But then Technicist Ninth Class Narant himself would have been something of a revelation to Dr. Gordon Basset, what with his twenty claw-like extensors.
Basset found the number, dialed, and waited for the connection.
"Hello, Dr. Farrell? Basset here. I've got bad news on the S-X-2.... No details yet, but the ship has broken contact.... Yes, I must presume it's lost.... I'll file a complete report as soon as possible.... What's that?... I suppose you're right—we'll have the S.P.C.A. on our necks for sacrificing four more test animals. What the hell, they can't expect us to send men on these experimental flights!"
Basset talked for a moment longer and then replaced the phone. He sighed. Another report. Another failure. Another requiem to be written for a lost ship—and four chimpanzees.