"I'll say; we made him one of the biggest."
"You mean...." He fished back into those hectic days when he first had come to Venus and when Sadie was the firebrand of the Underground. "You mean Mike, the stupid little doublecrossing tark who betrayed Venusport to us in exchange for the location of the uranium mother lode?"
"The same; he's now commandant of Nirvana."
"He'll have us shot."
"No he won't—not if we make it worth his while. Besides, I still have the safe conduct he gave me to show his gratitude."
"Look, Sadie my girl!" He dragged her down on an iridescent bench beside a fountain of scented rainbows. "Ever since I got back I've been trailing you around like a puppydog. I don't like it. Are we partners or am I just a stooge? What's up your sleeve?"
"I'm simply working on the theory that history repeats itself," she chuckled, rumpling his hair. "Ancestors of the Big Shots lost the First World War, the Second World War and the Atomic War. Each time they were a hundred times better prepared than the decent folks who opposed them. Now, teacher, tell me why they lost."
"Because ..." he fumbled. "I guess it was because they had no honor; they doublecrossed themselves into defeat."
"Right. They're atavars ... throw-backs to the age of tooth and claw. Some of them happen to be geniuses, though. That's one of the reasons why we try not to kill 'em any more. We send 'em here to blow off steam, bust atoms if they can, and possibly see the error of their ways. The reason we dare do that is because they can't see any farther than their own noses; they take the cash and let the credit go, as old Omar put it."
"A comforting theory," he jeered. "If it's true, why don't we just sit back and take it easy?"