She stared, not understanding.
"I will be brief," he said, still quietly, his eyes white and steady. "The sooner you realize the nature of our purpose the sooner you will be content. There is no virtue in resistance. We can keep you under paralysis indefinitely"—he smiled slightly—"for the full nine months, if necessary. Do you understand?"
She began to back slowly away.
The old man continued to smile.
"It is possible that you have already guessed that we are not—human. If not I tell you so now. Our race has its origins in a system of which you have undoubtedly never heard. But that is no matter. Our races are compatible genetically. In the end you will breed."
He paused, watching her with a calm amusement. Ivy could not move.
"Our race is very old, much, much older than yours. It is also, in a sense, biologically old. In effect, the race is dying. It has been dying for quite some time. We have managed to keep ourselves—virile—by use of the obvious method. It is for this reason that we are here. We need new blood. Young blood. We must interbreed."
He walked slowly and calmly around the edge of the table.
"You have been chosen to bear our children. This is no particular honor, I know, but I will repeat that you cannot possibly succeed in resisting. Be practical, perform your function. If you are tractable, you will be given much. If you are stubborn, you will be paralyzed. You will not under any circumstances be killed or allowed to die. You will have company. We have—collected—many of your race, both male and female. You will not, of course, be allowed association with the males."
He turned and strode to the door. He paused with his hand on the knob, his smile grew wide and his teeth showed.