"Or weapons to demolish us!" snapped Zakheim.
"The pattern of the sessions is wrong, too," said Francine.
Ohashi nodded. "Twelve hours a day is not enough," he said. "We should have them under constant observation."
"I didn't mean that," said Francine. "They probably need rest just as we do. No. I meant the absolute control our team leaders—unimaginative men like Langsmith—have over the way we use our time in those rooms. For instance, what would happen if we tried to break down the force wall or whatever it is that keeps us from actually touching these creatures? What would happen if we brought in dogs to check how animals would react to them?" She reached in her briefcase, brought out a small flat recorder, and adjusted it for playback. "Listen to this."
There was a fluid burst of sound: "Pau'timónsh'uego' ikloprépre 'sauta' urusa'a'a ..." and a long pause followed by: "tu'kimóomo 'urulig 'lurulil 'oog 'shuquetoé ..." pause "sum 'a 'suma 'a 'uru 't 'shóap!'"
Francine stopped the playback.
"Did you record that today?" asked Ohashi.
"Yes. It was using that odd illustration board with the moving pictures—weird flowers and weirder animals."
"We've seen them," muttered Zakheim.