They were gentle about turning him on his back again. The discussion about the papers was dropped while the medical worker cut his shirt away from the bleeding wound in his side. Hushed comments were made, but Gerson paid no attention. He was concerned with the fact that one of the Terrans had planted a foot between his legs, above the rope around his ankles, so that he was quite securely anchored to the spot. "Looks like a broken rib besides," said the Terran examining him. "Do you think we could get him upstairs?" "I'm no doctor," said the deeper voice, "but even I can see you'd never make it in time." The voice came closer, though the vision in Gerson's eyes was blurring. "Tell me, boy, what happened? How did they make you do it? What do they want?" "Gerson!" said the man in the dark uniform. "Did you know what you were after when you took these papers?" He was a dark blur to Gerson, who felt as if the weight on his chest had been increased. His lips were dry. He thought it would be nice to have a little water, but could not find words to ask. The deep voice was flinging a question at the dark blur. "Why, no, sir," said the Terran with the papers. "Nothing important at all. Just a few old shipping lists, a record of the planetary motions in this system that anybody could obtain, and an article on shortcuts to learning the Yoleenite language. I think I had the batch lying around the top of my desk." "Why did he take them?" someone asked. "Damned if I know. You fellows had me scared to death. From what you said, I thought he must have pinched the deadly top secret code and my personal address book to boot!" "Simmons!" shouted the deeper voice. "Are you getting this? Are you making a tape for Terra? Oh ... right out, eh? Scrambled, I hope--it's not the kind of thing to publicize to the galaxy." The mechanical voice boomed in the background. Gerson paid it no attention. He felt the doctor's hands touching the old injections and heard the man swearing. Whoever was holding his left arm was actually squeezing and stroking his hand. The taste of failure was in his mouth. "That's what they must have started with," said the doctor. "In the end, they put an awful mental twist into him, poor guy." "I told you they were up to something," said the dark blur. "Those little bastards had big ideas, but they won't catch us napping with any more spies, conditioned or not! Now maybe they'll read my reports on Terra." Gerson opened his mouth to breath better. He rolled his head from side to side on the hard floor. Somewhere deep inside him, a little, silent voice was crying, frightened. He had failed and there would be no other chance. The little voice took leave of its fear to laugh. _They_ had not let him remember how to read. And so he died, a tall, battered Terran lying on a hard floor and grinning faintly up at the men who had helped him die. SIXTEEN