Netath stood there trembling while the foreign minister sent his eyes darting over the paper. "It's from Rear-Sobucks!" Bataul exclaimed. "A retail concern that obviously handles automatic bathers!" "But it was our aid shipment, wasn't it?" "Apparently not. It says here, '... for merchandise previously extended _in behalf of_ the Western Cluster....'" "I don't understand." Bataul's features struggled through a gamut of expressions. "I think I'm just beginning to. Do you remember last year when we had that communications survey made? Between here and the nearest Western relay station, there was that single system. I think some crackpot had laid claim--of course. McWorther's his name. Calls himself a potentate." Netath stiffened. "And you think--?" "I think both we and McWorther are victims of message interfusion," Bataul said flatly. "And our aid shipments--?" "I'd bet McWorther must be wringing his hands over more loot than he'll ever be able to count." Netath started punching buttons on his desk. "We've got work to do." "What kind?" "First you're going to get off a message to this Rear-Sobucks bunch and tell them what they can do with their bill _and_ their automatic bather--if it'll fit. You can also explain what's happened." "This time we'll send the message around the _right_ leg of the cluster," Bataul assured. "Then we're hopping over to this McWorther system and laying down the law to that character. _That_ I want to do personally." * * * * * "This," said Twenty-Seventh Vice-President Wheeler of Rear-Sobucks, "explains it all." "Communications interfusion?" the twenty-sixth vice-president asked. "Absolutely, V.R. Just like Premier Netath says." "Then there's a Rear-Sobucks customer who has been unnecessarily inconvenienced and still hasn't been satisfied?" With a curt nod, Wheeler confirmed the other's fear. V.R. rose from his desk and wagged a finger at the other. "I still don't understand it all, Wheeler. But I can't avoid the impression that you're somehow responsible for the mess." Wheeler cowered. "_You're_ going to take a trip--now!" V.R. went on, gathering steam. "_You're_ going to deliver a bather personally to this Potentate McWorther. _You're_ going to extend the apologies of the entire Rear-Sobucks organization!" IV Titus poured his tenth consecutive julep--directly from the bottle, without the benefit of ice, sugar or mint--and leaned back in his chair. His occupancy of a corner of the veranda had been a hard-won concession. Almost indifferent now, he stared at the hundreds of virtuosos and shouted, "Go home!"