Why?

Because I wish to preserve my own physical wellbeing. The fact that you had disturbed it once means that you might attempt it again. I will not permit this access to me.

I doubt that I will attempt it again.

Your doubts mean nothing to me.

So you saved two lives today, yet you are willing to take one.

I did not reply.

Answer me.

You did not ask me a question.

Could he have drug-consciousness? asked the other.

I never thought of that ... Do you?

I do not understand the question.

This drug allows you to remain oriented in all three spheres. You know who you are, where you are, and when you are. It saps that thing called the will, however, which is why you must answer my questions. A person with a lot of experience with truth drugs can sometimes beat them, by rephrasing the questions to himself and giving a literally honest reply. Is this what you are doing?

That's the wrong question, said the other.

What's right?

Have you had any prior experience with drugs? that one asked me.

Yes.

What ones?

I've had aspirin, nicotine, caffeine, alcohol ...

Truth serums, he said. Things like this, things that make you talk. Have you had them before?

Yes.

Where?

At Northwestern University.

Why?

I volunteered for a series of experiments.

What did they involve?

The effects of drugs on consciousness.

Mental reservations, he said to the other. It could take days. I think he has primed himself.

Can you beat a truth drug? the other one asked me.

I do not understand.

Can you lie to us, now?

No.

Wrong question, again, said the shorter. He is not lying. Anything he says is literally true.

So how do we get an answer out of him?

I'm not sure.

So they continued to hit me with questions. After a time, things began to wane.

He's got us, said the shorter one. It would take days to beat him down.

Should we ... ?

No. We've got the tape. We've got his answers. Let's let a computer worry about it.

But by then it was near morning, and I had the funny feeling, accompanied by cold flashes on the back of my neck, that I might be able to manage a fib or three once again. There was some light on the other side of my portholes. They had been going at me for what seemed to be many hours. I decided to try.

I think this place is bugged, I said.

What? What do you mean?

Ship's Security, I stated. I believe all technicians are so monitored.

Where is it?

I don't know.

We've got to find it, said the one.

What good will it do? said the other, in a whisper, for which I respected him, as whispers do not often get recorded. They'd have been here long before this, if it were.

Unless they're waiting, letting us hang ourselves.

The first began looking, however, and I rose, met with no objections, and staggered across the room to collapse upon the bed.

My right hand slipped down around the headboard, as though by accident. It found the gun.

I flipped off the safety as I withdrew it. I sat upon the bed and pointed it at them.

All right, morons, I said. Now you answer my questions.

The big one made a move toward his belt and I shot him in the shoulder.

Next? I asked, tearing away the silencer, which had done its work, and replacing it with a pillow.

The other man raised his hands and looked at his buddy.

Let him bleed, I said.

He nodded and stepped back.

Sit down, I told them both.

They did.

I moved over behind the two of them.

Give me that arm, and I took it. I cleaned it and dressed it, as the bullet had gone on through. I had placed their weapons on the dresser. I tore off their hankies and studied their faces. I did not know them from anywhere.

Okay, why are you here? I asked. And why do you want to know what you want to know?

There were no replies.

I don't have as much time as you did, I said. So I'm about to tape you in place. I don't think I can afford to fool around with drugs.

I fetched the adhesive tape from the medicine chest and did it.

These places are pretty soundproof, I remarked, putting the gun aside, and I lied about them being bugged ... So you can do a bit of screaming if you want. I caution you against it, however. Each one earns you one broken bone.

So who do you work for? I repeated.

I'm a maintenance man on the shuttler, said the shorter one. My friend is a pilot.

He received a dirty look for this.

Okay, I said. I'll buy that, because I've never seen you around here before. Think carefully over your answer to the next one: who do you really work for?

I asked this knowing that they did not have the advantages that I had had. I work for myself because I am self-employed, an independent contractor. My name is Albert Schweitzer right now, so that's what it is, period.

I always become the person I must. Had they asked me who I had been before, they might have gotten a different answer. It's a matter of conditioning and mental attitudes.

Who pulls the strings? I asked.

No replies.

All right, I said. I guess I'll have to ask you in a different fashion.

Heads turned toward me.

You were willing to violate my physiology for the sake of a few answers, I said. Okay. I guess I'll return the favor upon your anatomy. I'll get an answer or three, I promise. Only I'll be a little more basic about it. I'll simply torture you until you talk.

You wouldn't do that, said the taller man. You have a low violence index.

I chuckled.

Let's see, I said.

How do you go about ceasing to exist while continuing your existence? I found it quite easy. But then, I was in on the project from the first, was trusted, had been given an option ...

After I tore up my cards, I returned to work as usual. There, I sought and located the necessary input point. That was my last day on the job.

It was Thule, way up where it's cold, a weather station ...

An old guy who liked rum ran the place. I can still remember the day when I took my ship, the Proteus, into his harbor and complained of rough seas.

I'll put you up, he said to me.

The computer had not let me down.

Thanks.

He led me in, fed me, talked to me about the seas, the weather. I brought in a case of Bacardi and turned him loose on it.

Ain't things pretty much automatic here? I asked.

That's right.

Then what do they need you for?

He laughed a little and said, My uncle was a Senator. I needed a place to go. He fixed me up ... Let's see your ship ... So what if it's raining?

So we did.

It was a decent-sized cabin cruiser with powerful engines, and way out of its territory.

It's a bet, I told him. I wanted to hit the Arctic Circle and get proof that I did.

Kid, you're nuts.

I know, but I'll win.

Prob'ly, he agreed. I was like you once, all full of the necessary ingredients and ready to go ... Gettin' much action these days? And he stroked his pepper-and-salt beard and gave me an evil grin from inside it.

Enough, I said, and, Have a drink, because he had made me think of Eva.

He did, and I left it at, Enough, for a time. She was not like that, though. I mean, it was not something he would really want to hear about.

It had been about four months earlier that we had broken up. It was not religion or politics; it was much more basic.

So I lied to him about an imaginary girl and made him happy.

I had met her in New York, back when I was doing the same things she was, vacationing and seeing plays and pix.

She was a tall girl, with close-cropped blond hair. I helped her find a subway station, got on with her, got off with her, asked her to dinner, was told to go to hell.