Gisser was tall and graceful, in the near-perfect physical trim of a fighting man. He moved with military precision, but without the stiff rigidity of formal marching. He took one step through the door--and stopped. Roysland narrowed his gray eyes and looked at the captain's face. The expression on it was definitely not the sleepy, glazed look of the hypnotic catatonic. After a moment, Roysland decided it could be described as a sort of apathetic introspection. "How long will he stand like that?" he asked Bilford. Bilford spread his hands. "Until someone tells him to move or he collapses from lack of food or sheer fatigue." "Have him sit down over there." Roysland pointed. "No use making the poor guy stand up." "Go over to that chair and sit down," Bilford told the captain. Gisser did as he was told. Bilford pulled up another chair and sat down. "Why'd you want to see him?" he asked. "I mean, do you have anything in mind?" Roysland shook his head. "Nothing specific; I'm just trying to see every angle of this. The Enlissa have a new weapon; we've got to do something to counteract it. So far, we don't know anything about it except that it bollixes up the brain--and that isn't very useful. It's like trying to deduce the existence of a pistol from the holes in the target." "Worse," Bilford said gloomily; "we don't even have a hole to analyze." "Yes, we do. A psychic hole." Roysland gestured toward the silent captain. "Are they all like that?" "Essentially, yes," Bilford said. "Can he hear what I'm saying? I mean, can he understand me?" "That's a hard question to answer. I should say that the understanding was of a very low level. Here, I'll show you what I mean." He turned and looked directly at the seated spaceman. "Captain Gisser, how old are you?" he asked in a firm, clear voice. There was no answer. "Gisser, when were you born?" Still no answer. "Gisser, _tell us_ when you were born." "Twelve, Eight, Seven sixty-four," Gisser said promptly. Bilford looked back at Roysland. "He won't do anything on his own; there's absolutely no conscious volition. He has to be told what to do. "Just asking him a question isn't enough; you have to insist on the answer. That's what I meant by saying that his understanding is on a very low level. He can't even deduce the presence of an unspoken command." Roysland frowned and started to say something, but he was interrupted by a flicker of light on his desk panel. He looked at Bilford. "The boss," he said dryly. Then he pressed a stud. * * * * * Light flickered in the air and coalesced into the seated figure of a portly, smiling, middle-aged man. The image wavered a little, then settled into an illusion of material solidity. General Director Eckisster smiled and said: "Are we getting anywhere, gentlemen?" "We're just getting started," Roysland said.