When he came to, he saw a black machine before him. It was cylindrical, set upon two metal-encased wheels. From sockets in the upper edge of the cylinder, on opposite sides, hung a pair of triple-jointed, arm-like bars at the ends of which dangled strands of thick, black wire. Upon the front of the machine was a little contact lever and large, raised numerals of glossy white--83. There were two small, mesh openings on the sides and set in the center of the top was a socket from which reared a long, slender cable, seemingly rigid, for at its end was a thin, metal-encircled, glassy disk. And deep within its prismatic refractions, Rod noticed a dark core--an eye, staring at him. He gazed at the thing with irresistible fascination. There was life there, unholy, irrationally terrifying. He tried to back away and could not move. He remembered he was imprisoned in the barrel and he glanced down at the cylinder covering him. It was like the machine's. And suddenly he realized he was not in the cylinder. He _was_ the cylinder.... His mind froze to no thought. The machine rolled silently forward, the eye fixed upon him. "How do you feel?" It spoke, the sound like a cheap phonograph and with an insane tone in the words. Rod was dumb. He merely stared. "What--!" he finally quavered. But his voice was only a shrill whistle. The machine moved closer and the arm-like metal rods shot out, adjusted a small dial upon his drum. And he could speak.... "What are you!" cried Rod. His voice was like the machine's. "I am 83, Capek," said the thing. "But you do not comprehend. I have a brain, set within my shell as I fixed yours." "You did this?" Rod's mind lunged hotly at the machine, but he could not move. He stayed where he was, helpless. "Yes, I did it. I took your brain from the frozen body before it could deteriorate, placed it in this more substantial form. "Where am I?" demanded Rod. "These are my compartments, in the shop of Detroy. I found you encased in an iceberg, floating in the sea. By your dress you must have been there, perfectly preserved, for well over five thousand years--this is 6984. The last of your form, except those we use, were destroyed during the reign of A3, in the Great Conquest of the 40th century A.D. Your body was badly broken but the brain, fortunately, remained intact. I needed you, smuggled materials here and set your brain in a shell." Lord, Rod thought. Prisoned in this thing forever! The shock of understanding was like a blow. He only wanted to die.... * * * * * "Why am I needed?" Rod asked listlessly.