The Fantay fell back a step, startled and even more uncertain; and an Earthman clipped, "Leave that tin hat alone, Beyno! This thing's a primitive. Maybe he thinks it's bad luck or something to take off his mask in front of strangers."
"Yes; that could be it." The officer swung around. "Gundre will be up in the control section. Let's take this chitza there."
Taking Jarl's arm, he led him forward, centered amid the little knot of crewmen. Across the spreading ring of light they moved, and up the ramp into rey Gundre's mighty flagship ... through echoing corridors ... in and out of a lift that whisked them a dozen levels higher in as many seconds ... down still another gleaming metal passage, till at last they faced the door of the craft's control section.
The officer let go of Jarl and stepped forward; touched the signal button.
The intercom plate glowed. rey Gundre's voice blared: "Yes! What is it?" He sounded tense and angry.
The Fantay clipped, "Sir, we've got one of the primitives. He came in of his own free will, but we can't understand what he's trying to say. We thought maybe you'd want to put him on the vocodor."
"A primitive—!" There was a moment's hesitation. Then: "All right. Just a minute."
The intercom plate went blank.
Jarl's knees were suddenly weak again. He swayed a little. Already, so soon, he was here. It had been incredibly simple.