"Come now," said Vorgan derisively. "Sezare would hardly die of starvation. Assassination, yes. Overindulgence, without a doubt. Even sheer boredom I will admit. But starvation? Never." "Deny your own medical corps, then." "I admit it," snapped Vorgan. "But I am perplexed." "There were no drugs." "That I know. But look, Lindoo, Sezare was a fool, a stinking voluptuary if ever a Loard-vogh was. As sector overseer his palace rivaled mine. He carried on with a high hand. I recall my last visit. Frankly, I was slightly abashed. If Sezare had not been profitable, I'd have dropped him. He produced, therefore the lush palace and life he led were none of my business. I am not chicken-hearted, Lindoo, but to select the favorites of the home race as personal servitors to his own idea of sensuality seemed too self-indulgent. Select his choice, certainly. I can understand that." Vorgan's hard eyes softened at the memory. "But the concept that any that served him were then exalted, and must not be touched by a member of the slave race again--that was feudal." "How did he enforce that?" "There was seldom a need. Sezare was a voluptuary, almost a sadist. No servitor he ever had lived in health after the year he demanded. Broken in mind and in spirit and in body, they were disposed of as merciful terminations. His final act of vanity was to peacefully end the victim's life, giving the first rest in a year. Starvation, you say?" "Yes." "Sezare's palace ran red with wine, and the pillars groaned with the richest food that the sector bore. Overindulgence I will understand. Gout, autointoxication, acute alcoholism, drugs, or anything that comes of living in the lush manner. But starvation--how?" "He was in complete starvation. He had dropped from three hundred and seven pounds to a scant sixty-three. He had locked himself in his suite and was constantly under the influence of a machine devised by ... by--" "Oho!" exploded Vorgan. "A machine! Devised by--?" "A Terran." "A Terran! Is he here?" "Yes--he and his machine. Partially destroyed." "Why?" "Terror." "Bring in the Terran. I'll see him. And if he cannot explain to perfection, I'll see him burn!" * * * * * The prisoner entered. No glass separated them, for the Terran was sterile. He was forced to his knees, but if terror wracked the man, it was not evident. "Your name?" thundered Vorgan. "Edward Lincoln." "Your trade?" "Technician. Research co-ordinator for His Exalted Highness, Sezare." "Sezare died of starvation." "I know--it was deplorable. I fear that I was his unwitting murderer." "You admit it?" "I must. It is true. Had I but known--" "Explain. Your life depends upon it." "Sezare the Exalted directed me to devise for him a means of gaining greater sensual stimuli. Apparently the law of diminishing returns--you permit my personal opinions and observations?" "Proceed. As you will."