HILTON told him. I ought to put this on a tape, he thought to himself, and broadcast it every hour on the hour.
"They took the old Masters like dynamiting fish in a barrel," he concluded, "and I'm damned afraid they're going to lick us unless we take a lot of big, fast steps. But the hell of it is that I can't tell you anything—not one single thing—about any part of it. There's simply no way at all of getting through to you without making you over into the same kind of a thing I am."
"Is that bad?" Sawtelle was used to making important decisions fast. "Let's get at it."
"Huh? Skipper, do you realize just what that means? If you think they'll let you resign, forget it. They'll crucify you—brand you as a traitor and God only knows what else."
"Right. How about you and your people?"
"Well, as civilians, it won't be as bad...."
"The hell it won't. Every man and woman that stays here will be posted forever as the blackest traitors old Terra ever disgraced herself by spawning."
"You've got a point there, at that. We'll all have to bring our relatives—the ones we think much of, at least—out here with us."
"Definitely. Now see what you can do about getting me run through your mill."