But the Security chief's voice stayed calm, even though his hairless skull was glistening. "You can't shoot, Dane. You can't." And then, forceful and vibrant: "Remember? I'm your master. You're my slave!"
Dane stopped in his tracks.
Deftly, while Dane stood as if paralyzed, Jessup took the pelgun. "You see, I'm still master, Dane. I created you. That's why you're going to stay here. You and Nelva Guthrie. Together. Dead."
Sweat came to Dane's forehead. In an agony of desperate tension, he tried to drag up his hand.
But it was like being thrown back through time into a nightmare. Once again, it was as on that other, dark-remembered day. The control, the conditioning—they gripped him in spite of all his efforts; bound him tight.
"Can you guess why you two will die, Dane?" Jessup taunted. "Is there any reason you can see?"
Mumbling, Dane said, "Because ... we know ... too much?"
"That's right. But what about?"
"About the Kalquoi wanting peace? About the way you sent me to activate the shaft, so they'd think men were all against them?"
"Very good, Dane. Now tell me why."