"I sympathize," said Stratford. "If there's anything I can do—?"
"Nothing," said Klythe, smiling. "It isn't fatal. Now—" He rubbed his hands briskly. "Unless there's further business, perhaps you'd like a little something? I know I do; I have a cold kink in my guts."
The major grinned. "Liaison officers are permitted to drink on duty. Pour away."
Klythe poured. As he studiously watched the stream of liquor flow into one of the cups, he said: "Major, may I ask—ah—just how much danger there is to Earth?"
The major appeared to consider this for a moment before answering. "At the moment, none. We know that they can not trace us back here, and they're quite a long distance away. Without violation of confidence, I can say that the distance is several thousand light years."
"Thank you." Klythe passed the cups around.
Crayley eyed the major suspiciously. He had answered the question too readily. Was he lying? No. What, then? The major ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, and Crayley understood. He was going to trade information for information.
Stratford swirled his drink around in his cup and looked at the whirlpool it made. "Mr. Klythe, may I ask you a—a question?" It was properly worded, hesitation and all.
"I shall not be offended by your question," Klythe replied with the standard friendly acceptance of the gambit, "If you will not be offended by my reply."
The major whirled his cup once more, then downed its contents quickly. "I—uh—understand you took the Big Gamble." He paused to see how his opening would be accepted.