let

Colonel, I hope you'll forgive me if I suspect the same thing."
"Why should you, Mister President?" Ludmilla asked.
"You've been just a bit too vague, Colonel. I think you're holding back—on the very wise premise that we're not ready for all you know."
"Not ready yet, Mister President," she corrected gently, and he smiled.
"So, you have been holding out on us." He chuckled. "Very, very wise of you, Colonel. But I've known quite a few military people, and no 'simple fighter jock' I ever met was quite as ignorant of theory as you are."
"Actually," she confessed calmly, "Thuselahs have lots of time to study. I have three advanced degrees: one in microbiology and two in molecular electronics and sub-particle physics." Aston stared at her in shock, and she smiled. "You know, Mister President, I rather thought you were suspicious."
"Damn right I was," he agreed cheerfully. "But it happens I agree with you—though I trust you will make some of that knowledge available if it becomes obvious our own R&D people have hit a brick wall?"
"I will," she said, then paused. "But that sounds as if you think I'll have a choice."
"I intend to see that you do," he said, suddenly very serious. "I probably shouldn't. Looked at in one way, letting you out of my grasp will probably constitute the greatest act of treason any sitting president has ever committed, because all the things I just said could be squeezed out of you by unscrupulous nations could be squeezed out of you by us, as well. But it happens that I would prefer to be able to sleep with myself at night, and given how much we owe you, that would become just a tad difficult if I didn't let you go. And," he added with a wry smile, "not giving you the chance would present difficulties of its own. Yakolev, Henderson, Stallmaier, and I are going to have a tough enough time determining how, when, and where to share access to the Troll's fighter, but