The Marandanian gave Dusty instructions and waited for a second small circle to appear beside the first, with a different face in it. This face was older and not in uniform. The man said, "Please explain the nature of your difficulty. I am Gant Nerley." As well as he could, under the circumstances, Dusty explained his predicament. "I see," said Gant Nerley thoughtfully. "This is a rather complex problem to solve. Can you state your location?" "Hardly." "I suppose not. If we don't know where you are from here, the chance that a non-galactic culture would know where we are from there is indeed remote." "Haven't you a filed plan of operations?" demanded Dusty, using a tone of voice that indicated that he thought that any culture above the level of the ape wouldn't let people go galloping all over the galaxy, tearing up stars and ruining scenery without first having filed a program and had such program approved by twenty-seven signatures. "There is a filed plan," said Nerley defensively. "But naturally it is sealed as a matter of protection for the company." "And no provision for emergency?" "Only by the consent of the licensed company." "Then you'd better call a conference at once. Scyth isn't going to last long enough for you to comb the galaxy for us." "That's why it might be better to let the barytrine field run to completion." * * * * * Dusty's voice grew hard. "I wish you birds would stop tossing off a thousand years of our life with the flick of a finger," he said. "What difference does it make? You'd not notice it, and--" "Who says so?" snapped Dusty, his irritation mounting. "Time is of importance only when its passage can be measured in reference to outside events. You have no contact with outside events. Therefore it makes no difference whether you come in contact with us now or a thousand years from now, so long as the same people of your culture are involved." "Now see here--"