They had denied him even that satisfaction. Yes, he could attack Tayne, and Tayne would kill him. But that would not be a fight. It would be simply the choice of suicide, at the hands of the man who would derive the most satisfaction from being its prime instrument. The man who already signed the death warrants for Mike and Terry.... And Dot. Dot, after some awful agony would see him again perhaps, but she would see with uncomprehending eyes, hear with unrecognizing ears. If she lived through what they did to her, she would no longer be Dot at all. Dully, he could hear Tayne's words in a background that was a thousand miles away. "_Reconciled and steady as she blasts. This is QT to Control, C-Limit check--trajectory secure. Out._" And again, there was something far back in Doug's brain, struggling harder.... Then even as Tayne turned toward him from the dial consoles, it burst into the forefront of his mind like a flare in the darkness. _Twelve hundred Kemps at three hundred milliamperes, sir.... Genemotor, type A-26-F modified.... Sergeant! The neuro-tablets at once.... Commandments Four, Part 3, Sub-section 12 as amended ... all space craft shall be robot-controlled and shall fly predetermined trajectories, save (1) when bearing members of the Science Council and/or their certified representatives, to whom manual operation and navigation at will is singularly permissible, or (2) when insurmountable emergency shall occur...._ And suddenly, Doug's brain vaulted from the lethargy of hopelessness and it was again at his command, a sharp, poised weapon of battle. _For Tayne knew! Yet he would die before he would tell--unless, somehow...._ "Such confidence, Quadrate Tayne! Admirable! But you would look so much more fit for your role with your sword in your hand, not in your scabbard!" Tayne reddened. "If it were not for my orders, Blair--" "Why, such a lack of conditioning, Quadrate! Don't you know killing me is supposed to be so repulsive to you that you couldn't even stomach the thought of it? Tell me, don't I make you sick, Quadrate?" * * * * * Tayne's hand went to the hilt of his weapon. He half-drew it, slammed it back in its scabbard. "Blair, we have twenty hours aboard this ship together. We can be at each other's throats like children. Or not, as you please." Doug sat down on the edge of the acceleration hammock. Perhaps it would not be so difficult. Carefully, he entered the role further. He must have just the right kind of smile. "Ah, but think of all the trouble I can get you in if I make you lose your temper and kill me! And you have got to admit, where I'm going, it doesn't make much difference--to me, I mean." Tayne turned back to the instrument panel as though to signify that he had suddenly become a deaf man. And Doug kept talking, as though to signify a complete lack of interest in whether Tayne was a deaf man or not.