"Look," I said, trying to lift my head, trying to rise upon my elbows,
"call your chief. Call anybody like that. I can explain this whole
thing. It's a long story--"
* * * * *
He hit me again across the other cheekbone.
Shall I describe the next timeless endless hour? All the details? I
don't remember all of them, of course, just the moments of sharpest
pain that lifted me from the daze. Just the sound of my own screaming
at times, and the helpless dryness of my own throat, and the sounds
that kept coming from it even when the vocal cords were numb.
Apollo and his pals had fun.
There were the electric clubs. They become so hot at the tip that they
will burn through an inch of pine in a couple of seconds. They go even
quicker through flesh. After a while the smoke of my own burning flesh
was thick in the room, and we all choked a little on it.
They had more fun with their fists, though. They didn't burn me in the
worst places. They saved them for their fists and hands.
After a while I couldn't scream. Only a hoarse, helpless, retching
sound came out whenever I opened my mouth.
Did I hear their voices then? I couldn't be sure whether I heard them
speak, or whether I dreamed that they spoke.
"He can't feel it any more now." That was Apollo's voice.
"Wake him up again," said the Crane. "Give him a shot."
"Oh, hell, I'm hungry," said Apollo.
"All right," said the Crane, "let's go get something to eat. We can
always come back again."
Blackness, sweet blackness, and the sense of floating among the stars.
Nothingness. It was exquisite now ... even the touch of agony that
still seeped through was exquisite.
How much of this, I don't know.
I heard a voice again, and at first I thought my precious blackness was
leaving me. I struggled to keep it. I grasped out, clutching with my
mind.
"_Don't give up ... we are coming...._"
It was _her_ voice. The low, seductive voice of my dreams. But I didn't
want to hear it now; this was the last thing I wanted to hear. This
voice had brought me here, and I never wanted to hear it again.
"_No matter what they say ... no matter what they offer you or tell
you ... don't give up._"
I fought it off. I drove it away by sheer mind-power. Either that or
it stopped of itself. I didn't know and didn't care; all I wanted was
peace and blackness again if I could find it.
And then, after a while, I was awake, truly awake, and I knew this
because I ached and burned all over. I could scarcely move. I lay on
the tablelike thing and stared at the gleaming metal ceiling, not
really seeing it.
"How do you feel?" said somebody.
* * * * *
I turned my head. The somebody was sitting beside me. He was a man of
about fifty, thick-set and gray-haired with skin that looked like fine
porcelain. His eyes were blue and they seemed able, intelligent. He was
not exactly smiling, but his expression was pleasant. Poised--that was
the word. Here was a man who would quietly control things wherever he
would go.