There was a definite, pained, pause hanging in the air, even if there was no physical being in the room besides the man dressed in black. Conrad Turner smiled slightly, he took his victories where he could find them.
"...We thought we had a agreed that you would stop doing that."
"You decided that, you then took me over and made my mouth move so I appeared to be speaking and made me say I agreed," Turner pointed out, as he pored over the blue-prints a Mysteron duplicate had stolen earlier that day, "I did not actually agree to anything. In fact, I've never agreed to or with anything you've done."
"And yet you have begun helping us plan our acts of retribution, Captain Black."
"Chances are," he shrugged, "I will either die in this insane war, or, if by chance you come to your collective senses and realize this is a colossal mistake and textbook example of disproportionate retribution, be put on trial after you leave Earth for having made the mistake that start this whole nightmare. I may as well be guilty of something."
'Besides,' Turner thought in the very small corner of his mind he had kept free of Mysteron intrusion, 'I can also try to minimize the damage you do, and give Spectrum a fighting chance.'
He could sense his Mysteron masters considering his words. They were suspicious, yet couldn't find any real fault in them.
"Very well, Captain Black. What progress have you made on our latest plan?"
"I'm afraid not much, whoever designed this nuclear reactor was very thorough when considering fail-safe precautions, Darling."
He could almost hear an exasperated sigh, and smiled again.