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Updated: May 4, 2025
"Well, well?" said Percival. "Hold Brompton," said Beck, with a brevity of word and clearness of perception worthy a Spartan. "Old Brompton?" repeated Percival, thinking the reply the most natural in the world. "In a big 'ous by hisself," continued Beck, "with a 'igh vall in front." "You would know it again?" "In course; he's so wery peculiar." "He, who?" "Vy, the 'ous.
When Verkan Vall shook his head, Klarnood continued: "Marnark was the son and right-hand associate of old Mirzark of Bashad, the Statisticalist Party leader. Sirzob of Abo was their propaganda director. And Yirzol of Narva was their leading socio-economic theorist, and their candidate for Executive Chairman.
The green aircar settled onto the landing stage; Verkan Vall, on the front seat beside the driver, opened the door. "Want me to call for you later, Assistant Verkan?" the driver asked. "No thank you, Drenth. My wife and I are going to a dinner-party, and we'll probably go night-clubbing afterward.
Verkan Vall risked one eye around the corner of the doorway, and as he did, there was a red flash and a dull roar, unlike the blue flashes and sharp cracking reports of the pistols and rifles, from the doorway of the gun room.
Leaving him on guard outside, Verkan Vall, Dalla and Sarnax entered the gun room and began gathering weapons and boxes of ammunition. Dalla finished packing her game bag with the recorded data and notes of her experiments.
"Of course, your friend, the Honorable Marnark, enjoys priority of challenge; I'll take care of you as soon as I have, shall we say, satisfied, him." The earnest and rather consecrated-looking young man rose also, bowing to Verkan Vall. "Yirzol of Narva. I, too, have a quarrel with you, Lord Virzal; I cannot submit to the indignity of having my food snatched from in front of me, as you just did.
Verkan Vall prodded the supine animal with the toe of his boot; it twitched slightly. Its feet were cross-bound with straps, but when he saw that the narcotic was wearing off, Verkan Vall snatched a syringe, parted the fur at the base of its neck, and gave it an injection. After a moment, he picked it up in his arms and carried it out to the jeep.
I don't know how much they can get out of them lot of peasants, won't be up on the theological niceties but a synthesis of what we get from the lot of them " "That's an idea," Vall agreed. "About the first idea we've had, here Oh, how about politics, too? Check on who's the king, what the stories about the royal family are, that sort of thing." Ranthar Jard looked at the map on the wall.
"It'll have to be mighty tentative," Vall said. "Kostran Galth can't marry a Prole." "She won't be a Prole very long. I'm going to adopt her as my sister." Tortha Karf looked at her sharply. "You sure you know what you're doing, Dalla?" he asked. "Of course I'm sure. I know that girl better than she knows herself. I narco-hypped her, remember.
The airboat was skimming rapidly above the treetops, toward the northern part of the city. "What's known about that package bomb?" Verkan Vall asked. "Who sent it?" Dirzed shrugged. "The Statisticalists, of course. The wrapper was stolen from the Reincarnation Research Institute; so was the case. The Constabulary are working on it." Dirzed shrugged again.
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