Downing gave an "I don't know" wave of his hands. "We might go looking
for trouble, Lane."
"Meaning catch us a single shipload of catmen and let 'em go, well
filled with cream and a fine explanation?"
"Might even get a rat or two for them."
"Meaning?"
Downing grinned maliciously. "Guilty conscience?" he taunted. "Forget
it, hothead."
"Don't make cracks, Iceberg. O.K., forget it. It's probably the best
idea yet. How do we bait a cat trap?"
"Cream--or catnip."
"Very funny," interrupted Thompson. "Exceedingly amusing. You make me
laugh, _haha_," he added in a flat, disgusted tone.
"Shut up," chorused Lane and Downing.
"All right. Then stop making light of this. Bait a cat trap. You'll
just have to pirate the planet lanes and catch you one."
"The trouble with you, Thompson, is that you have no sense of humor."
Thompson subsided. He realized that this light banter was a cover-up
for a deeper feeling. Deprive them of niggling at one another in a
light way and they might take to it in a more serious vein.
"It is agreed, then, that we grab us a boatload of catmen and
indoctrinate them with Solarian good will and propaganda."
"It is," said Downing. "Time's a-wasting. Let's grab."