s does," Cortin said, watching her subject closely. "If
it's what the prewars called a bad trip, and he remembers, it should."

"It doesn't look like it's going to be a good one," Bradford said,
chuckling.

"I think you're right," Cortin agreed. Her subject was showing signs
of fear, small as yet but promising. "And it looks like I ought to get
back to him. If you have any suggestions, I'll be glad to hear them."

"I don't expect to, but if I do, I'll let you know."

Cortin returned to her subject, pleased to see his fear become more
open when she entered the room. She wondered what he was seeing; he
hadn't been visibly afraid of her only minutes ago, so it had to be
something more than a woman in gray coveralls. As she approached him,
he started to sweat, trembling, his eyes bulging as he fought to escape
whatever he saw. "No--go away, please--leave me alone--don't touch me!"

She must be something impressive, Cortin thought. A demon such as the
one the drug was named for, perhaps, to get such a strong reaction.
"Why not?" she asked. "What do you think I am?"

"Lord Azrael," the man sobbed. "Go away--send the Inquisitor back!
I'll tell her everything--just leave me alone!"

So he'd taken her code name and clothed her in that persona, Cortin
thought. Fitting, that he should think he was dying at the hands of
the real Angel of Death. "Tell me, mortal. Thy life is forfeit, but
if thou shouldst speak quickly and truthfully, I will make thy passing
easy. She will not be so merciful."

"You're burning me . . . not so close . . ."

True enough, his skin was reddening as if from sunburn. Cortin had
read that something believed strongly enough could affect the body, but
this was the first time she'd seen it. She wanted to go closer, test
the phenomenon further, but getting information was more important than
indulging her curiosity; she stepped back instead. "Speak to me,
mortal. Quickly, before the Inquisitor returns and I must leave thee
to the slow, terrible death she intends for thee." Cortin had used the
"good cop/bad cop" tactic before, many times--it was, for all its age,
astonishingly reliable--though this was the first time she'd played
both parts for one prisoner.

The man sagged in his chains. "Better you than her, I guess . . . what
do you want to know?"

His fear was still there; Cortin read the signs easily. But she could
also see defeat, almost resignation. He believed the Angel