"So you found you couldn't get out of Nirvana and have come in to give yourselves up," said the commandant when they were alone. "That was a dirty trick you played on me yesterday.... Scared the new Incors half to death. If you had come as members of the Space Patrol, I'd have given you every honor. As it is, I'm entitled to concentrate you under the law. Which camp do you pick?"
"We'll take the one under the Polar Sea." Sadie lit a cigarette and tossed the match on the inch-thick rug.
Mike jumped, then blew up, dropping his pseudo-cultured tone for gangsterese. "Snoopin' again," he shrieked. "I'll have you rubbed out. Youse guys ain't gonna...."
"Mustn't say 'youse guys', Mike," Sadie spoke as to a child. "You're commandant now."
To Frank's amazement, Mike's fury collapsed like a pricked balloon.
"You haven't a thing on me," he mumbled, sinking back on his throne. "I ain't gonna ... I won't talk."
"Nobody asked you to," said Frank. "This is just a personal call ... for old time's sake. We were wondering how you are making out with your mother lode."
"It ... it's still producing ninety per cent of the U 235 on Venus." Mike stared at them like a sick calf. "Only...."
"Only the new engine they've developed up north doesn't need U 235. A hunk of rock will serve it just as well for fuel. Right?"
"That's about it." The little man licked dry lips. "I'm ruined; you devils know it damned well."