But the man strapped to the table, and hooked up to the diabolical looking machine was the image of an Ertinian! Thomakein didn't know what the machine was for, but his logical mind told him that if this man, different from the rest, were strapped to a table with some sort of electronic equipment tied to his hands, feet, and head, it was sufficient evidence that this was a captive and the machine some sort of torture. He stepped forward and jerked the electrodes from Maynard's inert frame and pushed the machine backward onto the floor with a foot. A quick check told Thomakein that the unknown man was not dead, though nearly so. He raced through the derelict to his own ship and returned with a stimulant. The man remained unconscious but alive. His eyes opened after a long time, but behind them was no sign of intelligence. They merely stared foolishly, and closed for long periods. Thomakein tended the man as best he could with the limited supplies from his own ship and then began to plan his return to Ertene with his find. * * * * * Days passed, and Thomakein unwillingly abandoned any hope of having this man give him any information. The man was as one dead. He could not speak, nor could he understand anything. Thomakein decided that the best thing to do was to take the unknown man to Ertene with him. Perhaps Charalas, or one of his contemporary neuro-surgeons could bring this man to himself. Thomakein diagnosed the illness as some sort of nerve shock though he knew that he was no man of medicine. Yet the surgeons of Ertene were brilliant, and if they could bring this unknown man to himself, they would have a gold mine indeed. So at the proper time, Thomakein took off from the derelict with the mindless Guy Maynard. By now, the derelict was far beyond the last outpost of the Solar System and obviously beyond detection. Thomakein installed a repeater-circuit detector in the wrecked ship; it would enable him to find the _Mardinex_ at some later time. So unknowing, Guy Maynard came to Ertene. The first thing that reached across the mental gap to Guy Maynard was music. Faint, elfin music that seemed to sway and soothe the ragged edges of his mind. It came and it went depending on how he felt. But gradually the music increased in strength and power, and the lapses were shorter. Warm pleasant light assailed him now and gave him a feeling of bodily well-being. Flashes of clear thinking found him considering the satisfied condition of his body, and the fear and nerve-racking torture of the Martian method of extracting information dropped deeper and deeper into the region of forgetfulness.