"Yeah."
He looked at it. The fish resembled a small marlin in shape, but it looked as if its sides had been painted by an abstract artist.
"They planted it on my hook," he told her. "Teleported it from somewhere and planted it on me. Like the tigers."
"Who?"
"I don't know—one of the kids. There were a bunch of them down by the river."
"Is it the proof you wanted?"
"Almost. I'd like to make them—whoever they are—admit it, though. But you can't pry anything out of them. They stick together like—like kids, I guess. Tell me, why is it that the smart ones don't discriminate? They'd as soon play with morons like Hodge or Cress as with the brainy ones."
"Democratic, I guess," Ann said. She looked at the fish without enthusiasm and turned it over on its other side. "Weren't you the same way, when you were a boy?"
"Guess so. Leader of my group was almost an idiot. Head of the 3Rs now." He started to put his fishing tackle away. "Got to get ready for Star Watch," he said. "I'm on the early trick tonight." He halted in the kitchen doorway, still holding the rod and creel. He looked back at the fish. "That kind of thing is likely to take all the fun out of fishing," he told her.