Mutters, mumbles and moans. The man seemed beyond intelligibility.
"What about Franklin? He can't do this to us, can he, Uncle Thomas? Don't you want to escape? Don't you want revenge on Franklin, on Ottilie, for what they did to your wives? Don't you? Don't you?"
He had to cut through his uncle's confused mist of gathering delirium.
In complete desperation, he lowered his head and sank his teeth into a wounded shoulder.
Nothing. Just the steady flow of argumentative gibberish. And the thin blood dripping from the mouth.
"I saw Arthur the Organizer. He said he'd known you for a long time. When did you meet him, Uncle Thomas? When did you first meet Arthur the Organizer?"
The head drooped lower, the shoulders slumped further forward.
"Tell me about Alien-science. What is Alien-science?" Eric was almost gibbering himself now in his frantic efforts to find a key that would unlock his uncle's mind. "Are Arthur the Organizer and Walter the Weapon-Seeker very important men among the Alien-sciencers? Are they the chiefs? What was the name of the structure they were hiding in? What is it to the Monsters? They talked about other tribes, tribes I never heard of. How many other tribes are there? Are these other tribes—"
That was it. He had found the key. He had gotten through.