"If, somehow, the little I know is sufficient to give you your answer; an answer which satisfies you completely, then the Change has been to yourselves as well as the ground upon which you walk. If it is not, then perhaps you may never have one.
"A little more than ten years ago, this is how it was...."
He opened the notebook.
"I don't think it's a runner, sir. Not unless they've found a new place in Deep Space to bootleg their water. But we're hearing English all right."
The communications lieutenant tried for a new track on the com-beam and gambled that there were a few minutes of overload time left in the amptubes. The staccato whisper faded altogether for a moment, then came back a trifle stronger.
"Blow 'em out if you have to! Mister Grimes, stand by with auxiliary communications." The Stellar Patrol captain readjusted his own headset and waited. It was all there was to do. The drive had been cut; the ship was vibrationless, soundless, and the crew's breath was shallow. Grimes hunched over the auxiliary unit as though waiting for the main amplifier to blow up in the lieutenant's face.
Then it came; weak, but distinct.
Griffin calling ... this is Griffin calling—SFBB-3. Lost ... Fowler Griffin dead. This is SFBB-3 can you hear me....
"Good Lord, sir—"