And after a time, vague forms appeared outside. He saw the walls of the laboratory and the shining instruments--through green murk. And he saw something else moving about, a shadowy form. The stilt-like creature? Abruptly, sharp pain lanced from the front of his skull to the back. Briefly. And it did not repeat itself. A voice whispered, "You are struggling. Do not struggle, for it can only prolong the inevitable. Transfer takes time, of course; but the longer it takes the more unpleasant it will be for you." "Go to hell." It was then that the pain came back--stronger. And something almost physical pushed in at his mind, something ugly, unclean, wet with a damp, chilling moisture which brought twinges of fright. _Like the Ganymede-fear, but more intense._ "To struggle is useless." The wet feeling, like fingers now, fingers which oozed slime, clung to his brain, probed it, bore inward. "Why struggle? I think you will make a good fit." "Go away. Damn you, go away!" "I see the auction-master was right. Emotionally, you are strong." The fingers departed, came back again, more insistent. No longer wet, they were digits of fire now, burning, burning. Steve screamed soundlessly and fainted. * * * * * When Steve came to, he was outside the tank. He was tired and did not feel like walking. Nevertheless, he walked. At first he did not understand. He thought: _I will sit down and rest._ His body failed to obey, continued walking. "We share this body," the voice whispered to him, within his skull. "You are merely an observer as long as I am awake. I am in control. Henceforth, I dwell in this body." "I want to sleep." "You will learn that your mind can sleep while your body does not. And the body interests me, human. The body is capable of strong emotion. I want to feel that emotion." The place, Steve realized later, was a sort of proving-grounds. He felt himself walking, walking. He reached the edge of a cliff, stared down from giddy heights. He felt himself teetering on the edge, saw jagged rocks far below him. He jumped. He did not want to, but he jumped. "We'll be killed!" he cried, icy fear making his heart pound. "That is fear," said the voice in his skull. "That is wonderful fear. So strong--" Something cushioned their fall, slowly. It _was_ that, Steve knew. _Their_ fall, not his alone. For the creature shared it with him. He tumbled, but slowly, like a feather, like a wraith of fog. He alighted on the rocks with hardly a jar, cushioned by some advanced application of a force-field. A large cube of metal was there to convey them to the top once more. After that, he became giddy. He did not know why, but the impulse to laugh was too strong to resist. He laughed until it grew painful, laughed until the tears came to his eyes. "That is joy," said the voice. "I can instill joy in you. But the way you express it, that is unique. More!"