2
s seemed the most unlikely of all possible places for anything of importance to happen.
There was one man awake, on stand-by watch. A radio glowed beside him--a short-wave unit, tuned to the frequency used by all the bases of all the nations on Antarctica--English, French, Belgian, Danish, Russian. The stand-by man yawned. There was nothing to do.
* * * * *
"There's no story in my work," said Soames politely. "I work with this wave-guide radar. It's set to explore the sky instead of the horizon. It spots meteors coming in from space, records their height and course and speed, and follows them down until they burn up in the air. From its record we can figure out the orbits they followed before Earth's gravity pulled them down."
The girl reporter was Gail Haynes. She nodded, but she looked at Soames instead of the complex instrument. She wore the multi-layer cold-weather garments issued for Antarctica, but somehow she did not look grotesque in them. Now her expression was faintly vexed. The third person in the dome was Captain Estelle Moggs, W. A. C., in charge of Gail's journey and the public-relations angle generally.
"I just chart the courses of meteors," repeated Soames. "That's all. There is nothing else to it."
Gail shook her head, watching him.
"Can't you give me a human angle?" she asked. "I'm a woman. I'd like to be interested."
He shrugged, and she said somehow disconsolately:
"What will knowing the orbits of meteors lead to?"
"Finding out some special meteor-orbits," he said drily, "might lead to finding out when the Fifth Planet blew itself up.--According to Bode's Law there ought to be a planet like ours between Mars and Jupiter. If there was, it blew itself to pieces, or maybe the people on it had an atomic war."
Gail cocked her head to one side.
"Now, that promises!" she said. "Keep on!"
"There ought to be a planet between Mars and Jupiter, in a certain orbit," he told her. "There isn't. Instead, there's a lot