"Then why didn't you?" she smiled.
"Because I—show me to your commander. I want to treat with him. That is why I suffered capture. I will offer peace for peace. All I ask—"
The lean man with the bald head came around in front of Tyr and stared at him with cold eyes.
"I am Space Commander Ronald Mason," he said flatly. "I am in charge of Expeditionary Space Force to the Fornax Cluster. You will offer peace? But there is no war."
Tyr held the snarl in his throat as he replied, "But there will be war, unless the ardth are willing to deal with me for the liberty of the Trylla."
Mason smiled, but Tyr saw the flecks of passion deep in his ice-blue eyes. "The Trylla are a free race."
Tyr said patiently, "The Trylla worship me. They think I am a god. I know, and you know, that I am nothing of the sort. Yet I would help them, if I could. You cannot keep me here, if I seek to escape. I can plunge this planet into the bloodiest war you ever saw. But I do not want to do that. I seek only peace. Peace, and some sort of pride for the Trylla, that they may once again hold up their heads—"
Mason interposed, "A laudable desire. But the Trylla are quite content. Otho tells me they will make no trouble. As for your idle boast of escaping—"
Space Commander Mason gestured and turned away with, "Test him, Katha. See why his responses vary so far from the norm."
Red anger beat up in Tyr in mounting pulsings. He bit into his lip and eased up to the tips of his toes. His muscles writhed. He—