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We'll be back to get you, Findokin, exactly one Earth year from now," said the warpship captain just before the ship-to-planet transmitter beamed me down to the North American continent. That was fifty-two years ago. The World Council of Kaffar wanted to find out how the American poor were coping with the 1930s depression, so they sent me here to study them. Then, apparently, they forgot all about me. Either that, or they lost my genetic pattern and as a result have never been able to find me. Well, I studied the poor. For a while, anyway. Not just because I'd been told to, but because I didn't have much of anything else to do. I'd been taught how to speak everyday English and had been inculcated with American customs and mores. Since most Kaffarians and most Americans look pretty much alike, there's never been a problem on that score. The same kind of organic particles that fell on |
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