In spite of himself, Dane went rigid. The officers' heads snapped round as if on springs. "What--?" "You heard me." Pfaff was almost purring now. "The Kalquoi are shape-shifters; you know that. That's what makes them so dangerous. One minute, they'll be obviously alien--crystals floating in mid-air and radiating colored light like so many prisms. The next, one's a rock, another's a tal-string, and the third's bouncing around pretending to be the ball in a byul-game." * * * * * A thin thread of irritation began to creep through Dane. Unsteadily, he pulled himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of his cot. "Wait a minute, there--" "Shut up, you stabat!" Pfaff threw out the command in the manner of a huecco-trainer addressing a particularly doltish pupil. And then, to the officers once more: "Don't you see? The brain-drain's stopped the Kalquoi cold. But supposing they could masquerade as humans, the way they do inanimate objects! Before we knew it, they'd take over the inner planets, the way they have the outer!" Dane drew a deep, careful breath. "The only trouble is, I'm not a Kalquoi," he announced firmly. "Oh." This time Pfaff turned to face him. "Then who are you, may I ask?" "My name's Clark Dane." "Clark Dane. Very good." Pfaff licked thick lips, as if enjoying the whole situation. "Now, tell us some other things: where you were born; who your parents were; your work assignment number; occupational classification; residence registration; how and why you came to be on the asteroid where we found you." "Why, I--" Dane started to speak, then stopped short, groping. "I--I...." "Yes, yes. Go on." Pfaff was grinning openly now, head thrust forward as he prodded. A numbness crept through Dane. Desperately, he searched the farthest corners of his brain for answers to the other's questions. Answers that just weren't there. Pfaff chuckled; goaded: "It couldn't be you don't know, could it? Nor that you can't remember anything about the past except your name?" Dane didn't answer. Bewilderment; confusion; sheer, stark panic--they roiled within him; put knots in the pit of his stomach and made his head reel till he had to cling to the edge of the cot for fear of falling. Again Pfaff chuckled. "Maybe I'm being too hard on you, Dane." His mockery seared like acid. "If so, I'll apologize. Just prove to me you're not a Kalquoi; that's all I ask." "Damn it, Pfaff!" the officer nearest to Dane exploded. "You heard what Nelva Guthrie said: any shock's liable to tie this man up permanently. Quit plaguing him!" Pfaff's air of mock-cordiality fell away like a discarded mask. "Is that an order, lieutenant?" he demanded belligerently. "Are you telling me what I can and can't do?" The other's lips drew tight. "Now wait a minute, Pfaff--"