"We owe you apologies," said Venor. "We hope you are not harmed in any way."
Cameron stared around uncertainly. Joyce clutched his hand. "How did we—?" Cameron stammered.
"Teleportation is the descriptive term in your language, I believe," said Venor. "It was rather urgent that you come without further delay so we resorted to it. Nothing else would do in the face of Marthasa's action. Sit down if you will, please. If you wish to rest or eat, your quarters are ready."
"Our quarters—! Then you did expect us back. You knew this was going to happen exactly as it has!"
"Yes, I knew," said Venor quietly. "I planned it this way when word first came to us of your visit."
"I think we are entitled to explanations," Cameron said at last. "We seem to have been pieces in a game we knew nothing about."
And it had taken this long for the full impact of Venor's admission of teleportation to hit him. He closed his eyes in a moment's reaction of fright. He didn't want to believe it—and knew he must. These Idealists—who could master galaxies and tame the wild Markovians—was there anything they could not do?
"Not a game," Venor protested. "We planned this because we wanted you to see what you have seen. We wanted a man of Earth to know what we have done."
"But don't the Markovians realize the foolishness of deporting us because we stumbled onto the relationship between you and them? And if you are in control how can they issue such an order—unless you want it?"