interchange was ended, and Ran-los bowed
himself out. Jim turned to his companion.

"There's some more queer stuff for you, Angie. Just before
shift-change, Ran-los heard odd sounds from the other side of the
barrier at the end of gallery M-39. Says they seemed like signals o'
some kind. He's a wise old bird and if he's worried about something
it's damn well worth lookin' into. I don't know whether to find out
first what's happened to Darl, or--"

Again there was an interruption; this time from the usually silent
radio-communication set in the far corner. Jim leaped to the
instrument and snapped on the head-set. Angus leaned over him,
watching his intent face.

Faintly, as from an immense distance, came the thin whistle of
space-radio. "S-W-A ... S-W-A ... S-W-A...." The general attention
signal for all Earth's far-flung outposts from Jupiter to Mercury! The
signal was coming from "M-I-T-A," the Earth company's home station on
the Moon, outside the Heaviside layer. "S-W-A ... S-W-A ... M-I-T-A ...
M-I-T-A." Again the signal rose and fell.

* * * * *

Jim reached for the sending key and pounded out his acknowledgement:
"K; M-E-R ... K; M-E-R ... K; M-E-R." He listened again, heard Venus
answer, and Jupiter. Across five hundred million miles of space ITA
men were responding to the roll-call of Earth. A reminiscent smile
crossed Jim's face as he recognized the stuttering fist of Rade
Perrin, on Eros. Rade always sent as if he were afraid the instrument
would snap at his fingers.

M-I-T-A was signalling again, and now came the message: "S-W-A. All
trading posts, mines and colonies are warned to prepare for possible
attack. The Earth Government has just announced the receipt of an
ultimatum from--" A raucous howl cut across the message and drowned it
out. The siren blast howled on and on, mocking Jim's straining ears.
"Well I'll be--Interference! Deliberate blanketing! The rats! The--"
He blazed into a torrent of profanity whose imaginativeness was
matched only by its virulence.

Mac was clutching his shoulder, stirred for once out of his vaunted
"deegnity." "What is it, mon, what is it?"

"War, you bloody Scotchman, war! That's what it is!"

"War! Foosh, man, 'tis eempossible!"

"The hell it's impossible! Damn, and Darl not here! Take over, Mac;
I've got to go up an' get him!"

* * * * *

In the meantime Thomas' helpless journey had come to an end