Tommy Driscoll sat up straight, his eyes wide and astonished. His mouth formed itself into a particularly round O. This, of course, was the natural occurrence if Fate or Chance or Destiny was to use him to make the comic books come true. He had been listening with only a fraction of his ears. To a ten-year-old boy, adults do not often seem intelligent. Few of them have any interest in Space Captain McGee or the Star Rover.

But Tommy's father was talking about interplanetary communication! Of signals from the planets of another sun! From creatures who might be super-intelligent vegetables like the Wangos the Star Rover had to fight, or immaterial entities like those misty things that almost defeated Captain McGee on the Ghost Planet because when he swung his mighty fist there wasn't anything solid for him to hit. Tommy's father was talking about things like that!

He got up and gazed in the open door of the small laboratory. He regarded the rather messy assemblage of equipment on the workbench with bright-eyed, respectful awe. His father nodded.

"H'llo, Captain," he said to his son. "No hot wires around. Come in. What's on your mind?"

Tommy's eyes shone.

"Uh—you were talkin' about signals from another planet."

"I see," said his father. "Right up your alley, eh? I hadn't realized the popular appeal. But if you'd like to listen—"

Tommy fairly quivered with eagerness. His father threw a switch. There was a tiny hum from a loud-speaker, then silence. Then, presently, there was a tiny hissing noise. Just a hissing sound. Nothing else.

"That's it, Captain," his father told Tommy. "That's the noise the Jansky radiation makes. When we turn this dial we tune it out this way"—he demonstrated—"and also when we turn the dial that way. Then we tune it back in." He proved it. "Nobody has ever explained it, but it comes from outer space. I think it comes from just one spot."

Professor Wardle, smoking a pipe and sprawled in a chair, nodded amiably at Tommy.

"Yes, sir," Tommy said, thrilled.

His throat went dry from excitement. His father threw a second switch. A television screen glowed faintly.

"Now it's transferred to the screen," he told Tommy, "but it's still all scrambled. Nothing happens. It's quite a job to 

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