The technician shook his head. "Nothing but noise. I've only been beaming them for four days, and our schedule calls for a week on each sector. I'll keep on as planned, but I'm positive that the star systems in the Lyra sector are not inhabited in any sense we would recognize, or, if there is life there, it hasn't developed enough of a science for them to know they're being signalled." The anthropologist sighed. "It may be a hopeless task. It may be several lifetimes before we locate systems similar to ours. I had hoped to find some in my day." "Don't be discouraged, professor. I'll start hitting Cygnus for you, and maybe we can find something there. Yesterday, for a minute, I thought I had something in Lyra. In the middle of the random noise, suddenly I came across what looked like 'dot dot, dot dot, dot-dot-dot-dot, dot dot dot, dot dot dot--' It was clear as crystal, and much louder than the noise, but then it lapsed into the usual nonsense. Pure chance at work, of course, but for a minute there, my hair stood on end. Well, it's all in the day's work. I'll just keep sending our stuff--" "Of course," said the anthropologist, "there might be intelligent people in the sector you're working right now, but they might be like the Zuni." "The Zuni?" asked Weber. "The Zuni are a large village of American Indians who live in New Mexico. Right next to what used to be a big Indian reservation for the Navahos. A typical inward-looking culture. Now the Navahos, although they still keep their own language and religion, are an outward-looking culture, interested in the rest of the world. The Zuni are not. For them the boundaries of the world are the walls of Zuni village. They wouldn't bother to listen to a message from outer space, much less reply." "Can't be very bright," said Joe. "On the contrary. Some of them have made the highest scores on the Tromovich intelligence test that have ever been recorded. It's not a matter of intelligence, but the attitude of the culture." "Well," said Joe, "let's hope most of the worlds of space have outward-looking cultures." He turned back to his transmitter. * * * * * Pehn found himself lying on a couch. He tried to get up, and felt his father's hands at his shoulders restraining him. "Don't move, Pehn," said his mother. "You fainted, and they brought you home." She lifted his head, and let him sip a cup of the hot _akhlai_. After a time his father addressed him with unusual kindness. "We cannot delay any longer, Pehn. Your mother and sister and I are all agreed. You must undergo Ceremony. What is proper thing to do for you, I don't know, but Bidagha believes he can help you. This crisis in our world is making us all ill, and it is no wonder that you, being young, should suffer more acutely than rest of us." Pehn tried to laugh. "Would you trust me to Bidagha?"