"Time.... Time--" muttered Hotang Lu. "Always time. Must we fight time forever?" "Fighting time is most difficult when you are behind," remarked Toralen Ki. "When you are ahead, it is no longer a fight." "We must move swiftly and yet we can do nothing to cause haste. Confound it, must a man always be pinched between the urgency and the impossible?" "Certainly. It makes one feel the ease of life during the times of no-stress." "Some day I hope to see a period of no-stress that is longer than one tenth the duration of the trouble before and after it." "You may," smiled Toralen Ki. "But there will be no after." "Gloomy thought. I'll forget it, thank you. But to change the gloomy subject, I suggest that we contact Tlembo and let our ruler know that we have, in part, been successful." "Right. I wish we were artists. So much can be conveyed to others by mere pictures." Hotang Lu shook his head. "How could you possibly sketch the operation of a suppressor? Perhaps _they_ could do it, for they seem to have advanced the art of thought-conveyance through pictures to a high degree. But recall that no Tlemban ever considered the art a necessary one and so we lack the technique." "I know." "After we contact Tlembo, when can we say we are to start?" "I think they convey something about two days. We await the arrival of the contingents from the other planets." "More time wasted." "Think of the eons before this and the eons that will follow. And then think of how utterly minute your two days are. They will arrive, but quickly enough." * * * * * Flight Commander Cliff Lane heard the recognition gear tick off, and he whirled to look at the scanning plate. "The devil," he growled. "Sir? "What is he doing here?" "I don't understand, sir." Cliff smiled wryly. "Sorry. I thought this would be more or less pleasant." "Isn't it?" "That trace," he said, pointing to the squiggle on the scanning plate, "happens to be the recognition trace of no one other than Stellor Downing." "Oh," said the orderly. "I didn't know." Lane grinned. "Then you're the only one that doesn't. Any of the rest of this outfit know it on sight. Take a good look at it, Timmy, and the next time you see it, do your best to do whatever that is doing, but do it quicker, neater, and with more flourish. Understand?" "Yes, sir." Lane strode into the operations room, and looked over the plotter's shoulder. "What's he doing, Link?" Lincoln made some calculations on a paper, plunked the keys on his computer for a moment and then came up with an equation. He showed it to Lane with a grimace. "Landing," said Lane cryptically. Lincoln nodded. "Can we beat him in?" "I think so--if we get the jump on him." "There are just two landing circles on Mojave that aren't dusty," said Lane. "One of them is not far from the field office building. The other takes a full hour of travel before you can check in. I don't like to walk."