"No. This way."
Another corridor, another turn and a door faced with a single star in glowing yellow. The guard halted, pointing with his club.
"Go in there and wait."
It was a bleak chamber fitted with a single long bench and an inner door. Three men sat uncomfortably on the bench. All had olive skins and were naked but for shorts. Ten minutes crawled past and the inner door opened, a uniformed guard jerking his head at the man closest to the end of the bench.
"Inside, you. Close up the rest."
Fifteen minutes later the same thing happened. The remaining man next to Dumarest licked his lips. His skin bore a faint sheen and he almost stank of fear.
"What's this all about?" he whispered. "I was restless, couldn't sleep, and thought I'd take a shower. A guard grabbed me and led me here. You?"
"Almost the same."
"What do they want with us? That guard acted like I was a prisoner or something. I tried to explain but he didn't want to know. I-" He broke off as the door opened. "Well, I guess I'd better go."
Twenty minutes passed and then it was Dumarest's turn. The inner room contained a wide desk, an angled spotlight, a hard chair and a panel of electronic equipment. Two guards stood like statues against the rear wall. The one who had summoned Dumarest stood just behind the wooden chair. At the desk sat a dark-haired, sleek looking individual with a thin, lined face and penetrating eyes.
He gestured toward the hard chair. "Sit. Your name?"
"Hgar."
"Your grower?"
"Yaltoun."
"His address on Loame?"
"Seventh decant, segment eight."
"And you wanted to go to the toilet, right?"
"Yes" said Dumarest, and added, "Sir."
The officer nodded. "That is better. My name, incidentally, is Keron. Major Keron of the Security Division. You have heard of me?"
"No, sir. I haven't."
"No," mused Keron. "Of course not. How could you have?" He sat back and rested both hands on the desk before him. They were small, white, womanish in their slenderness. "The law of averages states that out of each thousand men some will not conform to a regular pattern. You did not drink the wine. Why not?"
"I've a poor head for wine," said Dumarest. "And my stomach was upset. I find it unpleasant to drink at the best of times."
"And you could not sleep?"
"No, sir."
"Why not? Did something wake you? A noise, perhaps?"
"No, sir." It was safe to lie. The whispering voice had been on the verge of sub-aural diminution and the officer could not know the state of his hearing ability. "I just woke and wanted to go to the toilet That's all, sir."
"Why?"
Dumarest made a helpless gesture. He was an ignorant worker from Loame. How was he supposed to know what the officer was getting at?
"You passed three ounces of urine-hardly enough to have made your visit imperative." Keron touched a control and the spotlight blazed into life. Dumarest narrowed his eyes against the glare. "Those scars, how did you get them?"
"I fell into a patch of thorge and was pretty badly torn getting out."
"Long ago?"
"A couple of years, sir."
"On your grower's land?"
"No, sir. A crowd of us went to help another grower to the north."
"His name?"
Dumarest gave it, adding details, piling lie upon lie. He had worked out the story with Lemain, claiming to have worked for a grower on the opposite hemisphere, a region from which the present contingent had not been drawn. It was a safeguard against being faced with someone who should know him or whom he should know. It should pass a casual questioner but the major was far from that.
The spotlight died, Keron leaning forward as Dumarest blinked away the retinal afterimages.
"Take a thousand men," he said gently. "Among them, you are certain, are spies in disguise. How do you discover them? You wait. You watch. You compare behavior patterns and, sooner or later, they will betray themselves. A wolf cannot emulate a sheep-not and delude the shepherd. You understand?"
Dumarest frowned. "I'm not sure, sir. Are you saying that I am a spy?"
"Yes. From Cest, Wen, Hardish, or some other world with which we are having a difference of opinion. But not from Loame. Your reactions are not those of a worker. By now you should be in tears begging my forgiveness. You should have become confused and afraid. You are neither. I am intrigued." He looked beyond Dumarest to the guard standing at the rear. "Selig!"
Dumarest turned as the man stepped forward, lifting his club.
* * *
He was a tall man, hard faced, teeth bared as if he enjoyed his work. He lost the smile as Dumarest spun from the chair, straightening, catching the descending wrist and twisting savagely so that bone snapped and the club dangled from its thong. Snatching the weapon free he sprang aside and then forward beyond the desk. One of the guards standing at the rear lifted his club to block an expected blow then fell, choking on blood from a ruptured larynx as Dumarest thrust instead. Again he sprang to one side, foot lifting to kick aside the second guard's club, seeing a flash from the orifice at the end, feeling the shock as he smashed his own club at the side of the man's neck.
The knurled grip held a stud. He pressed it as he faced the remaining guard. Selig, chair lifted in his good hand, stumbled and fell as something sprouted from his cheek.
"Drop it!" Dumarest thrust the club toward Keren's face, aiming at an eye. "Take your hand from that drawer. Empty!"
The officer drew a long breath. "Fast," he said. "I've never seen anyone move so fast. Where are you from?"
"That doesn't matter." Dumarest looked around the room. The fight had been practically noiseless but there was no way of telling how long he would remain undisturbed. Nor could he be sure that Keron hadn't given the alarm. "Stand away from that desk. Quickly!"
The officer obeyed, his eyes enigmatic. "What now?" he said quietly. "What do you hope to accomplish?"
"Lie on the floor, face down, hands above your head." The drawer of the desk held a laser. Dumarest picked it up and held it loosely in his hand. "Don't move or try anything stupid. I've made one mistake, I don't intend making another."