"I can't argue with what's in the newspapers," I said.
"Well, I don't know. I got a couple newspapers. But here's where I smell a deal, Maclamore. You want to know where that scout boat is. Played right, you figure you got a good chance of a raid on an arsenal or a power plant to pick up a few slugs of the heavy stuff; then you high-tail out, join up with the rest of the squadron and, with the ordnance you pack, you can sit off and dictate the next move." Arena leaned back and took a deep breath. His eyes didn't leave me.
"Okay. I got one of you here. I found out something from him. He gave me enough I know you boys got something up your sleeve. But he don't have the whole picture. I need more info. You can give it to me. If I like what I hear, I'm in a position to help—like, for example, with the fuel problem. And you cut me in for half. Fair enough?"
"Who is it you've got?"
He shook his head. "Uh-uh."
"What did he tell you?"
"Not enough. What was Hayle holding out? You birds found something out there. What was it?"
"We found a few artifacts on Mars," I said. "Not Martian in origin; visitors. We surveyed—"
"Don't string me, Maclamore. I'm willing to give you a fair deal, but if you make it tough for me—"
"How do you know I haven't got a detonator buried under my left ear," I said. "You can't pry information out of me, Arena."