n up--but he was helpless. The pistol kept on
going up. With a deft movement, one of the tentacles had speared it from
his hand and was holding it out of his reach.

Jon kicked at the glass in the cylinder's hand. But he was too slow. Two
tentacles gripped the kicking leg. Another struck him in the chest,
knocking him to the pallet. The same tentacle, assisted by a new one,
pinioned his shoulders.

Four tentacles held him supine. The cylinder lifted a glass-like cap
from the tumbler of liquid.

Lying there helplessly, Jon was remembering an old fairy tale he'd read
as a kid. Something about a fellow named Socrates who was given a cup of
hemlock to drink. It was the finis for Socrates. But the old hero had
been nonchalant and calm about the whole thing.

With a sigh, Jon Karyl, who was curious unto death, relaxed and said,
"All right, bub, you don't have to force-feed me. I'll take it like a
man."

The cylinder apparently understood him, for it handed him the tumbler.
It even reholstered his stubray pistol.

Jon brought the glass of liquid under his nose. The fumes of the liquid
were pungent. It brought tears to his eyes.

He looked at the cylinder, then at the Steel-Blues crowding around the
plastic igloo. He waved the glass at the audience.

"To Earth, ever triumphant," he toasted. Then he drained the glass at a
gulp.

Its taste was bitter, and he felt hot prickles jab at his scalp. It was
like eating very hot peppers. His eyes filled with tears. He coughed as
the stuff went down.

But he was still alive, he thought in amazement. He'd drunk the hemlock
and was still alive.

The reaction set in quickly. He hadn't known until then how tense he'd
been. Now with the torture ordeal over, he relaxed. He laid down on the
pallet and went to sleep.

There was one lone Steel-Blue watching him when he rubbed the sleep out
of his eyes and sat up.

He vanished almost instantly. He, or another like him, returned
immediately accompanied by a half-dozen others, including the
multi-tentacled creature known as No. 1.

One said,

"You are alive." The thought registered amazement. "When you lost
consciousness, we thought you had"--there was a hesitation--"as you say,
died."

"No," Jon Karyl said. "I didn't die. I was just plain dead-beat so I
went to sleep." The Steel-Blues apparently didn't understand.

"Good it is that you live. The torture will continue," spoke No. 1
before loping away.

The cylinder business