really big problem is the power requirement," Wills was saying. "We've got to use a lot of energy to cancel out big sound waves, but we've got several possible answers in mind and we're working on all of them."

He caressed the crackle-finish box fondly.

"The basic gimmick works fine, though. Yesterday I took it down to a static test stand over in building 90 and had them turn on a pretty fair-sized steering rocket for one of the big moon-ships. Reduced the noise-level by about 25 per cent, it did. Of course, I still needed my plugs."

Joseph nodded approvingly and stared vacantly into the maze of transistors and tubes.

"I've built it to work on ordinary 60 cycle house current," Wills told him. "In case you should want to demonstrate it to anybody."

Partch became brusque. He liked Bob, but he had work to do.

"Yes, I probably shall, Bob. I tell you what, why don't you just leave it here in my office and I'll look it over later, hm?"

"Okay, Mr. Partch."

Joseph ushered him out of the office, complimenting him profusely on the good work he was doing. Only after he was gone and Joseph was alone again behind the closed door, did he realize that he had a sudden yearning for company, for someone to talk to.

Partch had Betty send him in a light lunch and he sat behind his desk nibbling the tasteless stuff without much enthusiasm. He wondered if he was getting an ulcer.

Yes, he decided, he was going to have to have a long talk with Dr. Coles that afternoon. Be a pleasure to get it all off his chest, his feeling of melancholia, his latent sense of doom. Be good just to talk about it.

Oh, everything was getting to him these days. He was in a rut, that was it. A rut.

He spat a sesame seed against the far wall and the low whir of the automatic vacuum cleaner rose and fell briefly.

Joseph winced. The speakers were playing "Slam Bang Boom" again.

His mind turned away from the grating melody in self defense, to look inward on himself.

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