The last number—Galileo’s mistake—Would it not be better?
Here is my conversation with I-330 , which took place in the Ancient House yesterday in the midst of loud noise, among colors which stifled the logical course of my thoughts, red, green, bronze, saffron-yellow, orange colors. … And all the while under the motionless marble smile of that snub-nosed ancient poet.
I shall reproduce the conversation word by word, for it seems to me that it may have an enormous and decisive importance for the fate of the United State—more than that, for the fate of the universe. Besides, reading it, you my unknown readers, may find some justification for me. I-330 , without preliminaries, at once threw everything upon my head:
“I know that the day after tomorrow the first trial trip of the Integral is to take place. On that day we shall take possession of it.”
“What! Day after tomorrow?”
“Yes. Sit down and don’t be upset. We cannot afford to lose a minute. Among the hundreds who were arrested yesterday there are twenty Mephis. To let pass two or three days means that they will perish.”
I was silent.
“As observers on the trial trip they will send electricians, mechanicians, physicians, meteorologists, etc. … At twelve sharp, you must remember this, when the bell rings for dinner we shall remain in the passage, lock them all up in the dining hall, and the Integral will be ours. You realize that it is most necessary, happen what may! The Integral in our hands