Cragin spun around, the Krell barrels coming level. But he found himself completely helpless to press their switches. The mind that had spoken within his own had taken control.
What Cragin saw was like a man. The similarity continued beyond the shape and size of body; it went further to his dress, and there it stepped backward in time. The wide shoulders supported a cloak of so dark a hue that its outlines seemed to become a part of the space around it; the large, perfectly proportioned body beneath them bore with the same arrogance a uniform of deep scarlet mail which seemed to shimmer although its wearer stood immobile. He wore no space-helmet, nor any weapon that Cragin could see.
"You have tampered with a work of the Owners," the voice said, "and have thereby broken their law." His cloak alone moved, as though sheltering a statue in a pre-storm breeze.
"That takes a death penalty in your book I suppose," Cragin said.
"There is another kind?"
"It's a cinch you never heard of civilized society. If there's anything we've got, it's lots of different penalties. But we've got our share of death, too. Ask goldilocks here."
"Death is nothing new to the people of Earth," the girl said evenly. "Nor are penalties."
"Yet you defied the warning."
"Because it might have meant life to us."