* * * * * There was one that he recognized instantly. It said, reading from left to right "Off, Warm-up, Stand-by, Operate." It was a big four-position hand-lever and it was a good idea, excepting what did Dusty do next? "Can Scyth help?" pleaded Dusty. "He's out cold like a Northern Light. Lost blood and--" "But how'm I to run this godawful thing?" "I don't know," said Barbara doubtfully. "Try something." "What?" he asked. She pointed to a small button high on the front panel beside the glazed plate. It said, "SC/WBN-3 Phanoband 22". Dusty looked at the nameplate and the menslator helped him translate the nameplate into "Space, Commercial/Non-adjustable, High-power, Emergency--Model Three. Phanoband Twenty-Two." Dusty looked at Barbara and shrugged. This was an emergency, so Dusty put out a forefinger and pressed the button. A pilot lamp winked from blue to red and a meter on the forepanel rose. There was a momentary whirring from far below in the big star ship and then along the bottom of the ground-glass looking window in front of him, a small circle began to grow luminous. A man's face appeared. He was obviously in some sort of uniform; it had that air. The collar was high and the effect was uncomfortable. A pair of gold diagrams glistened on one shoulder. The man looked human enough to be the local desk-sergeant in costume dress. As soon as the little circle was completely clear he said tersely: "Distress Call received. Identify yourself, state your position, define your danger, and estimate the time remaining in which you have a factor of safety." Dusty blinked and then looked at Barbara. She shrugged. Dusty shrugged back and said, "Are you Marandis?" "This is Marandis Emergency. Identify yourself, state your pos--" "Stop talking like a robot--or are you a robot?" "I am not! What is the meaning of this? Using a distress-call band for--" "This is a distress call," snapped Dusty. "And part of the distress is that I can't identify myself because I don't know the language." "You'll have--" "The other part of the distress is that the man who knows all about this is likely to die of a bad accident if he is not given medical attention. So now you know, tell me what to do next." "Who are you?" "I am Dusty Britton, if that means anything." "I don't know you." "Of course not. I've never been to Marandis. I'm not a Marandanian, just a character of the race your play-mates term 'Backward,' and/or 'Primitive.' But you better do something fast." "What is the name of the injured party?" "Scyth Radnor." "Then your identity is Exploration License K-221-Y. I know Radnor. I must get you off the distress band. Please switch to Space Communications, Band Forty-Five. I--" "Wait," said Dusty quickly. "As a member of another solar culture you must be aware of the fact that I am not familiar with your equipment. Which knob do I twist and how far?"