The cylinder apparently understood him, for it handed him the tumbler. It even reholstered his stubray pistol.
Jon brought the glass of liquid under his nose. The fumes of the liquid were pungent. It brought tears to his eyes.
He looked at the cylinder, then at the Steel-Blues crowding around the plastic igloo. He waved the glass at the audience.
"To Earth, ever triumphant," he toasted. Then he drained the glass at a gulp.
Its taste was bitter, and he felt hot prickles jab at his scalp. It was like eating very hot peppers. His eyes filled with tears. He coughed as the stuff went down.
But he was still alive, he thought in amazement. He'd drunk the hemlock and was still alive.
The reaction set in quickly. He hadn't known until then how tense he'd been. Now with the torture ordeal over, he relaxed. He laid down on the pallet and went to sleep.
There was one lone Steel-Blue watching him when he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up.
He vanished almost instantly. He, or another like him, returned immediately accompanied by a half-dozen others, including the multi-tentacled creature known as No. 1.
One said,