“It could indeed,” Weinbaum said. “But we’ll find out, I
imagine. Give her another spin, Thor.”
“Shall I try for a picture this time?”
Weinbaum nodded. A moment later, he was looking
squarely into the green-skinned face of something that
looked like an animated traffic signal with a helmet on it.
Though the creature had no mouth, the Dirac speaker was
saying quite clearly, “Hello, Chief. This is Thammos NGC
2287, transmission date Gor 60, 302 by my calendar, July
2, 2973 by yours. This is a lousy little planet. Everything
stinks of oxygen, just like Earth. But the natives accept us
and that’s the important thing. We’ve got your genius safely
born. Detailed report coming later by paw. NGC 2287
Thammos out.”
“I wish I knew my New General Catalogue better,” Wein-
baum said. “Isn’t that M 41 in Canis Major, the one with
the red star in the middle? And we’ll be using non-humanoids
there! What was that creature, anyhow? Never mind, spin
her again.”
Dr. Wald spun her again. Weinbaum, already feeling a
little dizzy, had given up taking notes. That could come
later, all that could come later. Now he wanted only scenes
and voices, more and more scenes and voices from the
future. They were better than aquavit, even with a beer
chaser.
4
THE INDOCTRINATION tape ended, and Krasna touched a
button. The Dirac screen darkened, and folded silently back
into the desk.
“They didn’t see their way through to us, not by a long
shot,” he said. “They didn’t see, for instance, that when
one section of the government becomes nearly all-knowing