Barbara took a sip of her own highball. "We won't lose a damned thing and you know it," she said quietly. "A thousand years--" "So what?" she asked simply. "Supposing that they were a bit more accurate than Scyth predicted. Suppose that they took this thousand years out of our life at a time when you weren't looking at the sun. Do you realize--" Barbara's voice lowered a bit dramatically, "--or have you been watching the night sky to see whether they have already?" "I have," he admitted with rising excitement. "All right," she replied complacently. "Then you surely must realize that this thousand years out of your life isn't going to change the stock market a point, or anything else." Dusty nodded. "This I can realize. But do you think I like losing everything but my other shirt? Do you realize that as of this moment I've got only a couple of thousand bucks tucked away and about as much prospect of landing another job as a dead fly?" "You're not really worried, are you, Dusty?" "Why shouldn't I be?" "Because as soon as this barytrine field goes on and off and we find ourselves around another sun, in another sky, you'll be corroborated." He looked at her. "Of course--and I've kept my big trap shut, too." "You've what?" "You don't think I'd be nuts enough to go around telling people 'Well, if you don't believe me, just wait until next month!' do you?" "Why not?" "Because then they'd have carefully kept me on ice until after the big event." "After which your story would be corroborated and you'd--" "I'd have nothing," said Dusty sharply. "It's not good enough. Sure, I'd be corroborated, but then I'd be blamed for not being effectual enough to convince people in the first place. I'd be blamed for not being the guy I've been depicting on the stage. I've been Dusty Britton, The Great Hero. But when it comes down to really doing something, I'm Dusty Britton, Liar First Class. Next it is going to be Dusty Britton, Helpless Incompetent. I can't just fold my hands and tell 'em that they can wait and see, and then yelp 'I told you so!' because if there's anything that people hate it's 'I told you so!' characters." Barbara Crandall looked at Dusty pityingly. "Dusty," she asked softly, "Just what do you hope to accomplish?" "I hope I'll be able to--" "No. I know what you want to do. But what I want to know is how." "There must be some way--" his voice trailed off. "I can't see it. Scyth has probably gone to Marandis to get his generator. Dusty, do you know where the hell is Marandis?" "Somewhere towards the galactic center."