"What facts?"
Entman's smile was almost patronizing. "You're tired, aren't you, son? You're not thinking very well."
"Goddamn it! Quit treating me like a cretin!"
"Temper, temper! Look at it analytically, son, analytically. Suppose we knew who these people are. What distances have they covered in arriving here? What is their method of conveyance?"
"The distance? Light years, I would assume. The conveyance? A spaceship, or a projectile along basic lines but farther advanced."
"All right. We know they've sent ten creatures to our planet from infinity—that's as good a word to use as any. The next question is, why?"
"Damnit, that question is obvious."
"And from my point of view, the answer is obvious."
"Then I wish to hell you'd give it to me."
"Logic, man, logic! A race as far advanced as this one could certainly move in and occupy us without trouble. Wouldn't you think?"