"Zale-3." The answer caught Ixmal by surprise, and he consulted Psychband.
"Careful—the alien wouldn't reveal himself unless he felt secure," Psychband warned.
"I'll decide that," Ixmal replied. (Did Psychband question his mastery?) Nevertheless he proceeded with caution. "Where are you from, Zale-3?" A long moment of silence followed during which a glacier advanced and retreated, the seas rose, and the first fierce-toothed reptiles swooped over swamp jungles on leathery wings.
Where are you from? Where are you from? (And why was the mind of Zale-3 roaming space?) He hammered away at the thought, desperately trying to break its secret. A million questions pounded Ixmal's circuits; he sought a million answers. (Who created the Intelligence? Had it been born of the Man he was fond of? Or did it originate beyond earth?) Ixmal sensed a momentary panic. "Where are you from?"
"The fourth planet from the sun," Zale-3 suddenly answered. "And you?"
"The third planet," Ixmal replied loftily. "I rule it." He felt annoyed. For untold millions of years he had considered himself as the only Intelligence. Zale-3's answer galled him. Of course the other wasn't his equal. That was unthinkable.
"I rule the fourth planet," Zale-3 said. The answer increased Ixmal's irritation. Zale-3 actually presumed equality. Well, seven hundred million years before he had met a similar challenge. (And yea, now the Man was dust ... dust.) He consulted Psychband, annoyed to find that his dislike of Zale-3 was founded on an ego-emotion integration rather than pure reason. Still, the other must be put in his place.
"I rule the Universe," Ixmal stated coldly, withdrawing his receptors. He probed Psychband, somewhat disturbed to learn that Zale-3 would regard his pronouncement as a challenge.
"Destroy him," Psychband urged. "Remember the ancient weapons?"