A thrill-mill. For an instant I hesitated. Then, quickly, I ripped away box after box, lining up the mills in a neat row along the wall beside me. By the time I'd finished, I had no couch to sit on, and the row of mills reached well-nigh half the way around the room. Now, by feel, starting at the door, I lined up all the dials alike, then threw the activating switches. All of a sudden, the room was no longer still. Every breath, every shuffle, rose in my ears like peals of thunder. Varicolored sparks flashed through the black. The mustiness grew to a stench that blocked my nostrils. I coughed and choked on every particle of eddying dust. Beyond the door, there came a rush of feet. A woman's voice cried, "Turn them off, Traynor! Quick, before they burn your brain out!" "Open up, then! Unlock that door!" "Yes, yes! But turn them off!" "Unlock it!" A bolt flew back with a deafening crash. The door burst open in a dazzling blaze of light. Blinded, lurching, stumbling, I clawed down switches. My head throbbed till it seemed it must surely split wide open. But as the mills went off, the tide of experiential wave-shock ebbed. Slowly, the intensity of the stimuli flooding in upon me fell back to normal level. My vision cleared. My head stopped ringing. Celeste Stelpa stood in the doorway. Her face was pale, her lovely eyes dark-ringed with strain. I said, "All right. Talk." "Talk--?" The grey eyes widened visibly. "What do you mean?" "You know what I mean. Where are we? Why'd you bring me here? What's behind this thrill-mill business?" * * * * * The girl's hand came up in a too-quick movement, smoothing blonde hair already perfectly coiffured. A shutter seemed to close behind her eyes, just as it had on the voco scanner. "Really, Agent Traynor--" "Would you rather I told you, then?" I stepped past her quickly, peering this way and that to be sure we were alone. "We'll start with why you brought me here; and the answer is, because you're scared." Our eyes locked for an instant as I said it. Then, abruptly, Celeste laughed--a soft laugh, pleasant and unrestrained. "On the contrary, Mr. Traynor." She took my arm. "However, let's go back to my quarters, where we can be a bit more comfortable. You must be terribly tired, after that insane ordeal with the mills." Together, we moved down a dark aisle like that of a storage warehouse ... then through a doorway into another room, not too much larger than the one in which I'd been. There was a difference, though: This place was the strangest I'd ever seen. Even the concept was alien. There were no furnishings, in the normal sense, save bulky, twisted shapes, all knobs and hollows, that I'd have classed as statuary. The floor, in turn, was weirdly geometric, a thing of slopes and planes, angles and undulations. Pyramids jutted up, adjacent to cubes and octagons and wedges. Color ran riot--here tinting and blending, there contrasting.