He saw a bronze plaque.
"President Bennington! Speak up!"
Bennington started. It was Madison—Was it Madison or Jackson?—who said that an American could tell the President to Go To Hell, and all the President could do was to argue with him—or go fishing?
Bennington tore his carefully prepared speech down the middle. He stood up and looked at the bronze plaque, and began to read it:
"Fourscore and seven years ago—"
Across space to Latham's Triplets went the Z-wave, connected at long last by the original Radio Linkage. Across from Grayson's spacecraft it went to the completed Z-wave link to Neoterra, to come bursting forth from a thousand million loudspeakers across the worlds of NeoSol:
NeoTerra heard it, and NeoVenus listened. The isolated colonists on NeoGanymede cheered and the folks on far NeoPluto nodded their heads knowingly.
"—engaged in a great civil war to determine whether That Nation or any other nation so conceived and so dedicated can long endure—"
"Grayson!" came the whispering of the radio—a mundane instrument of no great interest to anyone—"Grayson—we've caught him."
"Who?"