"I'm not suggesting anything," replied Saxon, who had already read his death sentence in Emil's brain. "But you don't expect me to give you any information, when you plan to kill me immediately after."
Emil's expression was vaguely disturbed. "Nonsense! I'm commissioned to offer you a post in General Atomic's research department at twice your present salary, if you can give us the information we wish."
But Saxon still read nothing but inexorable death in Emil's mind.
"Eyewash," he said.
In the ensuing silence the men's thoughts beat at Saxon's brain like the confusing racket of people talking all at once.
At length Emil moved aside, saying, "We're prepared for obstinacy. Georg, take over."
A plump man of middle age drew up a chair facing Saxon.
"Georg," explained Emil, "is an N.P.A."
Saxon stared into the moon faced neural-psychoanalyst. The man possessed the most unusual pair of twinkling blue eyes like bits of glass, a smooth pink face, thin sandy hair. He was dressed like Emil in loose, comfortable coveralls of a gray siliconex.
He took Saxon's wrist, said pleasantly, "Hmmm, pulse rapid but strong. Unusual nervous control. Strip to the waist, if you please."