"I am not," the voice said. "I serve. I am of the second rank, as are all of my race, in the service of the Owners."
"You are here alone?"
The hand touched another stud, and a smaller screen wavered into luminescence. Cragin saw a fleet of spaceships, hovering in a geometrically perfect formation, any one ship of which would have been, by itself, capable of searing to dust the entire Stellar Patrol in a single, brief engagement. The formation of sleek juggernauts extended as far as the eye could see. It was like looking into two opposed mirrors.
"My guard," the voice said. "Manned by a race of the third rank."
"I think I get it. The Owners sit home and quietly rule the universe while somebody else does the—" Cragin cut himself off. It was the wrong track entirely. It must be done differently. "The woman and I," he said evenly, "would be willing servants."
For the briefest moment there was silence, save for the muffled gasp that Cragin heard at his shoulder. But the girl said nothing.
Cragin watched as the hand of the red-mailed figure grazed other banks of relays. In quick succession all telescreens went dark.
"On each screen," the voice said, "you have seen a complete system of planets. In this control point there are exactly three hundred screens. Throughout the Owners' domain there are perhaps slightly less than a full billion of such control points as these. And there have seldom been any which have not been so well concealed, in suitable relationship to the intelligence level of that system-group controlled, as to have yielded to discovery."
"You have not answered my proposal," Cragin retorted. "You're as aware as I am of what's going on in my mind or you wouldn't bother with all the gory details. You know we could serve, even on the—the 97th rank or so...."
"Proceed."