The room was austerely furnished, but there were touches of the feminine here and there--curtains, a small pot of flowers, a formal dress hung in a half-open closet. And the woman who sat across the desk from him was very beautiful, with the loosened ruddy hair streaming to her shoulders and the brilliant eyes never wavering from his. But one slender hand rested on a pistol. She had told him frankly, "I want to talk privately with you. There is something I don't understand ... but I'll be ready to shoot at the first suspicion of a false move. And even if you should somehow overpower me, I'd be no good as a hostage. We're Janyards here, and the ship is more than the life of any one of us." Now she waited for him to go on talking. He took a cigarette from the box on her desk--Laird's habits again--and lit it and took a slow drag of smoke into his lungs. _All right, Daryesh, go ahead. I suppose your idea is the best, if anything can be made to work at all. But I'm listening, remember._ "I am all that is left of this planet," he said tonelessly. "This is the ego of Daryesh of Tollogh, Immortal of Vwyrdda, and in one sense I died a million years ago." She remained quiet, but he saw how her hands clenched and he heard the sharp small hiss of breath sucked between the teeth. Briefly, then, he explained how his mental pattern had been preserved, and how it had entered the brain of John Laird. "You don't expect me to believe that story," she said contemptuously. "Do you have a lie detector aboard?" "I have one in this cabin, and I can operate it myself." She got up and fetched the machine from a cabinet. He watched her, noticing the grace of her movements. You died long ago, Ilorna--you died and the universe will never know another like you. But I go on, and she reminds me somehow of you. * * * * * It was a small black thing that hummed and glowed on the desk between them. He put the metal cap on his head, and took the knobs in his hands, and waited while she adjusted the controls. From Laird's memories, he recalled the principle of the thing, the measurement of activity in separate brain-centers, the precise detection of the slight extra energy needed in the higher cerebral cortex to invent a falsehood. "I have to calibrate," she said, "Make up something I know to be a lie." "New Egypt has rings," he smiled, "which are made of Limburger cheese. However, the main body of the planet is a delicious Camembert--" "That will do. Now repeat your previous statements." _Relax, Laird, damn it--blank yourself! I can't control this thing with you interfering._