper.”
    “No, I don’t suppose it does.” He looked over his shoulder at where Mitch and Jet were busy with their tables. “Can they hear what we’re saying?”
    “If they were listening they might. But at the moment they’re too busy to notice us.”
    “There,” said Lemmy as he turned the last screw home. “Now, Doc, we’ll try again.”
    “To raise Control?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What do you think our chances are?”
    “I don’t know. Three times I’ve pulled this stuff to pieces and three times I’ve put it all together again. And each time she should have worked; but even the emergency circuits don’t function. I can’t understand it. It’s got me worried, Doc.”
    “Well, you can’t do more than your best.”
    “But it makes me feel I’m letting the ship down.”
    “You shouldn’t let it get you that way, Lemmy.”
    “Well, it does. Now, let’s switch on and see if we get any juice through her.”
    He pressed the switch and we both looked hopefully at the current indicators. They sprang to life. I almost shouted in my excitement. “It’s there.”
    Lemmy was even more excited than I. He laughed as he said: “Yeah--we made it.” Then he took control of himself and said: “No, wait, don’t let’s get too excited. We’re not through to home yet.”
    “Then give them a call, for goodness’ sake,” I said. “Try to raise them.”
    Lemmy switched on the microphone and slowly and deliberately chanted: “Hullo, Control. Rocketship Luna calling Control. If you love me and can hear me, let’s hear from you. Over.”
    Not a sound came from the loudspeaker.
    Lemmy made a gesture of disgust with his hands. “Not a peep,” he said. “They should be receiving us, Doc, there’s bags of aerial current. They should hear us on Mars with this equipment. Why, if . . .”
    He suddenly broke off to look up at the speaker, cock his head to one side and listen. Faintly, very faintly, from the gauze-covered circle came an odd sound.
    “Hey,” I said, “what’s that?”
    “I haven’t a clue,” he replied.
    The sound we were hearing could never be adequately described in words. It