“Well,” said the surprised Harcraft.
“Where’d you pick that up,” asked Banner.
“From Captain Slatkin,” said Arnold, smiling. “I met him when I was indoctrinated. He took the same micro-course in culturology. ’Course, he only believed that stuff when he was scared.”
“Oh, you don’t say,” said Banner. “Tell us, my little friend, are you too, convinced that Armageddon is around the corner? Not that I really think you’re capable of having an opinion.”
“I got plenty of opinions, all right,” said Arnold quietly, staring at his shoes. “Opinion number one is this: We’re not really at war yet, but within the past two years, fifty-six patrol ships have disappeared in the vicinity of our friendly neighbor.”
“That’s not an opinion,” Banner said. “And disappeared can mean a lot of things.”
“Opinion number two,” continued Arnold, scratching himself under an arm. “About the only diplomatic relations we got with them animals is when they write a note complaining about some Patrol ship getting too close to some piece of dirt in their system.”
“Speaking of that, you’ll have to excuse me for a moment,” Harcraft said.
“Stop clowning,” snapped Banner. “Listen to him. Here’s your chance to get some insight into the nature of the thorn in your side. Go on, Bean Brain. Any more opinions?”
“Yeah. If you’re such a wise guy, tell me why you’re here right now. Why?” Arnold’s mouth screwed itself into a knowing, bitter smile. “When both of you were children you heard the story about the Big Fleet. So you made it into the Patrol, spent the rest of your life training, looking, thinking that some day—”