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. But at last the psychologist straightened up and wiped his face. "That's all, I think," he said wearily. "But what is it?"
"Forget you heard it. Doc," advised Brisby. "Better yet, cut your throat."
"Gee, thanks. Boss."
Stancke said, "Pappy, let's run him through again. I've got this mad scientist's dream working better. His accent may have garbled it."
"Nonsense. The kid speaks pure Terran."
"Okay, so it's my ears. I've been exposed to bad influences -- been aboard too long."
"If," Brisby answered calmly, "that is a slur on your commanding officer's pure speech, I consider the source. Stinkpot, is it true that you Riffs write down anything you want understood?"
"Only with Araleshi . . . sir. Nothing personal, you asked. Well, how about it? I've got the noise filtered out"
"Doc?"
"Hmm . . . The subject is fatigued. Is this your only opportunity?"
"Eh? He'll be with us quite a while. All right, wake him."
Shortly Thorby was handed over to the berthing P.O. Several liters of coffee, a tray of sandwiches, and one skipped meal later the Colonel and his second in command had recorded in clear the thousands of words of old Baslim the Beggar's final report. Stancke sat back and whistled. "You can relax, Pappy. This stuff didn't cool off -- a half-life of a century, on a guess."
Brisby answered soberly, "Yes, and a lot of good boys will die before it does
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