When the initial error was made at the hyper-spatial relay station,
a pattern had been set. Committed categorically to the memory banks
were the false associations between the State Department's Ganymede
Extension and Potentate McWorther, between Premier Netath and
Rear-Sobucks.
Thus, it was somewhat to be expected that Undersecretary Hoverly should
find himself chewing on the under-bristles of his mustache as he read
the latest space-o-gram.
Dear Sir:
Needless to say, we are somewhat disappointed over the Western
Cluster's meager response to our desperate need.
Perhaps Ambassador Summerson misrepresented our agreement. In that
event, we feel sure that consultation with his Excellency will set
the record straight.
We would appreciate prompt attention to this detail. Otherwise, in
the interest of our people, we shall feel compelled to seek
satisfaction elsewhere.
Respectfully yours,
Titus McWorther,
Potentate
Hoverly tossed the message on his desk, punched the audio-com button
and called for his assistant. When Mallston arrived, the undersecretary
was still pacing.
"Did you take care of the McWorther World aid consignment?" he asked.
Mallston nodded. "Delivery should have been made day before yesterday.
Full Class A schedule."
"Well, it wasn't enough!" Hoverly extended a stiff finger toward the
space-o-gram. "Read that."