Impatiently the operator waited for the tape to come clicking from the machine. It came, letter by letter, click by click, at fifty words per minute. The operator tore the strip from the machine and read aloud: "Hold _Empress of Kolain_. Reroute to Terra direct. Will be quarantined at Venus. Whole planet in epidemic of Venusian Fever." "Snap answer," growled the clerk. "Tell 'em: 'Too little and too late. _Empress of Kolain_ left thirty seconds before warning bell. What do we do now?'" The operator's fingers clicked madly over the keyboard. Across space went the signal, across the void to the Relay Station. It ran through the Station's mechanism and went darting to Terra. It clicked out as sent in the offices of Interplanet Transport. A vice president read the message and swore roundly. He swore in three Terran languages, in the language of the Venusians, and even managed to visualize a few choice remarks from the Martian Pictographs that were engraved on the Temples of Canalopsis. "Miss Deane," he yelled at the top of his voice. "Take a message! Shoot a line to Channing on Venus Equilateral. Tell him: '_Empress of Kolain_ on way to Venus. Must be contacted and rerouted to Terra direct. Million dollars' worth of Martian Line Moss aboard; will perish under quarantine. Spare no expense.' Sign that 'Keg Johnson, Interplanet.'" "Yes, Mr. Johnson," said the secretary. "Right away." More minutes of light-fast communication. Out of Terra to Luna, across space to Venus Equilateral. The machines clicked and tape cleared away from the slot. It was pasted neatly on a sheet of official paper, stamped _rush_, and put in a pneumatic tube. * * * * * As Don Channing began to read the message, Williams on Mars was chewing worriedly on his fourth fingernail, and Vice President Keg Johnson was working on his second. But Williams had a head start and therefore would finish first. Both men knew that nothing more could be done. If Channing couldn't do it, nobody could. Channing finished the 'gram and swore. It was a good-natured swear-word, far from downright vilification, though it did consign certain items to the nether regions. He punched a button with some relish, and a rather good-looking woman entered. She smiled at him with more intimacy than a secretary should, and sat down. "Arden, call Walt, will you?" Arden Westland smiled. "You might have done that yourself," she told him. She reached for the call button with her left hand, and the diamond on her finger glinted like a pilot light. "I know it," he answered, "but that wouldn't give me the chance to see you." "Baloney," said Arden. "You just wait until next October. I'll be in your hair all the time then." "By then I may be tired of you," said Channing with a smile. "But until then, take it or leave it." His face grew serious, and he tossed the message across the table to her. "What do you think of that?"