"Frankly, they ain't bad, Downing. But a guy can't do much when he's living in a laboratory."
Downing laughed. "People who live in glass houses shouldn't."
"Shouldn't what?"
"Shouldn't—period!"
"Well, I intend to return after we get this thing off of our chests. This gang is not human. They aren't the kind you could trust, but they are interesting. It is really something to see their civilization—and to see just how catlike they behave. They never laugh. Their exhibition of amusement is a deep-throated purr. And when one of 'em gets his feet stepped on, he hisses like a couple of cats squaring off on the back fence."
Thompson came up, followed by the spraying doctors. "This is all very fine," he said. "But we've wasted a lot of time. The Little Men are getting quite nervous."
Downing looked at Lane. "I'm sort of glad you turned up," he said flatly. "Especially with permission to hunt that thing."
Lane smiled bitterly. "If I hadn't turned up, Downing, you'd have spent the next fifteen years combing this system for confirmation, wouldn't you?"
"Naturally. Now let's find that machine. I've got a little project of rivet-clipping ahead."