"Got to get free," Emerson panted, straining against the wristbands. The hard muscles of his arms ridged with effort, but the straps held. He dropped back, sobbing.
"That fiend," yelled Mussdorf. "That ten-eyed, octopus-legged, black-hearted spawn of a mismated monster did this to us. Damn him! Damn him! If I ever get loose I'll cut his heart out and make him eat it."
"Maybe—maybe he's vivisecting us," moaned Nichols. "With rays or—or something—aagh! I can't stand it!"
"Hang on, kid," gritted Emerson, fighting the straps. "I think it's lessening. Yeah, yeah—it is. It doesn't hurt so much now."
Mussdorf grunted astonishment.
"You're right. It is lessening. And—hey, one of my arm buckles is coming loose. It's torn a little. Maybe I can work it free."
They turned their heads to watch, biting their lips, the sweat standing in colorless beads on their pale foreheads. Mussdorf's thick arm bulged its muscles as he wrenched and tugged, panting. A buckle swung outward, clanging against the tabletop as it ripped loose. Mussdorf held his arm aloft and laughed harsh triumph.
"I'll have you all loose in a second," he grunted, ripping straps from his body.
He leaped from the table and stretched. He grinned into their faces.
"You know, it's funny—but I feel great. Huh, I must've sweated all the aches out of me. Here, Gunn—you first."