Operation Crimson Storm. Robert Reginald
it doesn’t taste very good either.”
“You would have thought that, having traveled all this distance, we could have done something a little better than gory goo or grokky glop,” Geoff said.
“Yeah,” we both chimed in.
“We were just talking about Alex’s dreams,” Mindon said. “Has anyone made an effort to record these things or compare them in any way?”
“Not to my knowledge,” I said.
“Well, maybe they ought to. Maybe the Martians or whoever are trying to tell us something. Maybe this is the way they communicate.”
“I can’t believe that. It would be terribly inefficient, among other things, and from what I observed of the aliens on Earth, they were always efficient.”
“Still.”
“Let’s bring it up at the next Council meeting,” Geoff said, putting his container away. “Gad, I can’t take any more of this crap. Nothing but the green grog morning, noon, and night. At this pace, I’m going to lose weight, guys.”
“Yeah,” we all said in unison, and then we went our separate ways again.
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