through the library to find a Dirac record with a beep still
on it. Just a moment more while I make connections. . . .”
Weinbaum used the time to bring his mind back to the
matter at hand, although not quite completely. Then two
tape spindles began to whir like so many bees, and the end-
stopped sound of the Dirac beep filled the room. Wald
stopped the apparatus, reset it, and started the smearing
tape very slowly in the opposite direction.
A distant babble of voices came from the speaker. As
Weinbaum leaned forward tensely, one voice said clearly
and loudly above the rest:
“Hello, Earth bureau. Lt. T. L. Matthews at Hercules
Station NGC 6341, transmission date 13-22-2091. We have
the last point on the orbit curve of your dope-runners plotted,
and the curve itself points to a small system about twenty-
five light-years from the base here; the place hasn’t even got
a name on our charts. Scouts show the home planet at least
twice as heavily fortified as we anticipated, so we’ll need
another cruiser. We have a ‘can-do’ from you in the beep
for us, but we’re waiting as ordered to get it in the present
NGC 6341 Matthews out.”
After the first instant of stunned amazementfor no
amount of intellectual willingness to accept could have
prepared him for the overwhelming fact itselfWeinbaum
had grabbed a pencil and begun to write at top speed. As the
voice signed out he threw the pencil down and looked ex-
citedly at Dr. Wald.
“Seven months ahead,” he said, aware that he was grinning
like an idiot. “Thor, you know the trouble we’ve had with