"It is deplorable. I am sorry—"
"How dare you!" thundered Vorgan. "How dare you, a slave, to feel sorry for your masters?"
Thompson smiled wanly. "Would I get better treatment if I claimed to be glad of your losses?"
"I'll have your throat—"
"Careful, Lord of All, you are not being fair. I am damned for being sorry and equally damned if I feel glad. Do you prefer my sympathy or my hatred?"
"You brazen, arrogant—"
"Vorgan, I and all of the Solar Sector are at your mercy. We fought you to prove our ability, and to gain your respect. Had we surrendered without a fight, we would have gained your contempt. Also," smiled Thompson, "it is foreign to our psychology to give up easily. But the main reason for fighting was to extract from you a modicum of respect. That we have done."
"You assume—"
"I know. You are puzzled by my temerity, amused by my position, and completely baffled by my purpose. Were it not so, I would be dead instead of here, behind this protecting glass. For otherwise you wouldn't bother with a race so dangerous to your very lives. Am I correct?"
"Assume so. And proceed."