"I'm not suggesting anything," replied Saxon, who had already read his
death sentence in Emil's brain. "But you don't expect me to give you
any information, when you plan to kill me immediately after."
Emil's expression was vaguely disturbed. "Nonsense! I'm commissioned
to offer you a post in General Atomic's research department at twice
your present salary, if you can give us the information we wish."
But Saxon still read nothing but inexorable death in Emil's mind.
"Eyewash," he said.
In the ensuing silence the men's thoughts beat at Saxon's brain like
the confusing racket of people talking all at once.
At length Emil moved aside, saying, "We're prepared for obstinacy.
Georg, take over."
A plump man of middle age drew up a chair facing Saxon.
"Georg," explained Emil, "is an N.P.A."
Saxon stared into the moon faced neural-psychoanalyst. The man
possessed the most unusual pair of twinkling blue eyes like bits of
glass, a smooth pink face, thin sandy hair. He was dressed like Emil in
loose, comfortable coveralls of a gray siliconex.
He took Saxon's wrist, said pleasantly, "Hmmm, pulse rapid but strong.
Unusual nervous control. Strip to the waist, if you please."
As Saxon pulled off his blouse, the plump N.P.A. turned to the third
man, obviously his assistant, and said, "Bring the machine, Alph."
The man called Alph lugged a heavy case in front of the couch, opened
it. Georg began to attach saucer shaped suction discs to Saxon's
temples, the base of his skull, his solar plexus. Wires led from the
discs to the machine in the black case.
"Quite ready," said Georg to Emil. "Ask any questions you wish."
Saxon could feel a delicate tingle rippling up his spine into his brain
like a mild electric shock. Emil asked, "Do you know the secret of
Villainowski's stellar drive?"
"No," returned Saxon. "That's preposterous. No one understands that
except Villainowski himself. Do you think Government would be so
stupid as to let the secret out?"
The plump N.P.A. who had been studying a bank of dials, looked up and
said, "He's lying. From that I would infer that he understands the
stellar drive."
"What?" gasped Emil.
With a sinking heart Jon Saxon realized that the blond man had not been
expecting such luck. They had thought that he might be able to give
them some clue to the stellar drive, but not that he actually could
reproduce it.
"What's his torture coefficient?" Emil shot at the N.P.A.
Georg adjusted several dials. The tingling became livid fire coursing
up Saxon's spine. His eyes closed, he crushed his lips between his
teeth until a trickle of blood coursed down his chin.
The room swayed sickeningly. Sweat burst from his pores, made his sick
white face glisten in the indirect lighting.
Then as sudden as it came, the fire smoldered and died out of his spine.
He heard the N.P.A. speak in an awed voice, "His torture coefficient is
below his will to live. He'll die first."
* * * * *
Emil began to stride nervously back and forth before the lounge. He
swung suddenly on Saxon, saying, "Look, that post on General Atomic's
research bureau is still open. I can promise you three times your
present salary, and a bonus besides."
"Liar," replied Saxon without hesitation. "I don't need a machine to
tell you're lying." He laughed shortly.
The N.P.A.'s plump face looked puzzled. He made rapid adjustments on
the machine, bent over the dials again.
"He's not lying," he said in a queer voice. "He knows you intend to
kill him as soon as you squeeze him dry of information."
Saxon caught sight of Ileth's white, strained face and grinned at her.
She had been as surprised, he read her thoughts, as himself at Emil's
opportune entrance. Obviously, Emil had not been supposed to put in an
appearance until she had a try at him first.
It was all verification that General Atomic was trying to steal the
stellar drive. But Saxon had been able to catch only the scantiest of
details from Emil's mind.
General Atomic not only wanted the drive, he sensed, but a monopoly on
it. That meant killing or buying off everyone in Government's Bureau of
Research who knew the secret of the drive.
Emil said to Saxon, "Suppose I contact General Atomic and put it up to
them. I'll confess my orders were to question you, then dispose of you.
Frankly, Ileth's reports have convinced us that you couldn't be bought."
"What makes you think that I can now? Anyway, what guarantee have I
that their promises aren't as empty as yours?" he asked sceptically.
Georg, the neuro-psychoanalyst, pursed thick lips and interjected
himself into the conversation. "General Atomic abides by its
contracts," he pointed out.
"Yes. When it's to their advantage."
Emil's eyes blazed; red stained his pale cheek. "Do you mean to imply,
sir, that General Atomic is treacherous?"
"Exactly."
"Emil!" said the plump N.P.A., sharply.
Slowly the flush receded from Emil's cheeks, but he held himself stiff
as a ram-rod and his eyes were angry.
The N.P.A. turned back to Saxon. "At least, you admit that General
Atomic abides by its contracts as long as it's to their advantage."
Saxon nodded, seeing already what was coming.
"Then," pursued Georg. "It certainly would be to their advantage
to preserve you alive until you could build a stellar drive. After
that...." He shrugged. "You're an intelligent man, Saxon. Rated one of
the best physicists in the Empire, in fact. It seems to me that you
could easily convince General Atomic that it would be of advantage to
them to keep you alive indefinitely. What would you say to a hundred
thousand credits a year?"
"Not enough."
"_Two hundred thousand?_"
"One or two ..." Saxon began, then paused in consternation. He had been
tricked!
There was a self-satisfied smile on the neuro-psychoanalyst's pudgy
features. He had not spoken aloud the words, "Two hundred thousand,"
but had thought them at Saxon!
"He's a telepath!" said the N.P.A., and began to disconnect the discs
from Saxon's body and stow them back in the case.
"A telepath!" Emil ejaculated. "He's a telepath?"
"Exactly," agreed the N.P.A. in dry tones. "I suspected it from the
first, but frankly I couldn't believe it. I've never encountered a
true telepath before. I didn't think there were any. Individuals who
are unusually canny at reading expression, yes. But never any true
telepaths. I'm going to request General Atomic to let me perform an
autopsy after he's been disposed of. Possibly he's a mutant."
"Disposed of?" ejaculated the blond Emil. "But great stars, Georg! He's
invaluable to us. Not only does he possess the secret of the stellar
drive, but he can...."
"You're the executive!" retorted Georg sharply, "but I advise you to
shoot him now! This second!"
"What do you mean?"
"You're not stupid, man! How much information has he picked from
our brains already? If he should escape, the plan would have to be
sacrificed. Everything might be lost." Then, sharply, "And don't think
about the plan! Shoot him!"
Saxon could read growing conviction in the blond man's mind. He saw
Emil's hand, holding the dart gun, begin to rise.
"Look out, Emil!" shrieked Ileth suddenly.
But Saxon had already snatched the plump N.P.A. off his feet, yanking
him between himself and Emil. He heard a sharp plop. The N.P.A.'s body
quivered as it intercepted Emil's poisoned dart. Saxon realized he was
holding aloft a dead man.
The muscles in his burly naked shoulders hunched. He hurled the dead
N.P.A. at the blond man who went down, bowled over backwards by the
body.
Emil's head struck the plastic floor with a sickening crunch. Saxon
caught a painful mental flash as unconsciousness gripped the blond man.
Without a pause, he leaped for Ileth. The girl was fumbling at her
waist, where her gun's muzzle had become entangled. Only the fact that
the muzzle had caught in her waist band saved him.
She flinched back as Saxon's hand closed on the gun, tore it loose from
her grip. There was a rip of cloth and the dart gun came away. Ileth's
skirt, freed of its supporting waistband, slid down about her ankles.
Saxon leaped backward, threatening the N.P.A.'s flabbergasted assistant
as well as the girl.
"Don't move! Either of you."
The N.P.A.'s assistant was obviously terrified and had no intention of
budging.
"_Oh, my skirt!_" Ileth's wild thought came clear as a bell to Saxon,
and the girl rolled her eyes toward her feet, where the cloth lay in a
black ring. But she didn't move.
Saxon grinned. "Obviously," he said, "you haven't any weapon concealed
about yourself. You can pick up your skirt, Ileth."
She snatched it about her waist again, holding the foot long tear
together with her hand.
"I'm leaving," he said, "but remember, I can read your thoughts. If
either of you make a move towards that audio during the next ten
minutes, I'll pop back in and fill you as full of darts as a porcupine."
And he backed, still grinning, through the door.