"I'm sorry to hear that. But really, it's your own fault. You know that." "I can't tell you anything," said Lancaster. "I'm under Security oath. I can't speak of this to anyone below the President." Harris looked annoyed. "Don't you think the President has better things to do than come running to every enemy of the state that yaps after him?" "There's been some mistake, I tell you," pleaded Lancaster. "I'll say there has. And you're the one that's made it. Go ahead, boys." Harris picked up a magazine and started reading. * * * * * After awhile, Lancaster focused his mind on Karen Marek and kept it there. That helped him bear up. If they knew, out in the station, what was happening to him, they--well, they wouldn't forget him, try to pretend they'd never known him, as the little fearful people of Earth did. They'd speak up, and do their damnedest to save their friend. The blows seemed to come from very far away. They didn't do things like this out in the station. Lancaster realized the truth at that moment, but it held no surprise. The most natural thing in the world. And now, of course, he'd never talk. Maybe. When he woke up, there was a man before him. The face blurred, seemed to grow to monstrous size and then move out to infinite distances. The voice of Harris had a ripple in it, wavering up and down, up and down. "All right, Lancaster, here's the President. Since you insist, here he is." "Go ahead, American," said the man. "Tell me. It's your duty." "No," said Lancaster. "But I am the President. You wanted to see me." "Most likely a double. Prove your identity." The man who looked like the President sighed and turned away. * * * * * Lancaster woke up again lying on a cot. He must have been brought awake by a stimulant, for a white-coated figure was beside him, holding a hypodermic syringe. Harris was there too, looking exasperated. "Can you talk?" he asked. "I--yes." Lancaster's voice was a dull croak. He moved his head, feeling the ache of it. "Look here, fellow," said Harris. "We've been pretty easy with you so far. Nothing has happened to you that can't be patched up. But we're getting impatient now. It's obvious that you're a traitor and hiding something." Well, yes, thought Lancaster, he was a traitor, by one definition. Only it seemed to him that a man had a right to choose his own loyalties. Having experienced what the police state meant, he would have been untrue to himself if he had yielded to it. "If you don't answer my questions in the next session," said Harris, "we'll have to start getting really rough." Lancaster remained silent. It was too much effort to try to speak. "Don't think you're being heroic," said Harris. "There's nothing pretty or even very human about a man under interrogation. You've been screaming as loud as anybody." Lancaster looked away.