"How small is that?" Jack said.

"Idiot-level," Dal said glumly. "I.Q. of about 20 on the human scale. I
guess the explorers weren't much impressed; they didn't even put the
planet down for a routine colonization survey."

"Well, _something_ has happened down there since then. Idiots can't
build interstellar radios." Jack turned to Tiger. "Are you getting
them?"

Tiger nodded. A voice was coming over the speaker, hesitant and
apologetic, using the common tongue of the Galactic Confederation. "How
soon can you come?" the voice was asking clearly, still with the sound
of great reticence. "There is not much time."

"But who are you?" Tiger asked. "What's wrong down there?"

"We are sick, dying, thousands of us. But if you have other work that is
more pressing, we would not want to delay you--"

Jack shook his head, frowning. "I don't get this," he said. "What are
they afraid of?"

Tiger spoke into the microphone again. "We will be glad to help, but we
need information about you. You have our position--can you send up a
spokesman to tell us your problem?"

A long pause, and then the voice came back wearily. "It will be done.
Stand by to receive him."