"On the contrary. One life is of little consequence."
"I'm sorry you feel that way," the man said with mocking lightness in his voice. "Let me describe the manner in which your wife will die. First we'll strip her nak—"
"What is it you're after?" Kendall snapped.
The man's chuckle was even more pronounced. "You're right of course in surmising I'm a Centaurian, and you're quite familiar with the way our cold war works—how the balance of power has been maintained these last hundred years."
"The balance is tipped in our favor."
"Of course, but we now intend—through you—to remedy that situation. You people are very ingenious in that you invent a total destruction-type weapon and then turn right around and conceive an absolute defense against it. We do the same, of course, or try to, but we find ourselves at all times slightly behind you. A sad situation for we Centaurians, don't you think, Mr. Kendall?"
"Your chances of ever balancing us are remote."
"Not so. Let me explain. Our great hope lies in obtaining the plans of your latest projectile. I think you call it Willy Seven."
"I know of no such plans." Clare, lying defenseless against the obscene tortures of these soulless animals....
"Let's not waste time with lies, Mr. Kendall. You have been working on the project."