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. If Colonel Baslim had believed that this young man had come from inside civilization, then it was likely that the kid's family thought he was dead. "No."
"Too bad. Dead files are three times as big as the live. So they search at Tycho. It takes a while, even with machines -- over twenty billion entries. Suppose you get a null result A coded inquiry goes to vital bureaus on all planets, since Great Archives are never up to date and some planetary governments don't send in records anyhow. Now the cost mounts, especially if you use n-space routing; exact coding on a fingerprint set is a fair-sized book. Of course if you take one planet at a time and use mail --"
"No."
"Well . . . Skipper, why not put a limit on it? A thousand credits, or whatever you can afford if -- I mean 'when' -- they check your pay."
"A thousand credits? Ridiculous!"
"If I'm wrong, the limitation won't matter. If I'm right -- and I am, a thousand credits could just be a starter -- then your neck isn't out too far."
Brisby scowled. "Pay, you aren't working for me to tell me I can't do things."
"Yes, sir."
"You're here to tell me how I can do what I'm going to do anyhow. So start digging through your books and find out how. Legally. And free."
"Aye aye, sir."
Brisby did not go right to work. He was fuming -- some day they would get the service so fouled up in red tape they'd never get a ship off the ground
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