"And who is the Great Zipher?" Ray demanded, amused. There were countless little religions flourishing under free thought.
"No one knows. We know he saved the world from the last great plague of Depression. People were affected by a great Gloom and saw no purpose in life. They shrunk inside and suffered mental disease. The Great Zipher said—only believe that ye have plenty, and spend your substance in good things, and these shall come to pass."
"And did they?" he prodded.
"Are there any more plagues of Depression?" she asked tartly.
It sounded like a cheerful religion, but Ray declined to argue. He reverted back to his main purpose.
"Being religious, you shouldn't demand vengeance on us," he pointed out. "Suppose we turn you loose if you promise to keep that little mouth shut?"
"Your own sins will betray you anyway."
"There's nothing wrong in capturing these Mutes," he snapped. "They're not human. We don't mistreat them!"
"How long do they live in captivity?" she demanded bitterly. "A few months, a year or two, and then they die. On strange planets, cut off from all their kind, they die miserably."
He gave it up.