ned to one light-hour of distance covered.
Regularly, its transmitter flung out a repetition of what it had been
sent so far to say. In time it arrived within the limits of the Varenga
system. Its hops diminished to light-minutes of distance only. It ceased
to correct its course. It hurtled through the orbits of all the planets,
uttering silently screamed duplicates of the broadcasts now left behind,
to arrive later.

It did not fall into the sun, of course. The odds were infinitely
against such a happening. It pounded past the sun, shrieking its news,
and hurtled on out to the illimitable emptiness beyond. It was still
squealing when it went out of human knowledge forever.

* * * * *

The state of things was routine. Sergeant Madden had the traffic desk
that morning. He would reach retirement age in two more years, and it
was a nagging reminder that he grew old. He didn't like it. There was
another matter. His son Timmy had a girl, and she was on the way to
Varenga IV on the _Cerberus_, and when she arrived Timmy would become a
married man. Sergeant Madden contemplated this prospect. By the time his
retirement came up, in the ordinary course of events he could very well
be a grandfather. He was unable to imagine it. He rumbled to himself.

The telefax hummed and ejected a sheet of paper on top of other sheets
in the desk's "In" cubicle. Sergeant Madden glanced absently at it. It
was an operations-report sheet, to be referred to if necessary, but
otherwise simply to be filed at the end of the day.

A voice crackled overhead.

"_Attention Traffic_," said the voice. "_The following report has been
received and verified as off-planet. Message follows._" That voice
ceased and was replaced by another, which wavered and wabbled from the
electron-spurts normal to solar systems and which make for auroras on
planets. "_Mayday mayday mayday_," said the second voice. "_Call for
help. Call for help. Ship_ Cerberus _major breakdown overdrive heading
Procyron III for refuge. Help urgently needed._" There was a pause.
"_Mayday mayday mayday. Call for help--_"

Sergeant Madden's face went blank. Timmy's girl was on the _Cerberus_.
Then he growled and riffled swiftly through the operations-report sheets
that had come in since his tour of duty began. He found the one he
looked for. Yes. Patrolman Timothy Madden was now in overdrive in squad
ship 740, delivering the monthly precinct report to Headquar