When the ship approached a second planet, Cochrane saw nothing of it.  He was furiously monitoring the broadcast of a show in which he’d had no hand at all.  From his own, professional standpoint it was terrible.  Jamison spouted interminably, so Cochrane considered.  Al, the pilot, was actually interviewed by an offscreen voice!  But the pictures from space were excellent.  While the ship floated in orbit, waiting to descend to pick up Babs and Cochrane, Bell had hooked his camera to an amplifying telescope and he did have magnificent shots of dramatic terrain on the planet now twenty light-years behind.

Cochrane watched the show in a mingling of jealousy and relief.  It was not as good as he would have done.  But fortunately, Bell and Jamison had stuck fairly close to straight travelogue-stuff, and close-up shots of vegetation and animals had been interspersed with the remoter pictures with moderate competence, if without undue imagination.  An audience which had not seen many shows of the kind would be thrilled.  It even amounted to a valid change of pace.  Anybody who watched this would at least want to see more and different pictures from the stars.

Halfway through, he heard the now-muffled noise of rockets.  He knew the ship was descending through atmosphere by the steady sound, though he had not the faintest idea what was outside.  He ground his teeth as—­for timing—­he received the commercial inserted in the film.  The U. S. commercials served the purpose, of course.  He could not watch the other pictures shown to residents of other than North America in the commercial portions of the show.

He was counting seconds to resume transmission when he felt the slight but distant impact which meant that the ship had touched ground.  A very short time after, even the lessened, precautionary rocket-roar cut off.

Cochrane ground his teeth.  The ship had landed on a planet he had not seen and in whose choice he had had no hand.  He was humiliated.  The other members of the ship’s company looked out at scenes no other human eyes had ever beheld.

He regarded the final commercial, inserted into the broadcast for its American sponsor.  It showed, purportedly, the true story of two girl friends, one blonde and one brunette, who were wall-flowers at all parties.  They tried frantically to remedy the situation by the use of this toothpaste and that, and this deodorant and the other.  In vain!  But then they became the centers of all the festivities they attended, as soon as they began to wash their hair with Rayglo Shampoo.

Holden and Johnny Simms came clattering down from the control-room together.  They looked excited.  They plunged together toward the stair-well that would take them to the deck on which the airlock opened.

Holden panted,

“Jed!  Creatures outside!  They look like men!”

The communicator-screen faithfully monitored the end of the commercial.  Two charming girls, radiant and lovely, raised their voices in grateful song, hymning the virtues of Rayglo Shampoo.  There followed brisk reminders of the superlative, magical results obtained by those who used Rayglo Foundation Cream, Rayglo Kisspruf Lipstick, and Rayglo home permanent—­in four strengths; for normal, hard-to-wave, easy-to-wave, and children’s hair.