The anarchist revolt against Bureaucratic-Socialism had seriously weakened Terra and corporate business had fought its way back to power. Determined never again to permit the sacred laws of property to be so violated, it had fastened its tentacles to the very roots of society. It organized a government in an image of itself--a corporate government. Men became known no longer as American or Spanish but as General Atomic men, or Tri-World men, or Corporate Government men and were as blindly patriotic to their corporations as they had been in earlier ages to the lands of their birth. Such a one, Saxon recognized, was Emil of General Atomic, a fanatic who would consider it the greatest honor to die for his company. "You realize, sir," said Emil, "that we regret very much what we must do." "Why do it, then?" Jon Saxon asked bluntly. The blond Emil looked shocked. "Are you suggesting treason, sir?" "I'm not suggesting anything," replied Saxon, who had already read his death sentence in Emil's brain. "But you don't expect me to give you any information, when you plan to kill me immediately after." Emil's expression was vaguely disturbed. "Nonsense! I'm commissioned to offer you a post in General Atomic's research department at twice your present salary, if you can give us the information we wish." But Saxon still read nothing but inexorable death in Emil's mind. "Eyewash," he said. In the ensuing silence the men's thoughts beat at Saxon's brain like the confusing racket of people talking all at once. At length Emil moved aside, saying, "We're prepared for obstinacy. Georg, take over." A plump man of middle age drew up a chair facing Saxon. "Georg," explained Emil, "is an N.P.A." Saxon stared into the moon faced neural-psychoanalyst. The man possessed the most unusual pair of twinkling blue eyes like bits of glass, a smooth pink face, thin sandy hair. He was dressed like Emil in loose, comfortable coveralls of a gray siliconex. He took Saxon's wrist, said pleasantly, "Hmmm, pulse rapid but strong. Unusual nervous control. Strip to the waist, if you please." As Saxon pulled off his blouse, the plump N.P.A. turned to the third man, obviously his assistant, and said, "Bring the machine, Alph." The man called Alph lugged a heavy case in front of the couch, opened it. Georg began to attach saucer shaped suction discs to Saxon's temples, the base of his skull, his solar plexus. Wires led from the discs to the machine in the black case. "Quite ready," said Georg to Emil. "Ask any questions you wish." Saxon could feel a delicate tingle rippling up his spine into his brain like a mild electric shock. Emil asked, "Do you know the secret of Villainowski's stellar drive?" "No," returned Saxon. "That's preposterous. No one understands that except Villainowski himself. Do you think Government would be so stupid as to let the secret out?"