"Scyth Radnor."
"Then your identity is Exploration License K-221-Y. I know Radnor. I must get you off the distress band. Please switch to Space Communications, Band Forty-Five. I—"
"Wait," said Dusty quickly. "As a member of another solar culture you must be aware of the fact that I am not familiar with your equipment. Which knob do I twist and how far?"
The Marandanian gave Dusty instructions and waited for a second small circle to appear beside the first, with a different face in it. This face was older and not in uniform. The man said, "Please explain the nature of your difficulty. I am Gant Nerley."
As well as he could, under the circumstances, Dusty explained his predicament.
"I see," said Gant Nerley thoughtfully. "This is a rather complex problem to solve. Can you state your location?"
"Hardly."
"I suppose not. If we don't know where you are from here, the chance that a non-galactic culture would know where we are from there is indeed remote."
"Haven't you a filed plan of operations?" demanded Dusty, using a tone of voice that indicated that he thought that any culture above the level of the ape wouldn't let people go galloping all over the galaxy, tearing up stars and ruining scenery without first having filed a program and had such program approved by twenty-seven signatures.
"There is a filed plan," said Nerley defensively. "But naturally it is sealed as a matter of protection for the company."