The sighs of relief were heard in the corridor.
Keeter pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. "I realize that I've put you all to a lot of trouble, and I'd like to offer some kind of payment for your services, but frankly, gentlemen, I don't know how I can—"
"Oh, you can, you can," interrupted Beemish excitedly. "What I mean to say is that if you really want to, you can."
"How?"
"Why, er, you could provide us with a small amount of information." Beemish looked definitely nervous.
"Be more specific, general." Keeter was beginning to look grim.
"Well, we were thinking—I mean, it would be nice if you'd agree to have a friendly chat with some of our people. For instance, an hour or so with our physicists, then maybe a half hour with a few sociologists, and perhaps the same amount of time with the senator's committee—"
Keeter closed his eyes and sighed. "Okay, okay, boys, but let's make it quick. Also, let's keep it to twenty minutes for each inquisition. Come on, when do we start? Now?"
The scientists were the first—and the easiest. He gave them just enough information to whet their appetites, just enough to plant the suggestion that it took a great deal of tolerance and patience on his part to hold an interview with such backward people.
"Gentlemen, I'd love to explain the principle of the neutrino drive, but frankly, I don't know where to begin. You—you just don't have the mathematics for it." He didn't bother to add that neither did he.