Alina lifted the eyebrow again, a habit that irritated Parmay because he couldn't do it. "I don't know that we're invincible, and you know it," she answered, ignoring syntax. "But I hardly think you can say we haven't done anything."
"You think not?" grinned Parmay, "Listen: 'We haven't done anything.'"
Alina said nothing; she just looked at him.
"You look," said Parmay, "as though you loved me."
"You act as though you were analyzing me. Put that slipdisc back in its case, chum; I'll not have you pulling psychostatistics on me."
Parmay spread both palms. "Look, ma, no analyzer. I'm innocent."
Both man and the aliens were spreading inexorably. Neither knew, or could know, the aim, intention, or location of the other. Each knew that the other was spreading. Each was determined that the other should not be ahead in claiming the galaxy.
And each was determined that his own race, and his alone, should rule the stars.
Neither, seemingly, knew much about the other. It had become a battle of technology; a battle in which man was lagging behind. The psych engineers who told the outpost stars that man was catching up to the aliens were propagandizing in their teeth.