"Don't count on beingrescued. I stopped the Patrol report." Kemmer paused, obviously enjoyingthe expression on Albert's face. "You know," he went on, "there's apeculiar fact about nerves that maybe you don't know. A stimulus sets upa brief neural volley lasting about a hundredth of a second. Followingthat comes a period of refractivity lasting perhaps a tenth of that timewhile 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. Thatgadget on your arm is connected to a polygraph. Now do you want to makea 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 redhot pincers. He screamed. He couldn't help it. This punishment wasbeyond agony.
"Nice, isn't it?" Kemmer asked as Albert looked down at his amputatedfinger that still was remarkably attached to his hand. "And the beautyof it is that it doesn't even leave a mark. Of course, if it's repeatedenough, 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 wantedno more of that nerve treatment--and then he looked into Kemmer's mindagain and discovered what went into brainwashing. The shock was like icewater. Hypersensitive stimulation, Kemmer was thinking gleefully, wouldreduce this fat slob in the chair to a screaming mindless lump thatcould be molded like wet putty.
Albert felt helpless. He couldn't run and he couldn't fight. But hewasn't ready to give up. His perception passed over and through Kemmerwith microscopic care, looking for some weakness, something that couldbe exploited to advantage. Kemmer _had_ to have a vulnerable point.
He did.
There was a spot on the inner lining of the radial vein in Kemmer's leftarm. He had recently received an inoculation, one of the constantimmunizing injections that were necessary on Antar, for there was asmall thrombus clinging to the needle puncture on the inner wall of thevessel. Normally it was unimportant and would pass away in time and beabsorbed, but there were considerable possibilities for trouble in thatlittle blob of red cells and fibrin if they could be loosened from theirattachment to the wall.
Hopefully, Albert reached out. If he couldn't move himself, perhaps hecould move the clot.
The thrombus stirred and came free, rushing toward Kemmer's heart.Albert followed it, watching as it passed into the pulmonary artery,tracing it out through the smaller vessels until it stopped squarelyacross a junction of two arterioles.
Kemmer coughed, his face whitening with pain as he clutched at hischest. The pain was a mild repayment for his recent agony, Albertthought grimly. A pulmonary embolism shouldn't kill him, but the effectswere disproportionate to the cause and would last a while. He grinnedmercilessly as Kemmer collapsed.
A man darted from behind the chair and bent over Kemmer. Fumbling in hishaste, he produced a pocket communicator, stabbed frantically at thedial and spoke urgently into it. "Medic! Boss's office--hurry!"
For a second, Albert didn't realize that the hum of machinery behind himhad stopped, but when he did, both Albert and the chair vanished.
The Zark realized that its host had been hurt again. It was infuriatingto be so helpless. Things kept happening to Albert which it couldn'tcorrect until too late. There were forces involved that it didn't knowhow to handle; they were entirely outside the Zark's experience. It onlyfelt relief when Albert managed to regain his ability to move--and, asit looked out upon the familiar green Antarian countryside, it feltalmost happy. Of course Albert was probably still in trouble, but itwasn't so bad now. At least the man was away from the cause of his pain.
* * * * *
It was a hell of a note, Albert reflected, sitting beside the road thatled to Lagash and working upon the bonds that tied him to the chair. Hehad managed to get out of Kemmer's hands, but it appeared probable thathe would get no farther. As things stood, he couldn't transmit theinformation he had gained--and by this time probably every IC office onthe planet was alerted to the fact that Earth Central had a psi-typeagent on Antar--one who was not inherently unstable, like those poordevils in the parapsychological laboratories on Earth. They would beready for him with everything from Distorter screens to Kellys.
He didn't underestimate IC now. Whatever its morals might be, itspersonnel was neither stupid nor slow to act. He was trapped in thissector of the planet. Prime Base was over a thousand miles away, andeven if he did manage to make his way back to it along the trade routes,it was a virtual certainty that he would never be able to get near aclass I communicator or the Patrol office. IC would have ample time toget ready for him, and no matter what powers he possessed, a single manwould have no chance against the massed technology of the corporation.
However, he could play tag with IC in this area for some time with thereasonable possibility that he wouldn't get caught. If nothing else, itwould have nuisance value. He pulled one hand free of the tape that heldit to the chair arm and swiftly removed the rest of the tape that boundhim. He had his freedom again. Now what would he do with it?
He left the chair behind and started down the road toward Lagash. Therewas no good reason to head in that particular direction, but at themoment one direction was as good as another until he could plan a courseof action. His brain felt oddly fuzzy. He didn't realize that he hadreached the end of his strength until he dropped in the roadway.
To compensate for the miserable job it had done in protecting him frompoison and neural torture, the Zark had successfully managed to blockhunger and fatigue pains until Albert's over-taxed body could stand nomore. It realized its error after Albert collapsed. Sensibly, it didnothing. Its host had burned a tremendous amount of energy withoutreplenishment, and he needed time to rest and draw upon less availablereserves, and to detoxify and eliminate the metabolic poisons in hisbody.
It was late that afternoon before Albert recovered enough to take morethan a passing interest in his surroundings. He had a vague memory ofhiring a dak cart driver to take him down the road. The memory wasapparently correct, because he was lying in the back of a cargo cartpiled high with short pieces of cane. The cart was moving at a briskpace despite the apparently leisurely movements of the dak between theshafts. The ponderous ten-foot strides ate up distance.
He was conscious of a hunger that was beyond discomfort, and a thirstthat left his mouth dry and cottony. It was as though he hadn't eaten ordrunk for days. He felt utterly spent, drained beyond exhaustion. He wasin no shape to do anything, and unless he managed to find food and drinkpretty soon, he would be easy pickings for IC.
* * * * *
He looked around the cart, but there was nothing except the canes onwhich he lay. There wasn't even any of the foul porridgelike mess thatthe natives called food, since native workers didn't bother about eatingduring working hours.
He turned over slowly, feeling the hard canes grind into his body as hemoved. He kept thinking about food--about meals aboard ship, aboutdinners, about Earth restaurants, about steak, potatoes, bread--solidheartening foods filled with proteins, fats and carbohydrates.
Carbohydrates--the thought stuck in his mind for some reason. And thenhe realized why.
The canes he was lying on in in the cart were sugar cane! He had neverseen them on Earth, but he should have expected to find them outhere--one of Earth's greatest exports was the seeds from which beet andcane sugar were obtained.
He pulled a length of cane from the pile and bit into one end. Hisdepleted body reached eagerly for the sweet energy that filled hismouth.
With the restoration of his energy balance came clearer and more logicalthought. It might be well enough to make IC spend valuable time lookingfor him, but such delaying actions had no positive value. Ultimately hewould be caught, and his usefu
lness would disappear with his death. Butif he could get word to the Patrol, this whole business could besmashed.
Now if he made a big enough disturbance--it might possibly even reachthe noses of the Patrol. Perhaps by working through the hundred or sotourists in Vaornia and Lagash, he could--
That was it, the only possible solution. The IC might be able to get ridof one man, but it couldn't possibly get rid of a hundred--and somewherein that group of tourists there would be one who'd talk, someone whowould pass the word. IC couldn't keep this quiet without brainwashingthe lot of them, and that in itself would be enough to bring a Patrolship here at maximum blast.
He chuckled happily. The native driver, startled at the strange sound,turned his head just in time to see his passenger vanish, together witha bundle of cane. The native shook his head