The Varn was facing into the red-black gloom outside the lighted airlock, where the departing natives could be heard crossing the glade. "Their thoughts no longer hold fear and suspicion," it said. "The misunderstanding is ended."
He raised the muzzle of the blaster in his hand. The black head lifted and the golden eyes looked up at him.
"I made you no promise," he said.
"I could demand none."
"I can't stop to take you back to your own world and I can't leave you alive on this one—with what you've learned from my mind you would have the natives build the Varn a disintegrator-equipped space fleet equal to our own ships."
"We want only to go with you."
He told it what he wanted it to know before he killed it, wondering why he should care:
"I would like to believe you are sincere—and you know why I don't dare to. Trusting a telepathic race would be too dangerous. The Varn would know everything we knew and only the Varn would be able to communicate with each new alien race. We would have to believe what the Varn told us—we would have to trust the Varn to see for us and speak for us and not deceive us as we went across the galaxy. And then, in the end, Terrans would no longer be needed except as a subject race. They would be enslaved.
"We would have laid the groundwork for an empire—the Varn Empire."
There was a silence, in which his words hung like something cold and invisible between them.