"... tests have been evaluated according to Section 679, Sub-section B of Commandment Seventeen, Part E, as amended, and you have been found to be unquestionably sane. It is my duty therefore to interpret the law with a finding of guilty of acts of heresy, as charged in each of the counts cited, committed with the premeditated deliberation of a sound, and therefore fully responsible mind." Dot no longer felt fear, only a terrible tiredness. It did not matter what Mannix said. Nor of course, could it matter what she might say. There was the truth, of course, but it would be doubly incriminating, and would spell disaster for Doug. _She would never see Doug again._ "... entitled, by rank, to denial...." _Or know him if she did._ "... may speak, now as privileged, before you are sentenced...." _Never see her Earth, her Terry or her Mike again!_ "... and in the absence of remonstrance as privileged...." _Or know that the sun and the stars above the alien planet upon which she would walk were not those under which she had been born...._ "... hereby sentence you, Madame Lisa Blair, to loss of privilege to breed offspring through sterilization, and to the complete loss of all ego and all memory therewith connected through psychomutation, which treatment shall immediately follow the first. In the name of the Prelatinate, the Prelate General, and the party hosts, I do so pronounce sentence." A panel had opened noiselessly behind her. The blurred face nodded imperceptibly, and arms suddenly were lifting her to her feet, leading her from the white, sterile room.... * * * * * There was an empty roaring in his ears as he struggled for consciousness, and he could only half-feel the tugging at his body, half-hear the frightened sound of Terry's voice. "Dad--dad, you've got to get up, dad!" Painfully, he made his shaking muscles take over the burden of his weight, forced himself to his feet. The viewscreen was black save for the receding white disk that was Venus. The acceleration needle quivered at just under two gravities. "--Dad, everything feels funny. So heavy. For a long time we couldn't even move out of those bed-things." His head hurt and there was drying blood on the side of his face. His body felt as though it had been flailed by a thousand of the maces, and his back wound was a long, throbbing ache, and it was sticky-wet again. He tried to force a grin to his face, and even that drew tiny shards of pain. "Wish I could've gotten to one of those bed-things, Mike! Believe me I never want to hear the expression 'hit the deck' again." "Well you sure hit it. Anything feel busted?" "Everything sure does! But I'll be O.K. in a minute." He sat heavily on the edge of a hammock, fought against the tugging urge to sink back into unconsciousness. But when the acceleration needle said one gravity and the gyros took over, he had to get back on his feet. "Dad! Where the heck are we going?"