“Nothing,” Dink said in an aggrieved tone, coming in from his tenth circuit of the surrounding area. “No sign of them at all.”
“Any word from NASA?” asked Briess, who was stretched on a cot by the window.
Dink hung up his jacket and slumped into the nearest chair. “The surveillance satellite that was kicked into a moon-loop got a clear picture of what are obviously ships, three of them, one big and two small. The satellite was a quick and dirty job, one loop only, so we don’t know if they’re still there.”
“Are there more of them, that’s what I want to know,” said McVane. “We got damn little information for all that money.” He was slumped in a chair by the empty fireplace, his usually impeccable uniform rumpled, his tie loose, an open beer can at his elbow.
Dink shook his head ponderously. “Be thankful we got what we did. For such a hasty modification, we’re doing well to get any pictures at all. The ships are huge. They could hold a lot more than we ever saw here on the ground.”
“I wonder what the hell they’re playing at!” growled McVane. “They’ve obviously pulled some stunt with the Pistach, for they now say the Confederation has no right to stop them coming here. They’ve been seen hunting and eating people all over the world, or at least the results have been seen, if not the critters themselves. What happened to the agreement we were supposed to have with them?”
“Could be they’ve decided they don’t need us anymore,” murmured Arthur. “If the Pistach have no authority to stop them, what do they need us for?”
Dink nodded. “Or maybe the Pistach weren’t as bamboozled as they thought. We haven’t heard anything about them recently, either.”
“My understanding was that even if the Confederation does anything about the predators being here, it would take forever,” commented Briess.
“Unless it’s a unilateral action,” said McVane. “Maybe the Pistach went on the warpath all by themselves.”
“Our profilers say no,” said Arthur. “They read the Pistach as nonviolent and conformist. Though they’re criticism proof when they start working with new races, when they’re finished their work is subject to review, and it seems they really care what other races think and say about them. They’re not likely to risk unpopular action.”
“Maybe those others, those what-you-call-’ems,” murmured Briess. “Maybe they’ve stepped in. The ones that got Morse pregnant.”
“Morse claims he’s not pregnant,” reminded Arthur.
“Yeah, well, he claims he’s a Christian, too,” said Briess, “but last time I looked, Christians don’t assault their wives.”
“Lupe?” asked Dink. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not Lupe, the ex-Mrs. Morse. You should read the medical reports.” Briess sniggered.
“Let that alone,” said McVane. “It’s past. Focus on the current rapes and assaults, by the Inkleozese, even though it’s only pro-life politicians and preachers they’ve done it to so far.”
“Be thankful for small mercies,” said Briess.
“You’re pro-life,” Dink commented.
Briess widened the slit of his mouth into an excruciating smile. “No, my friend, I’m merely anti-woman. I was born in the wrong system. Once female life expectancy exceeded that of men in the U.S., it was obvious we were doing something wrong.”
“What you got against old ladies?” asked Dink. “Your mother was probably an old lady.”
“Bingo,” said Briess, with a chilly smile. “Let’s change the subject, if you don’t mind. Since it’s obvious we’re not getting anywhere waiting here, let’s leave them a message and get back to Washington. Morse has already subpoenaed the so-called intermediary for another inquiry before his committee, and once he starts in on her sexual habits, with her husband testifying to her depravity, people will assume it’s true that she had a relationship with the president and the ET’s and possibly her dog.”
“I don’t like this,” murmured Prentice Arthur. “It smacks too much of McCarthyism.”
Dink snorted. “You wanna grow corn, somebody’s got to turn over the dirt, Arthur! Now that we don’t have independent counsels with unlimited budgets to do it, we’ll have to pick up the spades ourselves. I suggest we get back and start digging.”
“I hope you’ve got Bert dried out enough to be believable,” said McVane. “When I saw him on 20/20 he certainly wasn’t!”