The communication box on the desk lit up when Clocker repeated the sentence a few times, and a voice from the box said, "Increase output. Initial impression weak. Also wave distortion. Correct and continue." Barnes carefully adjusted the dials and Clocker went on repeating the sentence, slowing down to the speed Barnes requested. He did it automatically after a while, which gave him a chance to think. [Illustration] He had no plan to get Zelda out of here; he was improvising and he didn't like it. The setup still had him puzzled. He knew he wasn't dreaming all this, for there were details his imagination could never have supplied, and the notion of spirits with scientific devices would baffle even Oil Pocket. Everybody else appeared to accept these men as the aliens they claimed to be, but Clocker, fearing a con he couldn't understand, refused to. He had no other explanation, though, no evidence of any kind except deep suspicion of any noble-sounding enterprise. In his harsh experience, they always had a profit angle hidden somewhere. Until he knew more, he had to go along with the routine, hoping he would eventually find a way out for Zelda and himself. While he was repeating his monotonous sentence, he wondered what his body was doing back on Earth. Lying in a bed, probably, since he wasn't being asked to perform any physical jobs like Zelda's endless time-step. That reminded him of Doc Hawkins and the psychiatrists. There must be some here; he wished vengefully that he could meet them and see what they thought of their theories now. * * * * * Then came the end of what was apparently the work day. "We're making splendid progress," Barnes told him. "I know how tiresome it is to keep saying the same thing over and over, but the distance is _such_ a great obstacle. I think it's amazing that we can even _bridge_ it, don't you? Just imagine--the light that's reaching Earth at this very minute left our star when mammoths were roaming your western states and mankind lived in caves! And yet, with our thought-wave boosters, we are in instantaneous communication!" The soap, Clocker thought, to make him feel he was doing something important. "Well, you are doing something important," Barnes said, as though Clocker had spoken. Clocker would have turned red if he had been able to. As it was, he felt dismay and embarrassment. "Do you realize the size and value of this project?" Barnes went on. "We have a more detailed record of human society than Man himself ever had! There will be not even the most insignificant corner of your civilization left unrecorded! Your life, my life--the life of this Zelda whom you came here to rescue--all are trivial, for we must die eventually, but the project will last eternally!" Clocker stood up, his eyes hard and worried. "You're telling me you know what I'm here for?"