"Should a Vogarian care?" But the jeering was gone as she said, "When you gave my pistol back to me—I thought it was a trick of some kind."
"I told you I wasn't your enemy."
"I know ... but it's hard for a Saint to believe any Vogarian could ever be anything else."
"It doesn't seem to be very hard for the girls in the plant," he observed glumly.
"Oh ... that's different." She made a gesture of light dismissal. "Those soldiers and technicians are good boys at heart—they haven't been brain-washed like you officers."
"That's interesting to know, I'm sure. I suppose—"
He stopped as a gray-haired woman came and set down a tray containing a sandwich and a mug. From the foamy top of the mug came the unmistakable aroma of beer.
"Do you Saints drink?" he asked incredulously.
"Sure. Why?"
"But your church—"