Then he fought back. Against the soothing sibilance. Against the dancing lights. He turned his thoughts inward, to things of his childhood, to sights he had seen; gray rats chasing a man; an empty cradle in an empty hut; Marva sweet in his arms, perfume in her hair.... And his teeth were clenched over his lips. The pain was cruel, relentless. His nails in his palms. Pain and memory to fight sleep!
And he won!
The full white light flashed on. The siren voices died. The promising lights were defeated. He blinked his tired, weighted eyes. And Metas stood there.
"You have not succumbed," the Logician whispered. His face was haggard with strain. "No one has ever resisted hypno."
He turned to one of the Gard: "Bring Aleena." Bitter-eyed he said to Allyn, "Perhaps your consent will come quicker if the medics work on your sister."
"Metas," Allyn strained against his bonds, "if you harm her I will bring the Dome crashing about us."
The Logician leaned forward: "Ah, then you found the weapons of the Originals."
"No, only the power of the York folk...."
"If they are so mighty, why did they not cross the Barrier?"
"They need a vessel." Allyn tried to explain: "It is like transmitting and receiving waves. They will transmit, and through me you will receive super-sonics that will shatter the dome."