"Bunk!" Janus pronounced. "No one tortures men without any reason; not even these Proktols."
"But maybe they do have a reason!" Devries replied. "Oh, I'll admit, at first I didn't believe that Martian's story myself. I thought it was the effect of the tsith he was drinking, and God knows he needed it, poor devil. But when I looked in his eyes they weren't the kind of eyes I'd ever seen in a Martian or anyone else. They were mad eyes, mad with the sight they had looked upon."
"You said there were rumors," Ketrik spoke up. "I've never even heard of these Proktols before, much less any rumors about 'em."
Devries looked at Ketrik. "I told you they stayed close to home. But you know how many men from the inner planets have come out here, never to be heard of again. After that Martian's story, I made inquiries; mostly from hardened, independent spacemen. I went about the lowest dives of Mars, whispering surreptitiously about 'Proktols.' Out of a hundred I approached, only three men seemed to know what I was talking about. And two of these turned a funny color, and muttered something, and hurried away from me. Their silence was the best eloquence. The third man told me a vague, similar story to that of the Martian's."
"This torture the Proktols seem so fond of," Ketrik sneered. "Tell us about that."
"Well, it's—" Devries tried to tell them but he couldn't. That mad Martian had painted him a picture that rose up now in his brain and flooded it with horror. He was suddenly sick, he couldn't speak and he wished he couldn't think. He simply rolled over and lay there with his face to the wall.
The others were suddenly silent.
Blake spoke a minute later. His voice didn't sound the same. "I wonder where they're taking us?"
"There's your answer," Janus replied from the port where he was standing. "I can see Neptune almost dead ahead from here. And it's growing larger."