"I've plenty," said Channing. "And I'll need plenty. I have exactly twenty-two hours left in which to produce something comparable to the telephone, the electric light, the airplane, or the expanding Universe! Phooey. Pour me another, Arden."
A knock at the door; a feminine voice interrupted simultaneously. "May I come in?"
It was Walt's secretary. She looked worried. In one hand she waved another letter.
"Another communique?" asked Channing.
"Worse. Notice that for the last three hours, there have been less than twelve percent of messages relayed!"
"Five minutes' operation out of an hour," said Channing. "Where's that from?"
"Came out on the Terra beam. It's marked number seventeen, so I guess that sixteen other tries have been made."
"What has Mastermind tried this time?" stormed Channing. He tore out of the room and headed for the Director's office on a dead run. On the way, he hit his shoulder on the door, caromed off the opposite wall, righted himself, and was gone in a flurry of flying feet. Three heads popped out of doors to see who was making the noise.
Channing skidded into Burbank's office on his heels. "What gives?" he snapped. "D'ye realize that we've lost the beam? What have you been doing?"