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Naturally, no one will admit, mumble-mumble. No stone will be left unturned, mumble-mumble. Disciplinary action, mumble-mumble." "And I suppose he got that microfilm piecemeal, too?" Lowiewski asked. "Oh, that?" MacLeod shrugged. "That was planted on him. One of our girls arranged an opportunity for him to steal it from her, after we began to suspect him.
"Are any tapes missing?" Greg wanted to know. "Doesn't look like it. There's one here for each day-period." "I wonder," Tom said. "Dad always kept a personal log. You know, a sort of a diary, on microfilm." He peered into the film storage bin, checked through the spools. Then, from down beneath the last row of spools he pulled out a slightly smaller spool.
"Those tri-dee shots of the hydro have you checked them yet?" Dane countered. Without a word Ali arose and left the cabin. He came back with a microfilm roll. Fitting it into the large projector he focused it on the wall and snapped the button. They were looking at the hydro down the length of space so accurately recorded that it seemed they might walk straight into it.
The hoary phantasm of the stark, ugly possibility of self and the probability of one day finding himself no more distinguished than any old beast fornicating with youth made him once again reel on this, his first day of being a forty year old man. Suddenly, a plethora of other articles published about him reeled through his mind like microfilm, but also in a most diminished and faded state.
Then, satisfied with his information, he returned the microfilm. Leaving the office he descended to the streets and set out for the party headquarters. Now if only he could sell the neat little idea to the hierarchy.... At the luxurious marbled headquarters he asked to be let into the general chairman's office.
The old entries were on microfilm, stored on their spools near the reader. More recent entries were still recorded on tape. From the jumbled order, there was no doubt that marauders had examined them. Johnny ran through them nevertheless, but there was nothing of interest.
"Place could be crawling with prawns by now." He looked quickly around the living room under the big combination desk and library table, under the gunrack, under the chairs, back of the communication screen and the viewscreen, beyond the metal cabinet of the microfilm library and saw nothing.
Now a steady stream of pressure-suited men crossed through the airlocks into the crippled vessel, marched back with packing cases full of tape records, microfilm spools, stored computer data ... anything that might conceivably contain information. The control cabin was literally torn apart. Every storage hold was ransacked.
Kennon watched for a moment as sheets of paper passed through Alexander's hands to be added to the pile at the opposite end of the desk. The man would do better, he thought, if he would have his staff transcribe the papers to microfilm that could be read through an interval-timed scanner. He might suggest that later. As for now, he shrugged and seated himself in the chair beside the desk.
Hoddan drew cash and sent his Darthians ashore with a thousand credits apiece. With bright and shining faces, they headed for the nearest bars. "As soon as my ship's loaded," Hoddan told the clerk, "I'll want to get them out of jail." The clerk nodded. He brought salesmen of agricultural machinery. Representatives of microfilm libraries.
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