"You can call me when you're through," Martinez said. He seemed to glide out of the room, leaving Walton alone with Fred.
The huge screen was like a window directly into Fred's cell. Walton met his brother's bitter gaze head on.
Fred looked demonic. His eyes were ringed by black shadows; his hair was uncombed, his heavy-featured face unwashed. He said, "Welcome to my palatial abode, dearest brother."
"Fred, don't make it hard for me. I came here to try to clarify things. I didn't want to stick you away here. I had to."
Fred smiled balefully. "You don't need to apologize. It was entirely my fault. I underestimated you; I didn't realize you had changed. I thought you were the same old soft-hearted dope I grew up with. You aren't."
"Possibly." Walton wished he had taken that benzolurethrin after all. Every nerve in his body seemed to be jumping. He said, "I found out today that Lamarre's dead."
"So?"
"So there's no possible way for Popeek to obtain the immortality serum except through you. Fred, I need that serum. I've promised it to the alien in exchange for colonization rights on Procyon VIII."
"A neat little package deal," Fred said harshly. "Quid pro quo. Well, I hate to spoil it, but I'm not going to tell where the quo lies hidden. You're not getting that serum out of me."
"I can have you mind blasted," Walton said. "They'll pick your mind apart and strip it away layer by layer until they find what they want. There won't be much of you left by then, but we'll have the serum."