“Ben Thrusher?” Kerry felt trapped. He had been so sure that Ben would be safe at his house. But if they had taken him from there, what might have happened to Ruthie and the children? He found himself wishing that Ben had chosen a man without wife or children to confide in. The precinct station of the Night Police was an immense re-modelled factory. Inside, the halls were dusty, and full of odd unfamiliar smells. Only on the top floor was the corridor sanitary, and pungent with the flavor of disinfectants. Still shepherded by the policeman, Kerry found himself being hustled along behind the white-smocked back of a capped nurse. The policeman said in a whisper, outside a door, “Your friend’s in there. I better warn you, he’s a mess. I guess the Pharigs had him prisoner all these years. He looks like it, anyway.” Kerry went in. The walls and the bed and pillows were a pale frosty green. Ben’s face, against that cool background, was shocking, horribly disintegrated even in the few hours since Kerry had last seen him. A needle dripped fluid into an immobilized arm. The hands, tightly re-bandaged, showed brownish stains through the white folds. Across the bed, Kerry faced a tall darkly handsome man, uniformed--not in the sombre color of the Night Police--but in the blazing blue of the Army of Earth United. A commander’s stars sparkled on his sleeve. Kerry said softly, “Ben--” Ben’s eyes forced themselves open. A pallid flicker of recognition stirred in them, and the hideous cavern of the mouth moved. From somewhere back of it a deep despairing sound came, that might, or might not, have been a word. Even that much effort twisted the ruined face into spasms, and the tall man on the other side bent forward. “Don’t try to talk,” he said gently. “Everything’s all right.” Questions were screaming inside Kerry’s brain--questions Ben could never answer and the police probably would turn aside. He stared in fierce interrogation at the stranger, who bowed very slightly. “Mr. Donalson?” the tall officer said, “I am Commander Shakhara Lal, stationed in Delhi.” He offered his hand, but Kerry ignored it. The commander walked around the bed. “I assure you, Mr. Donalson,” he said, “we knew Ben Thrusher’s whereabouts long before he tried to contact you. We had not the slightest desire to make him prisoner, although if he had surrendered himself sooner--” he broke off, looking at Ben’s inert body. “Dr. Chapman is recovering nicely,” he added. He spoke perfect English, but a certain extra precision and sibilance betrayed that it was not his native language. Kerry started to speak, but just then the face on the pillow suddenly loosened and seemed to come apart. The nurse started forward, then tightened her lips and said reproachfully, “He’s gone! If we’d had him here a week ago--”