The blinding waves of color rioted about him, submerged him, fatigued him. He had a strong impulse to sleep, but he resisted it. Days seemed to pass.... Years.... Eons. All this.... Continued without change.... To the end of the world.... Dimly he knew that the color-storm was working on him; sensed danger when a great drowsiness stole over him; but he fought it off, his brain beating out hundreds of times more: "Iapetus, Iapetus--I have a ranch there--Iapetus, Iapetus...." Then came excruciating pain! * * * * * An electric shock suddenly speared him. His nerves seemed to curl up, and for a second his mind was thoroughly disorganized before it again took up the drone about Iapetus. Recovery ... dullness ... a kind of peace--and again the shock leaped through him. It was followed by a question from afar off: "_Where is Eliot Leithgow?_" Somehow the question meant a great deal and should not be answered.... Again the stab of agony. Again the voice: "_Where is Eliot Leithgow?_" Again the shock, and again the voice. Alternating, over and over. He could brace himself against the shock, but the voice could in no way be avoided. It was everywhere about him, over, around, under him; he began to see it. Desperately he forced his brain on the path it must not leave. He had forgotten years ago why, but knew there must be some good reason. "Iapetus, Iapetus--I have a ranch there--Iapetus, Iapetus--_Where is Eliot Leithgow?_--Iapetus, Iapetus--I have a ranch there--_Where is Eliot Leithgow_--I have a ranch there--a ranch there--Iapetus, a ranch--_Where is Eliot Leithgow?_--_Where is Eliot Leithgow?_--_Where is Eliot Leithgow?_" ... After two hours and ten minutes the Hawk crumpled. He was quite delirious at the time. The combined effect of the pain, the physical and nervous exhaustion of the shocks and light, the endlessly repeated question, his own close concentration on his Iapetus ranch--these were too much for any human body to stand against. He lost his grip on his mind, lost the fine control that had never been lost before, the control about which he was so vain. And the lump of flesh that was Hawk Carse gave the information that was tearing wildly at its prison. A stammering voice came from the heart of the color-sphere: "Port o' Porno, Satellite III--Port o' Porno, Satellite III--Port o' Porno Sat----" Dr. Ku Sui interrupted him; leaned forward. "The house is number----?" "574--574--574----" "Ah!" breathed the Eurasian. "Port o' Porno! So near!" Ku Sui returned the switch and pressed one of the buttons. The pool of colors faded; the laboratory returned to comparative dimness. The machine in its center seemed but a great web of wire. Slumped in the seat within it was a slender figure, his flaxen head bowed over on his chest, his eyes closed, and sweat still trickling down his unconscious brow. And lying on the floor was another unconscious figure. Friday had fainted. CHAPTER VI