Harris frowned. "Medlins aren't telepathic. There isn't a single telepathic race in the galaxy."
"None that you know about, anyway."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," she said.
He shrugged. Apparently the Medlin spy system was formidably well organized. This nonsense about telepathy was merely to cloud the trail. But the one fact about which there was no doubt was—
"I came here to kill you," Harris said. "But you trapped me. I guess you'll kill me now."
"Wrong. I just want to talk," she said.
"If you want to talk, put some clothing on. Having you sitting around like this disturbs my powers of conversation."
She said pleasantly, "Oh? You mean this artificial body of mine stirs some response in that artificial body of yours? How interesting!" Without turning her back on him, she drew a robe from the closet and slipped it on over the filmy gown. "There. Is that easier on your glandular balance?"
"Somewhat."