Satisfied, Shoemaker opened a locker with Burford's keys, got a coil of insulated wire and tied up Davies and Hale, after which, with Burford's help, he strapped them into their acceleration hammocks.
Burford was acting a little vague. Shoemaker slapped him around until he looked alive, then set him to punching calculator keys. After a few minutes of this, Burford looked as if he wanted to say something.
"Well, spit it out," said Shoemaker, waving the golden knife.
"You'll get yours," said Burford, looking scared but stubborn. "When we get back to New York—"
"South Africa," corrected Shoemaker, "where the Supreme Council can't ask us any questions."
Burford looked surprised, then said it was a good idea.
It was, too.
The lone star winked out in the blue-green heavens, and the winds of its passing died away. The throng of little rabbit-eared green men, floating on their placid ocean, gazed after it long after it had disappeared.
"What do you think?" said the slim one without whiskers. "Did they like us?"