It was the dark of the moon. The lights of the cage area had been turned out. The sentry had been told to stay elsewhere.
Brown Limper sat on the ground. Terl crouched close to the bars. Lars Thorenson, using a tiny masked light to occasionally resort to his dictionary, sat between them.
Their voices were very low. There must be no possibility of any of this being overheard. Tonight was the big one!
Terl’s claws twitched and little surges of energy ran through him. This conference was so important, its successful outcome so vital to his plans, he was having trouble breathing. Yet he must sound indifferent, casual, helpful (a new word he had learned). Conflicting impulses had to be sealed off, such as reaching through the bars (which he had de-electrified, unbeknownst to them, by using t
