"Unfortunately, no," the Inquisitor said. "Because of your danger
to the State, you must be kept in Quarantine Camp, along with other
diseased former members of society, until such time as we are able to
clear your mind of its confusion. But you will not be punished."
"I won't be punished?" Wengrove repeated mindlessly.
"When the Inquisitor says something, it means it," Kroll said. "Take
him away."
The next prisoner was Neil Leslie. He strode into the Inquisitor's
Chamber without having to be pushed, and confronted Kroll defiantly.
"My turn, eh?"
Kroll nodded. "Your companions have both been removed." He nodded
meaningful toward the Inquisitor, whose claws were red with the blood
of Florence Horniman and Chester Wengrove. "They both spoke most
satisfactorily----after some persuasion."
"Torture, you mean."
"We've been through this already," Kroll said. "Since you're going to
talk anyway, I don't understand why you can't save yourself a great
deal of pain by talking now, before I hand you to the Inquisitor."
"Because I don't mean to talk at all," Leslie said. He ran a hand
through his shock of blonde hair and glared fiercely at Kroll.
"Very well," the Interrogator said. He stepped to the robot and slipped
in Neil Leslie's tape.
* * * * *
"I don't understand you at all," Kroll admitted, looking down at the
pain-racked body before him. "Why don't you talk? I don't _want_ to
keep you in here, you know."
Bloodshot eyes looked back at him, eyes clouded with pain and hatred.
"I'm not saying anything," Leslie murmured. "Oil up your robot and
let's try again."
For the hundredth time the Inquisitor's talons descended, raked a red
line across the man's body. He shuddered, but did not speak. Kroll
shook his head impatiently. No prisoner had ever held out against the
Inquisitor this long before. He found himself perspiring.
The Inquisitor said, "The name of your leader is David Cosbro. Is this
true?"
No answer.
A needle descended.
Still no answer.
"Your Cell was located in East Appalachia. Upper Quadrant. Is this
true?"
No answer again.
Minutes passed, minutes in which Leslie continued to stare defiantly
outward, continued to clench his fists and remain silent.
Finally the Inquisitor opened its tightly-clamped arms and let Leslie
stagger out. He slumped to the ground at the feet of the robot and
leaned dazedly against the Inquisitor's gleaming base.
"Prisoner is on the verge of death," the Inquisitor said. "Further
questioning is pointless."
Kroll looked down in surprise and chagrin. In ten years, this was the
first time a prisoner had not broken under Interrogation. He scowled
angrily; it was his first failure.
"You're a stubborn man, Leslie. But it's killed you."
"I'm not dead yet," the prisoner said brokenly. Suddenly he mustered
some strength and managed to look up. "Tell me something, Kroll. I want
to know something."
"Yes?"
"Why do you do what you do?"
"You mean--Interrogate?"
"I mean torture," Leslie said.
"I am an Interrogator because it is my duty to the State. Treason must
be unmasked, the enemies of the State destroyed. It is necessary."
Leslie looked up, and there seemed to be pity in his eyes. "Just one
question, Kroll. Doesn't it bother you, when you go home? _How do you
know you're right and we're wrong?_"
Kroll started to say something, then saw there was no point in
bothering.
"Prisoner is dead," said the Inquisitor.
"Take him away," ordered Kroll. The day was over.
* * * * *
What Leslie had said preyed on Kroll's mind all the way home. He got
out of the tube and made his way to his austere room with his mind
fixed on one question--the snarling words the dying prisoner had
hurled at him: _How do you know you're right and we're wrong?_
They _had_ to be wrong, Kroll told himself firmly. The State had to
be right. It was necessary; it was logical; it was the way things had
always been.
But the thought obsessed him, and the image of Neil Leslie's face,
bloody but undefeated, hung before him as he went about his evening's
activities. The face was still in his mind as he prepared to go to bed.
Odd, Kroll thought. This was the first time he had been disturbed after
a torture session. He had seen hundreds--no, thousands--pass through
the Inquisitor, come out shambling rags of bone and flesh, and it had
never bothered him, because they were enemies of the State and deserved
no more.
He dropped off into an uneasy sleep. But suddenly, in the small hours
of the night, he sat bolt upright in bed, a cold, clammy perspiration
breaking out on him.
Leslie had just asked the question for the hundredth time. And Kroll
had had no answer. He _didn't_ know who was right. He just didn't know.
His mind, unswervingly loyal for so many years, swayed in an agony of
doubt.
He got out of bed and paced back and forth across the floor of his room.
"The State is wrong!" he said aloud. But it didn't sound right. It
couldn't be true. It wasn't true. "Stupid!" he told himself. It
was stupid to distrust the State--and wrong. "Wrong! Criminally,
disgustingly wrong!"
There! He felt better. He had rid himself of his foolish doubts. "How
could I have been so foolish?" he said aloud. His nerves felt better
now. Once again he was ready to do his duty as a loyal officer of the
State.
Smiling to himself for being so easily disturbed by the remarks of
disloyal traitors, he climbed back into bed and closed his eyes. A few
moments later, he was asleep.
In the morning, everything seemed to be all right; the terrors of the
last twelve hours were pale things of the past, no longer exerting
pressure on him. He caught the tube and headed to the Ministry.
He donned his uniform in the locker room and took the elevator to the
Interrogation Floor. He stepped into his office. It was empty. No
prisoners this morning? It didn't seem likely.
He pushed open the inner door and entered the Interrogation Chamber.
To his surprise, he saw Matthews, one of his assistants, wearing the
uniform of an Interrogator and standing near the robot, arms folded.
"What are you doing in here dressed that way?" Kroll snapped.
"I am the new Interrogator," Matthews told him.
"Since when?"
"The appointment was made very early this morning," the Inquisitor
said. "We have all the evidence we need to brand you as a traitor to
the State."
The new Interrogator turned a switch, and Kroll heard his own voice
come from a speaker. "_The State is wrong! Stupid! Wrong! Criminally,
disgustingly wrong! How could I have been so foolish?_"
"There is no need to deny these words," said the Interrogator. "It is
only necessary that you tell us with whom you have been working."
"But there's no one!" Kroll shouted. "You don't understand! I'm loyal!
I can explain!"
But the new Interrogator merely looked cold as the long, chilling metal
arms of the Inquisitor reached out and gathered Kroll to its steel
bosom.