Panic Button

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“The law of chance,” said Lagasta ponderously, “lays it down that one cannot remain dead out of luck for everlasting.” He had the fat oiliness typical of many Antareans; his voice was equally fat and oily. “Sooner or later the time must come when one finds a jewel in one’s hair instead of a bug.”

“Speak for yourself,” invited Kaznitz, not caring for the analogy.

“That time has arrived,” Lagasta went on. “Let us rejoice.”

“I am rejoicing,” Kaznitz responded with no visible enthusiasm.

“You look it,” said Lagasta. He plucked a stalk of grass and chewed it without caring what alien bacteria might be lurking thereon. “We have found a new and empty world suitable for settlement. Such worlds are plenty hard to discover in spite of somebody’s estimate that there must be at least a hundred million of them. The vastness of space.” He ate a bit more grass, finished, “But we have found one. It becomes the property of our species by right of first discovery. That makes us heroes worthy of rich reward. Yet I fail to see delirious happiness on what purports to be your face.”

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