“Unknown is apparently computer-directed,” the Scoutcraft computer went on in its priority-message tone of voice. “Programming includes a Ianguage-learning-and-translation program of Extraordinary adaptability...”

A spot in the sky quickly grew, resolved itself into an oblong, tarnished spacecraft some ten meters long that settled almost to the ground some distance from the two Scouts and their ship...

I am message 1859Q047 — I have translated the number from base twelve to your number system — of the Goarrn Region, Messagetransport Department, of Tam-Raken, with rush and ordinary messages from the regional center.” The tarnished spacecraft paused, then added, “I am on the Realm’s business.”

"I would,” said the tarnished messagecraft as Jon slowly stepped from his ship with an armload of message text, "have given you my messages by voice, only I understand from your ship’s computed that you read faster than you listen. If you will check the messages now? I have translated them, of course, with the data from your computer.”