Because the first of the two men who climbed out was thick-bodied, bullet-headed, lump-faced, scowling Pfaff, the Security rep with whom he'd clashed. And the gaunt figure behind Pfaff was that of the hollow-cheeked, hollow-eyed, hairless man, master of slaves, whom Dane knew only as the Being-Without-A-Name! CHAPTER IX "Well, Dane, how does it feel to be the savior of your race?" Slowly, painfully, Dane forced his eyes to focus and search for the speaker. It turned out to be the hairless man. He sat on a crumbling stone bench, hunched forward slightly and with his teeth bared in a cold, knife-edged smile. Glowering Pfaff stood to his right, scrubbing a palm over a hairy forearm. To his left, a uniformed, strangely blank-faced stranger stood too stiffly at attention. Dane moved his head a fraction, seeking Nelva. She sat off away from the three men, still farther left. Her face wore a stiff, strained look, and she kept her eyes on a spot distant from the group, as if to avoid involvement with them. Dane shifted his gaze back to the hairless man. He still said nothing. "I do make a striking picture, don't I, Dane?" the other observed as if answering a question. His smile twisted mirthlessly. "If you'd like to try the effect yourself, a proper dose of some types of radiation poisoning will do it. In my own case, the hair follicles were killed completely--scalp, eyebrows, facial and body hair, everything. I felt rather bad about it at first, for I was vain enough in my younger days. But then I found that even the loveliest of women is more apt to be impressed by the unique, the different, than run-of-sex handsomeness; and no man ever forgets me. So there are adequate compensations. Personally, I'm quite satisfied." The voice held the same twist as the smile--a twist of bitterness, of irony, of lurking menace. It was the voice of a man who enjoyed playing cat-and-mouse ... or forcing those in his power to confess their thralldom. The very sound of it made Dane's hackles rise, in spite of all he'd been through. "Who are you?" he asked tightly. "That's right; you don't know, do you?" The man leaned back a fraction. The lids of the deep-set eyes flickered. "We might make a sort of game of it, even--let you guess--" "He's Thorburg Jessup." This, quite unexpectedly, from Nelva. Hate rasped in her words. Her eyes were smoldering. "Thorburg Jessup--!" Involuntarily, Dane's eyes widened. He pulled himself round; sat up. "Oh! You're feeling better!" Jessup chuckled. "That pleases me. It would have been a pity to lose you, after all the effort I put into your creation." Dane breathed in sharply. Then, catching himself, he counted off three deeper breaths before speaking: "And ... what did you have to do with my creation?" The Security chief lifted a long-fingered hand. "It was my idea. All of it, from the beginning." "Your ... idea--?"