"You can't arrest me," I said. "I'm—or, I should be—the Amnesty-bearer!"
It was as if they hadn't heard me.
"Come on, come on," said Foster, crooking a finger at me.
"You guys can't pull this kind of trick!" I said. "When Chief Baxter hears about this—"
Charlie and Foster threw back their heads and laughed.
"W-what's so funny?" I asked, a dreadful inkling growing inside my mind.
The door opened and a third security man walked in. It was Chief Philip Baxter. He gave me a tolerant smile.
"They're laughing, Delvin," he said smoothly, "because I gave the order for your arrest."
The cell was of cold Martian stone, and had no window. I sat, miserable, on the thin cot provided for me, and pondered all that had happened to me in the last few days. None of it made the slightest sense to me. Not my selection by the Brain, nor my arrest by Baxter's men. It was crazy!