"Xenthl and his crowd," mused Vice-colonel Gaylord Kram to himself as he stretched the zipper on his bulging hip-pocket, "are a bunch of sidewinders!"
"The game, in which you have been the only victor, is over," said Luverduk at his elbow, "and in your last statement, you are as usual, correct. But wait until the Old Man learns how much time we killed diddling instead of using the electro-relaxers!"
"Jupiter damn the 'laxers—You do not seem to have perceived, Luverduk, that I have a theory!"
The other's globular countenance reflected no particular surprise at this quiet thunder, for to Luverduk, theories by Kram were things to be taken regularly for granted; monstrous theories which, oddly enough, were without exception correct in every detail when put into actual practice, as Kram himself, of course, would never fail to make perfectly clear in the first place. That Kram was an Intelligence expert with a brilliant background in weapon design was the fact, however, in which the Terrestrial government was at present narrow-mindedly interested.
And it was the fact that had led to the dumping of the Sirian G-ray problem right in his lap.
Unearthing the G-ray secret was Kram's assigned mission; that made it Ignacius Luverduk's, as well. "You have a theory. Should I take that Siriusly? Ha!"
Kram only quickened the strides of his long, gaunt legs as they headed for his office. There was not even the quiver of one long black eyebrow to denote his having heard Luverduk's effort.
"For a ballistics and weapon-design expert," the wheezing Major observed, "you, Kram, are at least a devilish poker player. You were bluffing on that last hand. Lying in your teeth! Psychologically speaking, you were guilty of the worst sort of misrepresentation."
"Foof. He was bluffing every bit as bad as I was. Worse. Probably didn't even have a pair."