"Not so well, thank you." The grin hurt his face.
"I'm sorry to hear that. But really, it's your own fault. You know that."
"I can't tell you anything," said Lancaster. "I'm under Security oath. I can't speak of this to anyone below the President."
Harris looked annoyed. "Don't you think the President has better things to do than come running to every enemy of the state that yaps after him?"
"There's been some mistake, I tell you," pleaded Lancaster.
"I'll say there has. And you're the one that's made it. Go ahead, boys." Harris picked up a magazine and started reading.
After awhile, Lancaster focused his mind on Karen Marek and kept it there. That helped him bear up. If they knew, out in the station, what was happening to him, they—well, they wouldn't forget him, try to pretend they'd never known him, as the little fearful people of Earth did. They'd speak up, and do their damnedest to save their friend.
The blows seemed to come from very far away. They didn't do things like this out in the station. Lancaster realized the truth at that moment, but it held no surprise. The most natural thing in the world. And now, of course, he'd never talk.
Maybe.