"Sit down," said the man. "Make yourself comfortable.
"You know, since the T.I.S. has inaugurated these books our jobs have been greatly simplified." He was making rapid notations on a form. "Lecturer on Ancient History," he read aloud. "Degrees in twentieth century literature." He looked up at Norman, smiled. "I'm an anthropologist myself. Was with an expedition to study the aborigines of Jupiter when the pirates captured our ship." He closed Norman's book, dropped it in a drawer.
"Now this is serious," he began in a different, somehow ominous tone. "What I am about to tell you is of the gravest importance. Every recruit is warned once and once only, so take heed.
"When you leave here you will be subjected to a machine which registers your personal wave length, particularly the subtle peculiarly individualistic vibrations emanating from your brain. Those vibrations will be impressed on an indestructible duraloid cylinder and sent to the control station in Behrl. The Dohlmites have devised a machine which can broadcast your death at any time, no matter where you may be. It operates through the wave length of your individual vibration."
"Dohlmites?" echoed Norman.
"Yes, Dohlmites. You saw one aboard your ship. The man who recruited you. They are a race so alien to mankind that we have nothing in common. The Dohlmites are the real masters here. All of us, fighting men and slaves, have had our vibrations recorded and are subject to instant death at the first sign of treachery.
"The Dohlmites can snuff your life out by simply turning a dial. Don't think I exaggerate. I have seen healthy men drop dead on the streets of Behrl. I have seen the lives of an entire rebellious crew extinguished like candles."
"But who are these Dohlmites. What are they?" Norman's brain was whirling.
"I think," replied the ex-anthropologist, "that they are plants."
"Plants!" ejaculated Norman Saint Clair.