Part 5 (2/2)
When he woke up, there was a man before him. The face blurred, seemed to grow to monstrous size and then move out to infinite distances. The voice of Harris had a ripple in it, wavering up and down, up and down.
”All right, Lancaster, here's the President. Since you insist, here he is.”
”Go ahead, American,” said the man. ”Tell me. It's your duty.”
”No,” said Lancaster.
”But I am the President. You wanted to see me.”
”Most likely a double. Prove your ident.i.ty.”
The man who looked like the President sighed and turned away.
Lancaster woke up again lying on a cot. He must have been brought awake by a stimulant, for a white-coated figure was beside him, holding a hypodermic syringe. Harris was there too, looking exasperated.
”Can you talk?” he asked.
”I--yes.” Lancaster's voice was a dull croak. He moved his head, feeling the ache of it.
”Look here, fellow,” said Harris. ”We've been pretty easy with you so far. Nothing has happened to you that can't be patched up. But we're getting impatient now. It's obvious that you're a traitor and hiding something.”
Well, yes, thought Lancaster, he was a traitor, by one definition. Only it seemed to him that a man had a right to choose his own loyalties.
Having experienced what the police state meant, he would have been untrue to himself if he had yielded to it.
”If you don't answer my questions in the next session,” said Harris, ”we'll have to start getting really rough.”
Lancaster remained silent. It was too much effort to try to speak.
”Don't think you're being heroic,” said Harris. ”There's nothing pretty or even very human about a man under interrogation. You've been screaming as loud as anybody.”
Lancaster looked away.
He heard the doctor's voice. ”I'd advice giving him a few days' rest before starting again, sir.”
”You're new here, aren't you?” asked Harris.
”Yes, sir. I was only a.s.signed to this duty a few weeks ago.”
”Well, we don't put on kid gloves for traitors.”
”That's not what I mean, sir,” said the doctor. ”There are limits to pain beyond which further treatment simply doesn't register. Also, I'm a little suspicious about this man's heart. It has a murmur, and questioning puts a terrific strain on it. You wouldn't want him to die on your hands, would you, sir?”
”Mmmm--no. What do you advise?”
”Just a few days in the hospital, with treatment and rest. It'll also have a psychological effect as he thinks of what's waiting for him.”
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