“Ah,” Sir George said again, and this time his voice was dark and hungry.
“Indeed. And that brings us to your species, Sir George. You see, your kind are unique in at least two ways. Most importantly, in terms of our present needs, your minds operate on a . . . frequency quite close to our own. We realized that from the beginning, though our masters did not ask us about it, and so we weren’t required to tell them. It is far from a perfect match, of course, and to communicate with you as we are doing required the linked efforts of several of our kind. Nor could we do it while you were awake without immediately alerting our masters. Simply establishing the initial contact point rendered you unconscious for twelve of your minutes, and we had not previously dared risk causing such a thing to happen.”
“But now you have,” Sir George said flatly.
“For two reasons,” the dragon-man agreed. “One was that we were able to do so when neither the Commander, the Hathori, any other guildsmen, nor any of the ship’s remotes were in position to observe it. Such a situation had never before arisen.”
Sir George nodded slowly, and the dragon-man continued.
“The second reason is that, for the first time, it may be possible for us to win our freedom from the Guild . . . if you will act with us.” The alien raised a clawed hand as if he sensed the sudden, fierce surge of Sir George’s emotions—as no doubt he had—and shook his head quickly. “Do not leap too quickly, Sir George Wincaster! If we act, and fail, the Commander will not leave one of us alive. Not simply you and your soldiers, but your wives and children, will perish, as will all of our own kind aboard this ship.”
Sir George nodded again, feeling a cold shiver run down his spine, for the dragon-man was certainly correct. The thought of freedom, or even of the chance to at least strike back even once before he was killed, burned in his blood like poison, but behind that thought lay Matilda, and Edward, and the younger children . . .
“Before you decide, Sir George, there is one other thing you should know,” the dragon-man said softly, breaking gently into his thoughts, and the baron looked up. There was a new flavor to the dragon-man’s feelings, almost a compassionate one.
“And that thing is?” the human asked after a moment.
“We said that two things made your people unique,” the dragon-man told him. “One is our ability to make you hear our thoughts. The second is the terrible threat you represent to the Federation.”
“Threat? Us?” Sir George barked a laugh. “You say your kind were far more advanced than ours, yet you were no threat to them!”
“No. But we are not like you. To the best of my knowledge, no other race has been like you in at least one regard.”
“And that is?”
“The rate at which you learn new things,” the dragon-man said simply. “The Commander’s Guild regards you as primitives, and so you are . . . at the moment. But we have seen inside your minds, as the Commander cannot. You are ignorant and untaught, but you are far from stupid or simple, and you have reached your present state of development far, far sooner than any of the Federation’s `advanced’ races could have.”
“You must be wrong,” Sir George argued. “The Commander has spoken to me of the Romans his competitors first bought from our world. My own knowledge of history is far from complete, yet even I know that we’ve lost the knowledge of things the men of those times once took for granted, and—”
“You’ve suffered a temporary setback as a culture,” the dragon-man disagreed, “and even that was only a local event, restricted to a single one of your continents. Do not forget—we were aboard this ship when the Commander carried out his initial survey of your world, and it is well for your species that he did not recognize what we did. Compared to any other race in the explored galaxy, you `humans’ have been—and are—advancing at a phenomenal rate. We believe that, from the point your kind had reached when you were taken by the Guild—”