"What's the matter with our government?" muttered Meyers.
"What?" asked Taranto, turning from one of the windows.
"I said what's the matter with the Terran Government? Why don't they pitch a couple of bombs down here, an' show these skinny nuts who's running the galaxy? Who are they to call us aliens?"
Taranto turned again to the eighteen inch square window, set like the other three in the center of its wall at the level of his shoulders.
"They're posting their sentries on the city wall for the night," he told Meyers. "The thing should be flying in here any time now."
"If it comes," said Meyers grumpily. "Something will go wrong with that too."
The other spat out the window that faced the main part of the Syssokan city, then padded to the one opposite. Strange patterns of stars gleamed already in the sky over the desert. The air that blew against his damp face was a trifle cooler.
Should I tell the slob about that? he wondered. Naw—he'd try to breathe it all! Let him sweat, as long as he listens for the Syssokans!
Meyers had left his bench to crouch over the trap door. There was no reason to expect their jailers, but the Syssokans had a habit of popping up at odd times. The evening meal was usually brought well after dark, however.
"Do you think it will really get here again?" asked Meyers. "What if they spot it?"