The lethal box stood before him, a small, compact cylinder of metal, levers upon its side.
The door was opened.
"Anything you wish to say?"
A man was speaking to him. Did he have anything to say? What could he say? But one should die with a flourish, a purple passage. Oddly none came. He merely wished the business over. He could rest then. Did he have anything to say?
"No, but you're wrong."
"Stubborn pirate. They all die innocent!"
The officer slammed the door.
Machinery whirred. It was very dark. Boy! wouldn't the public eat this story up! But in a few moments, before his mind could know it, he would be gone—body and mind—disintegrated into their component elements. He would be a wisp of gas, floating out when the door opened.
The humming stopped abruptly. It was dark and silent. It flashed to Rusty that this must be death.
Then the door opened. Would he float out? He sat there blinking in the sudden light.