off on the knob.

"I really should spin this thing up to a proof load," he said. "Might
be interesting to see what kind of an assembly job they did on you.
But we'll just leave you this way. All you've got to do is keep quiet.
You're deaf, dumb, and blind, you understand?" He turned on Mauson.

"Now, for you--" His voice trailed off.

The man was sitting like a puppet whose controlling strings had been
cut. Stan's blazing fury started to burn down.

These minds, he suddenly realized, had been virtually paralyzed. He
didn't need anything to tie them down. All he had to do was point his
finger. They'd jump. He shook his head.

"Funny," he told himself. "All you have to do is be a little forceful.
Why didn't somebody tell me about this?" He looked calculatingly at
Mauson.

"Tell you what we're gonna do," he said rhythmically. "Get your car
over here. You know, the shielded job. We don't want anyone snapping
at us with flashers." His voice hardened.

"Come on," he ordered, "get on that box. Tell 'em you want that car."

* * * * *

As the car rolled down the street, he leaned forward a little.

"All right, driver," he said peremptorily, "when we get to the
Federation Building, swing into the official driveway."

The driver moved his head slightly. Stan sat back, waiting.

He looked at the building fronts as they swept past. When he'd first
come here, he'd noticed the clean beauty of the city. And he's been
unable to understand the indefinable warning he'd felt. But now--he'd
looked beneath the surface.

The car slowed. A guard was flagging them down at the building
entrance. Stan touched a window control.

"Stand aside, Guardsman," he ordered. "We're coming in." He flicked
the window control again.

"Keep going, driver," he ordered. "You can let us out inside. Then
find a place to park, and wait."

Another guard came toward them as the car rolled to a stop.

"Hey," he protested, "this is--"

Stan looked at him coldly.

"Which way to the Guard commander's office?"

The man pointed. "Elevator over there. Fifth floor. But--"

"I didn't ask for a story. Get our driver into a parking space and
keep him there." Stan turned to Mauson.

"All right. Get out."

He shepherded the man into the elevator and out again. In the hall, he
glanced around, then walked through a doorway.

A middle-aged guardsman looked at him inquiringly.

"Can I do something for you gentlemen?"