"I thought it did. But I forgot one thing. Seems that the lie detector,
no matter how good, is capable only of showing whether the character is
telling a falsehood or not."
Barbara smiled confidently. "So you were telling the truth. Weren't
you?"
"Sure," grunted Dusty. "Sure I was. But, quoting what's-his-name in the
Bible: 'What is Truth?' One of the court psychologists pointed it out
very clearly. If I firmly believe that the moon turned bright purple
at ten o'clock last night, under a lie detector I'd be credited with a
'Truth' when I said so. In fact, the damned thing would say that I was
telling a lie if I believed that the moon was purple and tried to cover
up by saying that it hadn't changed. Follow?"
"So what was the verdict?"
"The verdict was to the effect that I was suffering under some
hallucination--possibly induced by alcohol--which led me into this
story. Therefore my lie-detector acquittal was valid only to prove that
my call for help was, at the time, due to my personal conviction of
danger. I was adjudged temporarily incompetent."
"What kind of sentence? They didn't just let you go."
"I've been two weeks in the observation ward of the federal looney
locker. You see, to prove me guilty, they had to show that I had
willfully and maliciously transmitted a false signal, with intent to
deceive and/or for some personal reason. Willful tampering of this
nature comes out as malicious mischief; malicious tampering becomes
a federal offence. Maybe I've got my terms mixed up, but I think you
get the idea, anyway. The end-up was this: Dusty Britton was convinced
of his personal danger, his emission of a distress signal cannot be
called malicious. I am no longer the top star I was once--in fact
Gramer has cancelled my contract on the moral turpitude clause and the
McDougall Office has black-balled me from all productions. So after a
couple of weeks of observation at the spin-bin, they let me free with
an admonition to leave the stuff alone. Barb, have you got a drink?"
"Sure thing. Look, Dusty, I know what you must think, but please don't
ask me to corroborate your story. Not again."
* * * * *
Dusty nodded soberly. "I won't. The first time I thought we could
convince 'em. But not any more, kid. One of us in the mud is enough.
We've got to find a new attack."
Barbara handed Dusty a highball which he sipped before he said,
"Barbara, we've got to do something."
"Why?"
He looked at her, stunned. "Why?" he cried.
Barbara took a sip of her own highball. "We won't lose a damned thing
and you know it," she said quietly.
"A thousand years--"
"So what?" she asked simply. "Supposing that they were a bit more
accurate than Scyth predicted. Suppose that they took this thousand
years out of our life at a time when you weren't looking at the sun. Do
you realize--" Barbara's voice lowered a bit dramatically, "--or have
you been watching the night sky to see whether they have already?"
"I have," he admitted with rising excitement.
"All right," she replied complacently. "Then you surely must realize
that this thousand years out of your life isn't going to change the
stock market a point, or anything else."
Dusty nodded. "This I can realize. But do you think I like losing
everything but my other shirt? Do you realize that as of this moment
I've got only a couple of thousand bucks tucked away and about as much
prospect of landing another job as a dead fly?"
"You're not really worried, are you, Dusty?"
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"Because as soon as this barytrine field goes on and off and we find
ourselves around another sun, in another sky, you'll be corroborated."