It was mockery. Deep, ineradicable, and unveiled, it lurked in the backs of Messerschmidt's eyes. Mockery—and the most colossal ego Kimmensen had ever encountered.
Good God! Kimmensen thought, I believed we'd killed all your kind!
"Father, I invited—" Susanne had begun, her face animated for once. Now she looked from Jem to Kimmensen and her face fell and set into a mask. "Never mind," she said flatly. She looked at Kimmensen again, and turned to Messerschmidt. "I'm sorry, Anse. You'll excuse me. I have to see to the dinner."
"Of course, Susanne," Messerschmidt said. "I hope to see you again."
Susanne nodded—a quick, sharp jerk of her head—and went quickly into the kitchen. Messerschmidt, Jem, and Kimmensen faced each other.
"An awkward situation," Messerschmidt said quietly.
"You made it," Kimmensen answered.
Messerschmidt shrugged. "I'll take the blame. I think we'd best say good night."
"Good night."
"Good night, Mr. President ... Mr. Secretary."