The more he fought the tighter the bands contracted. He couldn't breathe. A red haze swam before his eyes.
"Relax!" he heard Priscilla's voice coming from a great distance.
He slumped in the seat. The bands slacked off. He could breathe again.
"Damn you! Damn you!" he rasped. His throat was raw.
"I'm sorry, Joel!" she said in a scared voice. "I have to know something!"
Sitting stiffly in the chair's metal embrace, he watched her from the corner of his eye. She was wheeling a machine onto the terrace. Wires sprouted from it like the ganglia of the nervous system. Each wire terminated in a tiny saucer-shaped disk. She fastened them to his temple, the base of his skull, his solar plexus, his spine. Sweat burst out on Joel's face.
Priscilla finished attaching the sucker discs. Then she sat down at the machine, began to fiddle with a dial.
The machine went "Glug—glug—bubble—glug—"
"What the hell is that thing?" Joel demanded in a tight voice.
Priscilla didn't answer. The only sound was the "glug—glug—bubble—glug" of the machine. Then it said, "What the hell is she up to?" in an alarmed metallic voice.