"Thrill-mills--?" I leaned back in my seat, full of the satisfaction that comes of drawing the right card. "A thrill-mill," I observed, assuming a mock-academic tone, "is a fantastically expensive little device known technically as a perceptual intensifier. It's given away, not bought or sold, and is found only on Rizal. No one knows where it comes from, or why. Neither is there any certainty as to its true purpose. But whether as primary function or by-product, it shatters the wall of tranquillity established by our Educational Psych Department's inhibitory conditioning program and supplies the user with sensory, emotional and intellectual experiences of his selection, also vividly communicated as to render his earlier, conditioned contacts with reality as flat and insipid as so many pale grey shadows." No response from Gaylord. Banking not too steadily, he slowed the grav-car and, dropping down a hundred feet or so, eased it to a landing on a roof emblazoned with the FedGov Security insignia. I waited till the little craft slid to a halt. Then, quite casually, I asked, "How about it, Gaylord? Do those gadgets really jolt you as hard as they say?" My companion stopped short with the grav-car's door half open. His voice grew suddenly shriller than before. "What are you talking about? How would I know?" "That's plain enough, isn't it? Obviously, you've used one." For a taut second, Gaylord sat unmoving. Then, savagely, he snatched for the front of my tunic. I didn't even draw back. Gaylord's face seemed to sag. Breathing fast and shallow, he let go of me and began chewing at his lower lip. Still pointedly casual, I smoothed my tunic. "Take a good look at yourself, Controller," I suggested. "How would you diagnose a man whose temper flares, in a world where temper can't exist? How would you judge someone who jumps and jerks and jitters under pressure?" No response. I leaned forward. "You know the answer, of course, as well as I do. When the thrill-mills began to come in, you thought you'd experiment with one a little--try it out, see how it worked. "Next thing you knew, your patterns were cracking. You found you couldn't stand the drabness of conditioned living. The world was too bright, too vivid; reality was just too wonderful to give up. "So, instead of turning yourself in for reconditioning, you've tried to hide the truth and pretend to be just as dull and unresponsive as you were before...." Gaylord's face had grown paler and paler as I talked. Now suddenly, he spun in his seat and tried to throw himself out the grav-car's open door. I caught his shoulder; slammed him back. "Controller, I've got news for you! Run out on me now, and I'll see that Kruze has you blocked back to Drudge Third." Gaylord stared at me for so long my arm was beginning to ache with the strain of holding him. Finally, then, in a sullen voice, he said, "What do you want me to do?"