"They seem to know where they are."
Carver was silent for a moment. Then he said, "We'll have to strike at once. We'll attack the Medlin headquarters and kill as many as we can. Do you really think they trust you?"
"Either that or they're using me as bait for an elaborate trap," Harris said.
"That's more likely. Well, we'll take their bait. Only they won't be able to handle us once they've caught hold of us."
Carver broke contact. Carefully Harris packed the equipment away again.
He breakfasted in the hotel restaurant after a prolonged session under the molecular showerbath to remove the fatigue and grime of his night's imprisonment. The meal was close to tasteless, but he needed the nourishment.
Returning to his room, he locked himself in and threw himself wearily on the bed. He was tired and deeply troubled.
Supermen, he thought.
Did it make sense for the Medlins to rear a possible galactic conqueror? Earthmen were dangerous enough as it was; though the spheres of galactic influence still were divided as of old between Darruu and Medlin, the Earthmen in their bare three hundred years of galactic contact had taken giant strides toward holding a major place in the affairs of the universe.
Their colonies stretched halfway across the galaxy. The Interstellar Development Corps of which he claimed to be a member had planted Earthmen indiscriminately on any uninhabited world of the galaxy that was not claimed by Darruu or Medlin.