s of
the Venerians, he would have died then; but always, when the end
seemed at hand, they brought him back to life, only to subject him to
other horrors.

* * * * *

After what seemed countless ages, the Venerians left him alone. Under
the powerful effects of their cures, Parkinson began to recover. Hope
welled up in his heart; perhaps the terrible experiments were ended.

When he was almost certain that the torture was over, his hopes were
suddenly destroyed. The three Venerians approached again, each bearing
a number of vessels containing germ cultures. These they placed on the
table at Parkinson's side; then two of them withdrew, leaving the
leader to continue his work. Uttering a few words in the Venerian
tongue, he occupied himself with something on the table, and a moment
later turned toward the bacteriologist, a long needle in his hands.

Parkinson felt a great burning pain in his left arm, as though a
searing, hot needle had been thrust into his flesh. In a moment this
vanished. Then a feeling of irresistible lassitude overwhelmed him; an
unbearable weariness filled him with longing for rest, peace--death.
This, too, was of short duration.

With the passing of the weariness, Parkinson became aware of a sharp
throbbing in his arm. Rapidly this increased in violence, until
suddenly an unbearable, excruciating agony seized him. Far greater was
this than any pain he had suffered before. For a moment he struggled
to scream, to move, to do anything to relieve his agony. There seemed
to be a sudden snap--a cry of anguish burst from his lips--and his
senses left him. Just as the bonds of paralysis had broken, he had
lost consciousness.

Life returned to Parkinson very slowly. In a daze he stared around,
uncomprehending. Then suddenly he realized that he was no longer
paralyzed: nor was he in the operating room. The bed on which he lay
was soft, comfortable; the room, unfamiliar. But not for long did his
mind dwell upon this; in a few moments his eyelids closed, and he
slept the sleep of complete mental and physical exhaustion.

Daring the weeks that followed, Parkinson did little other than sleep.
Occasionally he arose, either to stretch himself, or to secure food,
but for the greater part of the time he remained in bed. His body was
a mere shadow of its former self as the result of his terrible
experience on the white slab: his incessant sleeping, necessary
because of his weaken