They were specialists, little doubt of that. They regarded Pell with flat, almost disinterested looks as the door closed behind them. One held a hypodermic needle. He was the shorter of the two, but he had shoulders like ox-yokes. His face had been kneaded in the prize ring, and his bare arms were muscular and hairy but the top of his head was bald. The other had red hair, close-cropped. He was big and well-proportioned; Pell might have taken him for a professional football player. Red did the talking. He spoke quietly, almost pleasantly. "Gonna cooperate?" he asked Pell. Pell said, "You touch me, brother, and I'll make your face look like Baldy's." Red glanced at Baldy and seemed to sigh. Abruptly he whirled, jumped at Pell and brought a sizzling right hand punch through the air. Pell ducked it. He saw Baldy move in as he did so, and a painful blow struck the back of his neck. His teeth rattled when it struck. Something caught him under the chin, straightened him. When he was straight a pile driver struck him in the midsection. It was all over within a matter of seconds. Under different circumstances Pell might have found time to admire their technique. As it was, he was now face down on the floor and Red was straddling him, holding him there. The pain in his stomach made him gasp. His face and the back of his neck ached terribly. Red had his arm in the small of his back. Pell tried to struggle. "I can break the arm if you move," said Red cheerfully. And then Pell felt the bite of the needle just below his shoulder. A misty feeling came. He felt as though he were in a red whirlpool, spinning, going down--down.... He fought to rise. He could still hear. He could hear footsteps and the slam of the door when somebody else came into the room. And then he seemed abruptly to be detached from his own body and floating in a huge gray void.... Words hammered at his brain. Larkin's voice, at his ear now and no longer metallic. "_You will be loyal to the Supremist cause. You will do nothing against the Supremist doctrine. You will believe that Earthmen are meant to rule the Universe--_" He felt an overpowering impulse to nod, to agree, to believe that it was right to do this. He fought this impulse, straining his mind and his very being until it seemed that something might burst with the effort. "_You will work for the cause; you will give your life for it if necessary._" Yes, perhaps it was better to succumb. The words were too strong. He couldn't fight them. Larkin was right, Earthmen were supreme, and they were destined to rule.... Somewhere in the depths a tiny spot of resistance still glowed. He tried desperately to evoke it. It seemed then that it became brighter. He _could_ resist--he _would_.... He kept thinking over and over again: "_No, no, no!_" Larkin's voice said, "Carry him in the other room. He'll come to in a moment." * * * * *