Slan looked contemptuously at the crestfallen faces of his men.
"It would be to our benefit if we had half their spirit in proportion to our size," he said. Then he bellowed,
"Order all ships to withdraw at once!" To an aide he muttered, "We'll leave this planet to those worthy of it."
Mike and Joe were hiding from a world delirious with joy and anxious to heap glory upon its saviour—whom they thought was Joe Waters. Joe had no intention of deluding the world in this regard, but right now he was plying Mike with whiskey to get from him the story of what happened.
They were in the rear booth of a bar, and Mike kept insisting that Joe knew perfectly well what had happened because he'd been right there.
"All right," Joe said coaxingly, "I know what happened. But tell me how you're going to tell it, so we can get our stories straight."
"Can't understan' it," Mike said thickly, shaking his head. "The guy was nuts."
"What happened?" Joe pleaded. Mike, who apparently had no saturation point, gulped some more whiskey.
"First thing," he said, "the guy sticks his thumb up in the air, like he's gonna give me the bum's rush. So I point mine down—if he tries to kick me outa there before we even get a chance to talk business, I'll floor 'im."