"I wouldn't miss this for the world. Glad we've got the whole galaxy for you to make mistakes in."
"Stop making fun," he snapped. "Let's try and think of something sensible, Barb. Too bad we haven't time to take a run back to the city."
"What good would that do?"
"Well, you could show 'em that bauble you're wearing and I could try the menslator out on 'em, and maybe between us we could convince 'em that there's something more in this tale of mine than wind."
"That's an idea, but it's out."
"I know. But—"
"Dusty, you'll have to carry it to Gant Nerley yourself."
"Carry what?"
Barbara shook her head impatiently. "Think!" she cried. "Dusty, this license might be rescinded if we can show that Sol has evolved above the minimum level of acceptability."
"Yes?"