Rynason frowned. He knew Malhomme was right—it would be difficult to stop Manning if what he’d said about the man’s push for power was true. But could he be sure that the Hirlaji were as harmless as they seemed? He remembered the reassuring touch of Horng’s mind upon his own, the calmness he found in it, and the resignation … but he also remembered the fear, and the screaming, and the hot rush of anger that had touched him.
In the silence on the edge of the Flat, Mara spoke. “Lee, I think you should report it all to Manning.”
“Why?”
Her face was clouded. “I’m not sure. But … when I disconnected the wires of the telepather, Horng looked at me…. Have you ever looked into his eyes, up close? It’s frightening: it makes you remember how old they are, and how strong. Lee, that creature has muscles in his face as strong as most men’s arms!”
“He just looked at you?” said Rynason. “Nothing else?”
“That’s all. But those eyes … they were so deep, and so full. You don’t usually notice them, because they’re set so deeply in the shadows of his face, but his eyes are large.” She stopped, and shook her head in confusion. “I can’t really explain it. When I moved around him to the other side, I could see his eyes following me. He didn’t move, otherwise—it was as though only his eyes were alive. But they frightened me. There was much more in them than just … not seeing, or not caring. His eyes were alive.”
“That’s not much evidence to make you think the Hirlaji are dangerous.”
“Oh, I don’t know if they could be dangerous. But they’re not just … passive. They’re not vegetables. Not with those eyes.”
“All right,” Rynason said. “I’ll give Manning a full report, and we’ll put it in his hands.”
He picked up the telepather pack and slung it over his shoulder. Mara stood up, shaking away the dust which had blown against her feet.