"It's August 23, 1955—and I think you know that as well as I do."
"August 23. Just a minute ... we'll make a quick tape on the cyb, here. Ah, yes, here we are. August 23. All right. The nearest date of significance is September 1st. On the date twenty-one of your so-called nations reached—or should I say will reach—a new trade and tariff agreement in the U.N., and this will eventually lead directly to the free nation federation in—"
"I'm sorry! Your time is up!"
It was that blasted recorded voice of the mechanical operator again.
"Hey! Don't cut us off!" I said.
"Hello? Are you still with me? Look here—I'll try to call back! It's difficult, but I think I can!" said Zon Twenty.
"I'm sorry! Your time is up!"
And again the click, and silence.
This time I didn't forget Zon Twenty, neither quickly nor easily. If it was a gag, it was a beauty: crazy and elaborate, and the acting was superb. If it wasn't a gag—well, I couldn't yet quite believe that it wasn't a gag. A week streamed by in a sea of paperwork. My latest overseas transfer request came back disapproved. Then, on the morning of September 2nd I opened the newspaper and saw the headline:
TWENTY-ONE NATIONS REACH
TRADE ACCORD IN U.N.