Joste growled in disgust. The human must think him a fool, to expect him to believe such nonsense! The only time a female fought was in last-ditch defense of the clan, something that hadn't happened since the clan wars almost four thousand years ago. "You lie, human." Marguerre shrugged, awkwardly because of his bound hands, but said no more. He'd already said more than he should have; he knew the best way to avoid giving anything away by accident was to remain silent except for the required identification information. "Enough of that," Joste said. He'd not discuss females more with this perverted filth. "Now you will me truth give. Why came you here?" * * * * * It was almost dark, and Joste was becoming discouraged. The man, except for sounds of pain, had remained silent. He was sprawled on the floor now, naked except for his own blood, his hands no longer bound because he no longer had hands to bind. Yet he was trying to rise, had actually made it to his knees with his wrists pressed against his chest and his head bowed to hide empty eye sockets, in a sickening parody of one paying homage to the Lords. Marguerre knew he was done. The pain, the maiming, were too much . . . and his tormentor wasn't going to allow him to die by accident. He had to activate the conditioning or buy his death with the information the Traiti wanted. For a Marine, that was no real choice--but there was one thing he wanted to make absolutely clear before he went out. "Joste . . ." "Speak, human." "You said . . . I've got no honor." Marguerre raised his head, faced the sound of Joste's voice. "Maybe not . . . your kind, I don't know. I'd . . . hoped you'd miscalculate . . . kill me clean . . . 'fore it came to this. Now I just want you . . . t'be certain . . . I do know what I'm doing." He straightened as much as he was able, drew in breath, and forced himself to speak the single short phrase he'd chosen. Hearing himself say it, deliberately, would wipe out Major Horst Marguerre. Nonsense syllables, Joste thought. "'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves"? For a space of seconds, there was no sound--then Marguerre collapsed with the heart-rending wail of a hurt, terrified youngling, to lie sobbing brokenly at Joste's feet. Stunned, the interrogator could only stare, then he dropped to one knee beside the bloody form. "Human . . . what wrong is?" The face that turned toward him had nothing of the proud Marine in it, only pain and fear. The man had said he knew what he was doing--what had he done? Whatever it was, there was clearly no point in questioning him further. With a sigh, Joste picked up his prisoner and stood. Unbelievably, that seemed to comfort the man. He nestled closer to Joste's chest, and the sobs slowed to whimpers, then ceased. His breathing showed he had gone to sleep. Joste and the guards exchanged amazed glances. "What did you do to him, Group-Leader?" the younger one asked.