Tom studied the record silently. "Any cyclic electric impulse can be applied as a stimulus to the brain. Certainly, this one can. My question still remains, however, what kind of a creature generated these pulses? If it is so alien you can't even identify it, we can't really be sure that these are brain waves. I can only say they may be." "That's good enough for me," said Jim. "How about setting it up so that we can see if these tell us anything." "I think I ought to make you tell me where you got these, first." "Afterwards, please, Tom." * * * * * It took the rest of the day to transcribe the record to the format required by Tom's light-intensity reader. They set the following day for the experiment. Both Sam and Jim were to participate. Tom applied eight electrodes to the skull of each man. They reclined in deep sleep-back chairs, and Tom suggested they close their eyes. Jim began to feel a sense of apprehension as he heard the first faint whine of the equipment. He knew the transcribed tape was unreeling slowly beneath the photo-electric scanner. The resulting fluctuating current was being amplified, filtered, gated to the proper level, and applied to the electrodes on his skull. He felt nothing. "Just like a ride on the merry-go-round," he said in disappointment. Then it struck. Like a fearful, billowing blackness rising out of the depths of Hell itself, it washed over him. It sucked at his very soul, corroding, destroying, a wind of darkness where the very concept of light was unknown. He was not conscious of his screaming until he heard his own dying voice and grew slowly aware of the sudden rawness of his throat. He heard another screaming and it sounded like Sam. Dimly, he wondered what had happened to Sam. Tom was bending over him, patting his face with a cold towel and murmuring, "Wake up, Jim! You're all right now. You're all right." He opened his eyes and saw Tom, white-faced. He turned and looked at Sam, whose head lolled sluggishly while a low whimpering came from his lips. "I'm all right," said Jim weakly. "Take care of Sam." Exhausted, he leaned back and closed his eyes another moment. Sweat oozed from every pore of his skin, cold, fear-inspired sweat. * * * * * An hour later, he felt completely recovered from the experience, except that his knees were still a little wobbly when he tried his legs. "We've got to try it again," Jim said. "Can you cut down the intensity a little? Better still, how about rigging up an intensity control that we can operate for ourselves?" "Nobody is trying that thing again in my lab," said Tom Banning. "Do you think I want a couple of corpses on my hands? Not to mention the droves of police that your screaming will bring down." "We've got to _know_," Jim said. "Listen, Tom, I'll tell you where we got this record. Then you can judge for yourself."