"But—"
"Shaddup. Come here."
When Alina started asking too many questions, Parmay didn't require a complete detailed analysis of his wife to know that she was worried about him; and he didn't need to run a complete synthesis to know what to do.
Twenty minutes later, the phone chimed.
"Damn!" Parmay blistered. He kissed Alina once more, then answered.
Lon Tallen, commander of the HC-36, greeted him from the screen. "Romm, we've installed all your equipment; we'll leave in two hours, but I'd like to have you aboard in about an hour. Can do?"
"Can. See you." Parmay cut off and grinned at Alina. "Hear that? A whole hour."
An hour later, he was aboard the Thirty-six, checking the instruments he had had installed. But he was only checking them with half a mind; the other half was on something Alina had said.
Fanatic? Possibly. After living with a threat that hadn't materialized in fifty decades, most of the human race viewed the alien threat with apathy. A man worked to prevent their spread—or rather to increase the spread of genus Homo—but after all, nothing had happened so far, had it? Peace in our time.