Citadel of the Green Death

by Robert Emmett McDowell

"Roll up your sleeve!"

Joel did so in surprise. He glanced down. With a start he saw that the puncture where the humanoid guard had inserted the needle was fluorescing a vivid green. The room must be bathed in black light! Involuntarily he jerked down the sleeve.

"It's all right," said the stout man. "It's what I was looking for."

"What does it mean?" Joel asked when he had recovered from his surprise.

"Mean? It means that you're a legitimate maladjustment case and not a damned spy sent in here by the Senate."

"But...."

The fat man lifted his hand. He said, "I'm Doctor Chedwick, Emile Chedwick. I'm in charge of induction. Sit down, my boy."

Joel sank suspiciously into a relaxer. Doctor Chedwick drummed on the shiny black desk top.

"Understand," he began, "the men and women who are sentenced to the Experimental Station expect to die. And sooner or later they all do die. Some of them rather horribly."

Joel began to fidget. He knew this. Everyone knew it.