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. A continuing process."
"All I want to know is, can I help?"
"I don't know. Not because you describe yourself as a junior enlisted man . . . we're all pretty much the same rank in this place. The Exotic Corps is an idea, not an organization chart. I'm not worried about what Thorby Baslim can do; he can do something, even if it's only translating. But Rudbek of Rudbek . . . mmm, I wonder."
"But I told you I was getting rid of that!"
"Well -- let's wait until you have. By your own statement you are not presenting yourself for enrollment today. What about the other reason? Something to add to Colonel Baslim's report?"
Thorby hesitated. "Sir, Colonel Brisby, my C.O., told me that P -- Colonel Baslim had proved a connection between the slave trade and some big starshipbuilding outfit."
"He told you that?"
"Yes, sir. You could look it up in Colonel Baslim's report."
"I don't need to. Go on."
"Well . . . is it Rudbek he was talking about? Galactic Transport, that is?"
"Smith" considered it. "Why ask me if your company is mixed up in slave trade? You tell us."
Thorby frowned. "Is there a Galactovue around here?"
"Down the hall."
"May I use it?"
"Why not?" The Wing Marshal led him through a private corridor into a conference room dominated by a star-flecked stereo display. It was much the biggest Thorby had ever seen.
He had to ask questions; it had complicated controls
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