Nathen put down the hand-mike and carefully set a dial on the recording box, and flipped a switch, speaking over his shoulder. "This sets it to repeat what I said the last time. It keeps repeating." Then he sat with unnatural stillness, his head still half turned, as if he had suddenly caught a glimpse of answer and was trying with no success whatever to grasp it.
The green warning light cut in, the recording clicked and the playback of Bud's face and voice appeared on the screen.
"We heard a few words, Joe, and then the receiver blew again. We're adjusting a viewing screen to pick up the long waves that go through the murk and convert them to visible light. We'll be able to see out soon. The engineer says that something is wrong with the stern jets, and the captain has had me broadcast a help call to our nearest space base." He made the mouth O of a grin. "The message won't reach it for some years. I trust you, Joe, but get us out of here, will you?—They're buzzing that the screen is finally ready. Hold everything."
The screen went gray, and the green light went off.
The Times considered the lag required for the help call, the speaking and recording of the message just received, the time needed to reconvert a viewing screen.
"They work fast." He shifted uneasily, and added at random, "Something wrong with the time factor. All wrong. They work too fast."
The green light came on again immediately. Nathen half turned to him, sliding his words hastily into the gap of time as the message was recorded and slowed. "They're close enough for our transmission power to blow their receiver."
If it was on Earth, why the darkness around the ship? "Maybe they see in the high ultra-violet—the atmosphere is opaque to that band," the Times suggested hastily as the speaker began to talk in the young extraterrestrial's voice.
It was shaking now. "Stand by for the description."