"A home for you, Illya."
Deayl stood up, turned and went through an open iris. It blinked shut behind him. Baxter took Deb's arm and steered her down the ramp. When they reached the runway, the ramp retracted, the ship became dark, then it lifted quietly away from the field. Deb felt the rain on her cheek as she followed Baxter to where the Python stood on the runway next to the two cubical containers. General Stayer got out of his car and stopped next to them.
Baxter patted the nose of the Python and turned toward the general. "There you are, General. I'm returning your property, and I even saved you some fuel."
Stayer placed a hand on Baxter's shoulder. "I'm glad to see you, Baxter. You'll never know how glad."
"The feeling is mutual, General." Baxter looked up as he saw a stampede of siren-screaming, light-flashing vehicles moving toward their location from the tower area. "I guess that'll be all the brass." He turned toward Stayer. "General, I have two favors to ask."
"Shoot."
Baxter went to one of the containers. "General, this is the information the Nitolans pulled out of our computers. It's been put together with their information and processed in ways I don't pretend to understand. It shows, day by day, the human race lasting another hundred and twenty years at the outside. Their predictions are accurate, which is why they left. What they saw told them that they could come back in a few hundred years and pick up where they left off—that humanity will have eliminated itself by then." Baxter nodded, then held Deb around the shoulders. "But, Medp told me that this particular prediction of theirs has one very large, unpredictable variable. That's us: humanity. If I were you, I'd have the container moved to wherever it was the Nitolans linked into those computers and get to work."
Stayer nodded. "And the other favor?"
"Before all the brass shows up, I'd like to borrow your car and driver. I want to go home."
"Baxter, there are briefings, the Secretary—"
"General, I want to go home."
Stayer motioned at his car, it started up, and began rolling in their direction. The car's headlights illuminated the Python and the two containers. "One more thing, Baxter."
"Yessir?"
"What's in the other container?"
Baxter pulled on Deb's arm, stopped next to the car-sized cube, and pressed a panel set into the side of the container. It parted into two sections and swung open, exposing two wing-backed chairs, claw-on-ball feet, yellow and orange floral pattern. "I'd like these sent to my house."
Deb looked at them, then began laughing. "Oh…oh, Baxter… they're horrible!"
Stayer shook Baxter's arm. "Get going, Captain. And expect an early call. You have quite a selling job to do."
"Yessir. Thank you, sir."
The two entered the rear door held by the driver, and after shutting it, the driver ran around the front of the car and entered. In moments, the car moved off. Stayer felt the rain, hunched his shoulders and walked to the container with the chairs. As waves of vehicles pulled up, lighting the area with their headlights, the General took a last look, then pressed the container's panel. The cube closed with a snap. He nodded. "She's right. They are horrible." Shaking his head, General Stayer turned to greet the brass.
Lothas closed his fingers over the handful of dirt and looked up at the image of receding Nitola in the monitor. He held the closed hand toward the monitor and turned toward Medp. "In suspension it will be nothing to us. Perhaps a few planetary cycles, then we shall go home."
Medp studied the monitor. "Perhaps not."
Lothas nodded. "I hope you are right, Medp. They are special creatures, aren't they?"
"Indeed. It will take me many star cycles to absorb the information on them that I have acquired."
Lothas turned back toward the monitor. "Have you found an answer to the humor ritual?"
Medp gave an involuntary snort, then shook his head. "Perhaps there is no answer." He giggled.
"You seem to have discovered the cause of the reaction. Please explain."
Medp nodded, then looked up at the overhead. "Very well. Do you know of mice?"
Lothas nodded. "The small rodent."
"Yes." Medp giggled again. "And the mythical being of Santa Claus?"
Lothas leaned against his backrest, half-closed his large, dark eyes, and studied the knowing one. "Yes. You explained that in your report on hue-mun beliefs. Explain this behavior."
Medp held out his hands. "Lothas, why are a little gray mouse and Santa Claus similar?" Medp closed his eyes, shook, and gasped for breath.
"Are you well?"
Medp waved a hand. "Yes, yes. Answer the question."
Lothas thought a moment, then shook his head. "It escapes me, knowing one. Why are a little gray mouse and Santa Claus similar?"
Medp reached out a hand and grasped the back of Lothas's chair, apparently to keep from falling to the deck. "You see, Lothas… they both have long white beards—" tears began streaming from the knowing one's eyes "—except for the mouse!"
The control center rocked with the sounds of Medp's laughter as the knowing one slapped Lothas's back, then staggered through an open iris, leaving Lothas alone with only a puzzled expression for company. Lothas shook his head. "Truly, there is much to learn." He reached out a clawed finger to press the panel for the voice log. His finger stopped short of the panel, he closed his eyes and nodded.
Then the dinosaur laughed.