"I may remind you that in two months twenty-nine days we're due in Willafours," said Bal. "Without looking at the charts I can tell you we still have more than a hundred light-years to go."
"A week," said Ethaniel. "We can spare a week and still get there on time."
"A week?" said Bal. "To settle their problems? They've had two world wars in one generation and that the third and final one is coming up you can't help feeling in everything they do."
"It won't take much," said Ethaniel. "The wrong diplomatic move, or a trigger-happy soldier could set it off. And it wouldn't have to be deliberate. A meteor shower could pass over and their clumsy instruments could interpret it as an all-out enemy attack."
"Too bad," said Bal. "We'll just have to forget there ever was such a planet as Earth."
"Could you? Forget so many people?"
"I'm doing it," said Bal. "Just give them a little time and they won't be here to remind me that I have a conscience."
"My memory isn't convenient," said Ethaniel. "I ask you to look at them."
Bal rustled, flicking the screen intently. "Very much like ourselves," he said at last. "A bit shorter perhaps, and most certainly incomplete. Except for the one thing they lack, and that's quite odd, they seem exactly like us. Is that what you wanted me to say?"