"Jet propulsion, Dirac hole,
Trochilminthes, Musterole,
Plenum, bolide, Ding an sich,
Shoot the savvy to me, Great White Which!"
The tune was one more commonly associated with Pepsi-Cola. After a moment the boy's mouth opened, and, licking the remains of the lollipop from its corners, he said clearly, "Two hundred. Night-prowlers."
"Is that all?" Hugh said, not much surprised.
"That's quite enough. Well, maybe not quite enough, but it's about all I ever get."
"But what does it mean?"
"Why, simply this: that your Atavars are two hundred years apart from each other; and that they are night-prowlers."
"Two hundred years! And I have to find them?"