mple. I've been off Earth for a year, staring at bearded faces and
listening to baritone voices. If it isn't too short notice, I'd like to
take you to dinner and a show and whatever else suggests itself
afterward."

"Done!" she said. "What time?"

"Twenty hundred? At your place?"

"I'll be waiting."

Dave Turnbull cut the circuit, grinning. The Duckworth problem had
almost faded from his mind. But it flared back up again when he glanced
at the mail tubes on his desk.

"Damn!" he said.

He turned back to the phone, jammed a finger into the dial and spun it
angrily. After a moment, the screen came to life with the features of a
beautifully smiling but obviously efficient blond girl.

"Interstellar Communications. May I serve you, sir?"

"How long will it take to get a message to Mendez? And what will it
cost?"

"One moment, sir." Her right hand moved off-screen, and her eyes shifted
to look at a screen that Turnbull couldn't see. "Mendez," she said
shortly. "The message will reach there in five hours and thirty-six
minutes total transmission time. Allow an hour's delay for getting the
message on the tapes for beaming.

"The cost is one seventy-five per symbol. Spaces and punctuation marks
are considered symbols. _A, an, and_, and _the_ are symbols."

Turnbull thought a moment. It was high--damned high. But then a man with
a bona fide Ph. D. was not exactly a poor man if he worked at his
specialty or taught.

"I'll call you back as soon as I've composed the message," he said.

"Very well, sir."

He cut the circuit, grabbed a pencil and started scribbling. When he'd
finished reducing the thing to its bare minimum, he started to dial the
number again. Then he scowled and dialed another number.

This time, a mild-faced young man in his middle twenties appeared.
"University of California in Los Angeles. Personnel Office. May I serve
you?"

"This is Dr. Dave Turnbull, in New York. I understand that Scholar
Duckworth is on leave. I'd like his present address."

The young man looked politely firm. "I'm sorry, doctor; we can not give
out that information."

"Oh, yap! Look here; I know where he is; just give me--" He stopped.
"Never mind. Let me talk to Thornwald."

Thornwald was easier to deal with, since he knew both Duckworth and
Turnbull. Turnbull showed him Duckworth's letter on the screen. "I know
he's on Mendez; I just don't want to have to look all over the planet
for him."

"I know, Dave. I'm su