It was a frameup of some sort. It had to be.
He allowed himself to be led up to the machine. But abruptly, as they were unhinging some apparatus to strap to his head, he spun away from the guards who held him lightly, dove, grabbed at a blaster that protruded from a black leather holster—
"Okay," he said. "Get against that wall, all of you. One move I don't like and I'll destroy the whole lab."
His fingers were shaking with inner tension. All his life he had been raised to obey authority, to accept the commands of his superior officers—
And now he was rebelling. He was threatening the destruction of one of Earth's most expensive pieces of equipment.
The threat worked. The four technicians and the two guards backed against the wall.
"What do you want?" the head technician asked.
"I told you before. I want you to probe my mind, to look into that period that's a blank for me. If you find that I'm guilty, I'll—I'll submit to the erasure. If not, I'll demand a new trial. But I won't allow myself to be wiped out without at least a look!"
"All right. We'll probe you," said the technician. "You'll have to be under anesthetic, of course."