When they came to that part of the transcription dealing with Number Ninety Two, Jim stiffened and swelled in rage. “Ask him if that’s an accurate report,” Cloud directed. “It’s accurate enough as far as it goes,” Jim boomed. His voice, deeper and louder than Tommie’s, and not nearly as musical, almost shook the walls. “But he left out half of it. What I really told him would have burned all the tape off of that recorder.” “But they left in that . . . that awful one, three times.” Tommie, tough as she was, was shocked. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” “Srizonified?” Cloud whispered to Vesta. “It sounded bad, but not _that_ hot. Is it?” “Yes, the hottest in the language. I never saw it in print, and heard it only once, and that was by accident. Like most such things, though, it doesn’t translate—‘descended from countless generations of dwellers in stinking, unflowering mud’ is as close as I can come to it in Spanish.” “QX. Finish up the tape and make two copies of it.” When the copies were ready Cloud handed them to Tommie. “Tell him to take one of these down to the Tomingan equivalent of the D. A.’s office the first thing in the morning,” he instructed Vesta. “The other ought to go to a big law firm—an honest one, if she knows of any. Now ask Jim what he thinks he’s going to do.” “I’m going to get a pair of blasters and. . . .” “Yeah?” Cloud’s biting monosyllable, so ably translated by the Vegian, stopped him in mid-sentence. “What chance do you think you stand of getting home tonight in one piece? Your copter is probably mined right now, and they’ve undoubtedly made arrangements to blast you if you leave here any other way, even on foot. If you want to stay alive, though, I’ve got a suggestion to make.” “You may be right, sir.” Jim’s bluster died away as he began really to think. “Do you see a way out?” “Yes. Ordinary citizens don’t wear armor here, any more than anywhere else, so ordinary gangsters don’t use semi-portables. So, when you leave here, go to Tommie’s room instead of out. They’ll lay for you, of course, but while they’re waiting Tommie will go out to our ship and bring back my G-P armor. You put it on, walk out openly, and take a ground-car—_not_ a copter—to the ship. If they know armor they won’t shoot at you, because you could shoot back. When you get to the ship go in, lock the port behind you, and stay there until I tell you to come out.” Jim, influenced visibly by the pleasant possibility of shooting back, accepted the plan joyously; and, after making sure that there were no spies or spy-rays on watch, the two Tomingans left the room. A few minutes later, with the same precaution, Vesta and the Manarkan went to their own rooms; but they were on hand again after breakfast next morning. “You know, of course, that you have no evidence admissible in even an honest court,” Nadine began. “You knew it when you changed your mind about having a Tomingan voice, not Vesta’s, on those tapes.”