The maddening, uncompromising pressure returned. Implacable. Patient. Unanswerable. Pressure that would drive him insane if he had no eventual hope of release. He shuddered, and the sense of depression—the night sense—was even more dark and terrible in daylight.
He got out of bed, reported to the Advanceship, keeping his voice low and even.
"Parr. Scheduling."
"Check."
The voice from the Ship was a stabbing, accusing voice. A voice that knew, that had made, overnight, a secret and awful discovery about him. He wanted to grovel before it and plead for forgiveness....
Nonsense!
He licked his lips nervously.
"That damned female!" he shrieked.
"Eh?"
"That damned female, don't you see!"