ed Harris.

"Yes. It's routine for my rank and over, you know. In case we should
ever be kidnapped--but why am I telling _you_ this?" Lancaster tried to
smile. His face felt stiff.

"Hm. Yes. Too bad."

"Of course, I've no objection at all to your using a lie detector on
me."

"Fine, fine." Harris beamed and gestured to one of the expressionless
policemen. A table was wheeled forth, bearing the instrument. "I'm glad
you're so cooperative, Dr. Lancaster. You've no idea how much trouble
it saves me--and you."

They ran a few harmless calibrating questions. Then Harris said, still
smiling, "And now tell me, Dr. Lancaster. Where were you really this
summer?"

Lancaster felt his heart leap into his throat, and knew in a sudden
terror that the dials were registering his reaction. "Why--I took my
vacation," he stammered. "I was in the Southwest--"

"Mmmm--the machine doesn't quite agree with you." Harris remained
impishly cheerful.

"But it's _true_! You can check back and--"

"There are such things as doubles, you know. Come, come, now, let's not
waste the whole night. We both have many other things to do."

"I--look." Lancaster gulped down his panic and tried to speak calmly.
"Suppose I am lying. The machine should tell you that I'm not doing so
out of disloyalty. There are things I can't tell anyone without
clearance. Like if you asked me about my work on the Project--I can't
tell you that. Why don't you check through regular Security channels?
There was a man named Berg--at least he called himself that. You'll find
that it's all perfectly okay with Security."

"You can tell me anything," said Harris gently.

"I can't tell you this. Not anybody short of the President." Lancaster
caught himself. "Of course, that's assuming that I did really spend the
summer for something other than my vacation. But--"

Harris sighed. "I was afraid of this. I'm sorry, Lancaster." He nodded
to his policemen. "Go ahead, boys."

* * * * *

Lancaster kept sliding into unconsciousness. They jolted him back to
life with stimulant injections and vigorous slaps and resumed working on
him. Now and then they would let up and Harris' face would swim out of a
haze of pain, smiling, friendly, sympathetic, offering him a smoke or a
shot of whiskey. Lancaster sobbed and wanted more than anything else in
the world to do as that kindly man asked. But he didn't dare. He knew
what happened to those who revealed