A look of utter weariness swept across the doctor's face.
"All right," he said. "You may as well know the truth then. You won't like or understand it, but here it is anyway. You see, there isn't any tug up there, experimental or otherwise. There was only our need for a good excuse—in this present case—to get him to take the drug. You're a space-engineer and a good one, Donnelly. That's why you were chosen for this job. If anybody could help those kids, you could."
Donnelly's face tightened warningly and the doctor hurried on. "You would have known about it if there had been any experimental models developed even if they had been secret. As a matter of fact, with your standing, you would probably have been working on them."
"Why all this, then, Doc? Why?"
"Because," the little doctor hesitated—and then shrugged. "I may as well tell you. It's not going to make any difference now, anyway. It was all done to put him out for several hours until—"
"Until what, Doc?" Donnelly's tone was harsh and uncompromising.
"You must understand that I'm under orders. I'm doing what is done in all these cases. Though heaven help me, I wish I didn't have to—"
"Doc," Donnelly roared. "You have been contradicting yourself all along and I intend to find out why."
"There isn't much more to find out.... Wait."
The doctor strode quickly over to the radio, and glanced at his wristwatch. His face haggard with strain, he turned to Williams. "Will you contact the MR4, please?"