The big Mercurian, ever since their incarceration under the psychophones, had occupied himself in thinking of what he would do to Haskell Trask if the opportunity ever offered.
"— glue his eyelids open and stake him out on the hot side of Mercury to look at the sun a while. No, he'd die too quick that way! It'd be better to take his skin off with that acid the Jovian tanners use, and then—"
The cell was like a bedlam to John Thorn's dazed mind. The three psychophones blaring metallically and without pause had become a torment to his ears.
He felt that he could not stand this much longer. And he understood now the full horror of the days that Lana had spent under the relentless instrument. And Lana was again being tortured by the psychophone!
On and on the hours dragged. The blue-lit cell swam about Thorn, and he closed his eyes tightly. Yet still the remorseless machine blared his thoughts, repeating interplanetary history, chemical formulae, mathematical tables — anything that would keep his mind on safely abstract subjects.
Thorn had cudgeled his mind for a means of escape. But there seemed none. He and his comrades were bound into their metal chairs by the broad leather straps. The door of their cell was secured by one of the invulnerable wave-locks. And two guards — two of Cheerly's Secret Police this time — stood on constant duty out in the dungeon corridor.
Thorn dozed finally. It was his only escape from the torment of the blaring psychophone. Yet he could sleep for but a brief period at a time, and he was dully unsurprised when he awakened a little later.
* * *
He went rigid in his bonds. He had been awakened by the entrance of Jenk Cheerly into their cell.
The Uranian spymaster's puffy green face showed suppressed excitement. His little eyes were gleaming triumphantly.