from his corner, where he now sat with his head lolling, the waste bin between his legs. 
In another corner the second man was bending from his waist, hands on hips, up and down, 
up and down, exhaling as he went down, inhaling as he came erect again. The faces of both 
men were slick with sweat.
  'Hah!' Borowitz grunted, and to the speaker: 'Boris? Boris Dragosani? Can you hear me? 
Is all well?'
  In the other room the man on the floor jerked, stretched, lifted his head and stared 
about. Then he shuddered and quickly stood up. He seemed much more human now, less like a 
deranged automaton, though his colour was still grey as lead. His bare feet slipped on 
the slimed floor so that he staggered a little, but he quickly regained his balance. Then 
he saw the heart still clutched in his hands, gave a second great shudder and tossed it 
away, wiping his hands down his thighs.
  He was like (Borowitz thought) someone newly awakened from the turmoil of a 
nightmare... but he must not be allowed to come awake too rapidly. There was something 
Borowitz must know. And he must know it now, while it was still fresh in the other's mind.
  'Dragosani,' he said again, keeping his voice as soft as possible. 'Do you hear me?'
  As Borowitz's companions finally got themselves under control and came to join him at 
the large screen, so the naked man looked their way. For the first time Boris Dragosani 
acknowledged the screen, which on his side was simply a lightly frosted window composed 
of many small leaded panes. He looked straight at them, almost as if he could actually 
see them, in the way a blind man will sometimes look, and answered:
  'Yes, I hear you, Comrade General. And you were right: he had planned to assassinate 
you.'
  'Hah! Good!' Borowitz balled a meaty fist and slammed it into the palm of his left 
hand. 'How many were in it with him?'
  Dragosani looked exhausted. The greyness was going out of him and already his hands, 
legs and lower body had taken on a more nearly fleshly tint. Only flesh and blood after 
all, he seemed on the point of collapse. It was a small effort to right the steel chair 
where he had thrown it and to seat himself, but it seemed to consume his last dregs of 
energy. Placing his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, he now sat staring at the 
floor between his feet.
  'Well?' Borowitz said into the speaker.
  'One other,' Dragosani answered at last without looking up. 'Someone close to you. I 
could not read his name.'
  Borowitz was disappointed. 'Is that all?'
  'Yes, Comrade General.' Dragosani lifted his head, looked again at the screen, and 
there was something akin to pleading in his watery blue eyes. With a familiarity 
Borowitz's juniors could hardly credit, he then said: 'Gregor, please do not ask it.'
  Borowitz was silent.
  'Gregor,' Dragosani said again, 'you have promised me -'
  ' Many things,' Borowitz hurriedly cut him off. 'Yes, and you shall have them. Many 
things! What little you give, I shall repay many times over. What small services you 
perform, the USSR shall recognise with overwhelming gratitude-however long the 
recognition is in coming.
  You have plumbed depths deep as space, Boris Dragosani, and I know your bravery is 
greater than that of any cosmonaut. Science fiction to the contrary, there are no 
monsters where they go. But the frontiers you cross are the very haunts of horror! I know 
these things...'
  The man in the other room sat up, shuddered long and hard. The greyness crept back into 
his limbs, his body. 'Yes, Gregor,' he said.
  For all that Dragosani could not see him, still Borowitz nodded, saying, 'Then you do 
understand?'
  The naked man sighed, hung his head again, asked: 'What is it you wish to know?'
  Borowitz licked his lips, leaned closer to the screen, said, Two things. The name of 
the man who plotted with that eviscerated pig in there, and proof which I can take before 
the Presidium. Not only am I in jeopardy without this knowledge, but you too. Yes, and 
the entire branch. Remember, Boris Dragosani, there are those in the KGB who would 
eviscerate us-if only they could find a way!'
  The other said nothing but returned to the trolley carrying the remains of the corpse. 
He stood over the violated mess, and in his face was written his intent: the ultimate 
violation. He breathed deeply, expanding his .lungs and letting the air out slowly, then 
repeating the procedure; and each time his chest seemed to swell just a little larger, 
while his skin rapidly and quite visibly returned to its deep slate-grey hue. After 
several minutes of this, finally he turned his gaze upon the tray of surgical instruments 
in its case.
  By now even Borowitz was disturbed, agitated, unnerved. He sat down in his central 
chair, seemed to shrink into himself a little. 'You two,' he growled at his subordinates. 
'Are you all right? You, Mikhail-is there any puke left in you? If so, stand well away.' 
(This to the one on the left, whose nostrils were moist, flaring jet-black pits in a face 
of chalk.) 'And you, Andrei-are you done now with your bending and ventilating?'
  The one on the right opened his mouth but said nothing, keeping his wet eyes on the 
screen, his Adam's apple bobbing. The other said: 'Let me see the beginning at least. But 
I would prefer not to throw up. Also, when all is done, I would be grateful for an 
explanation. You may say what you like of that one in there, Comrade General, but I 
personally believe he should be put down!'
  Borowitz nodded. 'You shall have your explanation in good time,' he rumbled. 'Meanwhile 
I agree with you-I, too, would prefer not to throw up!'
  Dragosani had taken up what looked like a hollow silver chisel in one hand, and a small 
copper-jacketed mallet in the other. He placed the chisel in the centre of the corpse's 
forehead, brought the mallet sharply down and drove the chisel home. As the mallet 
bounced following the blow, so a little brain fluid was vented through the chisel's 
hollow stem. That was enough for Mikhail; he gulped once, then returned to his corner and 
stood there trembling, his face averted. The man called Andrei remained where he was, 
stood there as if frozen, but Borowitz noted how he clenched and unclenched his fists 
where they hung at his sides.
  Now Dragosani stood back from the corpse, crouched down, stared fixedly at the chisel 
where it stood up from the pierced cranium. He nodded slowly, then sprang erect and 
stepped to the table with the case of instruments. Dropping the mallet on to the tough 
floor tiles, he snatched up a slender steel straw and dropped it expertly, with hardly a 
glance, into the chisel's cavity. The fine steel tube sank slowly, pneumatically down 
through the body of the chisel until just its mouthpiece projected.
  'Mouthpiece!' Andrei suddenly croaked, turning away and stumbling blindly across the 
floor of the observation cell. 'My God, my God-the mouthpiece!'
  Borowitz closed his eyes. Tough as he was he could not watch. He had seen it all before 
and remembered it only too well.
  Moments passed: Mikhail in his corner, trembling-Andrei across the room, his back to 
the screen-and their superior with his eyes tightly shut, squeezed down in his chair. 
Then - The scream that came over the speaker was one to shatter the strongest nerves, 
indeed a scream to raise the dead. It was full of horror, full of monstrous knowledge, 
full of... outrage? Yes, outrage-the cry of a wounded carnivore, a vengeful beast. And