“And off the Galactics,” Weyman said. “The shoe is on the other foot now, I think.”
He went to the quonset door and looked out and up, listening. “Jets. The Washington brass on its way to cross-examine us.”
“The other foot?” Vann said. “Don’t be cryptic, man. Whose foot?”
“Theirs,” Ellis said. “Don’t you see? One of these days we’ll be going out there to make our own place in the galaxy. With our size and disposition, how do you think we’ll seem to those gentle little people?”
Vann whistled in belated understanding.
“Rough,” he said.
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
The cover has been created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.