Doyle Tindar was awakened by the urgent buzzing of the visor-phone by his bed. He grumbled, rolled over, glanced at the view-plate and winced as he saw the fat, grim face of the Control Board Director, Sam Penset. He sat up, yawned, and snapped the set on. "Yeah?" "Listen, Tindar," Penset boomed and Tindar turned the volume down. "We've got a large pile of trouble. No reports from the mines on Bolus last night. Automatic radio communication absolutely dead. Power plant may have caught a meteor,