His breath hissed. He was filled with panic. Where there had been only anxiety for his own life and his world, there was now a fearful knowledge that he could scarcely bear without shrieking. She had it too, but she didn't dare say it. It was a horrible thing.
"These machines," he said, "aren't scientific testers at all."
"Yes?"
"They're toys."
"Yes?"
"We aren't guinea pigs. We're—we're pets. They've had other animals, from Earth and from God knows where, and now they have people."
"Yes. Go on, say it." She thrust her face fiercely up to his.
"Those twelve-foot 'scientists' are kids," he said. Then he stopped and deliberately got his cracking voice under control. She was just as frightened as he was but she wasn't yelling. "It's the only answer. Everything fits it. They're about five years old."
Calvin Full frowned. "If that's true, we're in trouble."
"You're damn right we're in trouble!" said Adam. "A kid doesn't take care of a pet like a scientist takes care of a guinea pig or a white rat. If it annoys him, he's liable to pick it up and throw it at a wall! I might get my head torn off for singing, or you could be dismembered for making a mistake with one of those toys."