he knows I'm scared.

"It won't do you any good," Kemmer said. "It didn't take too much brains
to figure you were using hyperspace in those disappearing acts. There's
an insulating field around that chair that'd stop a space yacht." He
leaned forward. "Now--what are your contacts, and who gave you the
information on where to look?"

Albert saw no reason to hide it, but there was no sense in revealing
anything. The Patrol had word of his arrest by now and should be here
any moment.

It was as though Kemmer had read his mind. "Don't count on being
rescued. I stopped the Patrol report." Kemmer paused, obviously enjoying
the expression on Albert's face. "You know," he went on, "there's a
peculiar fact about nerves that maybe you don't know. A stimulus sets up
a brief neural volley lasting about a hundredth of a second. Following
that comes a period of refractivity lasting perhaps a tenth of that time
while the nerve repolarizes, and then, immediately after repolarization,
there is an extremely short period of hypersensitivity."

"What's that to do with me?" Albert asked.

"You'll find out if you don't answer promptly and truthfully. That
gadget on your arm is connected to a polygraph. Now do you want to make
a statement?"

Albert shook his head. He was conscious of a brief pain in one finger,
and the next instant someone tore the finger out of his hand with red
hot pincers. He screamed. He couldn't help it. This punishment was
beyond agony.

"Nice, isn't it?" Kemmer asked as Albert looked down at his amputated
finger that still was remarkably attached to his hand. "And the beauty
of it is that it doesn't even leave a mark. Of course, if it's repeated
enough, it will end up as a permanent paralysis of the part stimulated.
Now once again--who gave you that information?"

* * * * *

Albert talked. It was futile to try to deceive a polygraph and he wanted
no more of that nerve treatment--and then he looked into Kemmer's mind
again and discovered what went into brainwashing. The shock was like ice
water. Hypersensitive stimulation, Kemmer was thinking gleefully, would
reduce this fat slob in the chair to a screaming mindless lump that
could be molded like wet putty.

Albert felt helpless. He couldn't run and he couldn't fight. But he
wasn't ready to give up. His perception passed over and through Kemmer
with microscopic care, looking for some weakness, something that could
be exploited