They were gentle about turning him on his back again. The discussion about the papers was dropped while the medical worker cut his shirt away from the bleeding wound in his side. Hushed comments were made, but Gerson paid no attention. He was concerned with the fact that one of the Terrans had planted a foot between his legs, above the rope around his ankles, so that he was quite securely anchored to the spot.
"Looks like a broken rib besides," said the Terran examining him. "Do you think we could get him upstairs?"
"I'm no doctor," said the deeper voice, "but even I can see you'd never make it in time."
The voice came closer, though the vision in Gerson's eyes was blurring.
"Tell me, boy, what happened? How did they make you do it? What do they want?"
"Gerson!" said the man in the dark uniform. "Did you know what you were after when you took these papers?"
He was a dark blur to Gerson, who felt as if the weight on his chest had been increased. His lips were dry. He thought it would be nice to have a little water, but could not find words to ask.
The deep voice was flinging a question at the dark blur.
"Why, no, sir," said the Terran with the papers. "Nothing important at all. Just a few old shipping lists, a record of the planetary motions in this system that anybody could obtain, and an article on shortcuts to learning the Yoleenite language. I think I had the batch lying around the top of my desk."
"Why did he take them?" someone asked.