and you'd be conscious the whole time. Want to see?" His thumb made for the red button.
"No! Stop! You are Diablo!"
Markham smiled. "I thought you folks didn't believe in gods or devils. No, not gods, not devils, but we are a bit, uh, other-worldly, and we've had a lot of practice." He paused for a moment. "Now, this white button does the opposite. Stimulates the pleasure center directly. It's the most intense high you can possibly imagine. I'll demonstrate-if you tell me your real name. It doesn't matter anyway, you know. This is just a quick and dirty way of getting information. In a while, you and your friends will be put under a machine that will read out every memory you have from your first memories inside the womb to right now. We'll know far more about you than you. But it takes a lot of timeto sort and edit that kind of information and that can't be done best on this world. We'd like some answers now."
"My-my name is Ramon Gloriona," the man said, not quite believing all that but definitely remembering that intense pain. Markham sighed. "Red button," he mumbled, and his thumb went up.
" I swear on my mother's grave that is my true name!" the man screamed with such conviction that Markham relaxed.
"You know, I think it just might be," the security chief commented. "All right, Ramon, we'll show you what cooperation brings." He pushed the white button, just briefly, and the man's face and body suddenly went into contortions of sheer ecstasy that seemed to last after Bill took his finger off and stopped it.
"The same principal as the narcotics you dump on the West, Ramon," Markham told him, "only without all the messy chemicals and middlemen and simon-pure. Even we have to have a computer override on the white button, because you never forget it and you always want more." He sighed. "Sam, I think he's softened up a bit. Want to ask your questions?"
Sam nodded, but he was feeling somewhat queasy about this even though it was kind of a revenge dream come true. He was beginning to have some difficulty distinguishing on a moral basis between his old friend Bill and this bastard in the chair.
"Where did you meet the other group?" Sam asked him.
There was a moment's hesitancy, but Bill's thumb only had to head for the red and the mananswered. "Asheville."
"How were you hired?"
"We do not hire out like common criminals!" the man responded with some of the pride he'd had before getting the pain treatment. "It was a fraternal favor between revolutionary groups. They have done some favors for us, we do some for them."
Sam's eyebrows rose. "And who exactly is 'them'?"
"Why, the American Revolutionary Brigades."
Sam looked at Bill, who shrugged. "I thought that shit went out with the Sixties," the security man muttered. "At least here. Beruit, maybe, but not here. Still, it's a nice cover for dealing with these kind of folks if you're really other-worldly."
Sam nodded and turned back to Ramon. "We know about the pair who transferred with you and the boy. Who were the others? The ones who didn't come along?"
The prisoner tried to shrug. "Who knows? We have only dealt directly with the comrades who remained with the boy up to now, and even then we knew them only by code names."
That figured, Sam thought. "All right, then, tell me what the others looked like. Did they look different or speak in a different language or was there anything odd about their clothes?"
The man frowned. "Yes, in fact. Most looked sort of-Chinese or Japanese or something like that. Oriental, you know. Smaller. They all wore heavy wool coats and pull-down caps and you could not tell much else. They did speak to each other in some nonsense-sounding tongue, though."
That was jibing with what little Dash had beenable to tell them. "What about the leader with the funny voice?"
"There was one fellow. A mestizo, I think. He did not speak with us but spoke briefly with the other two. He had an odd accent, I remember that. We thought he might have
"No! Stop! You are Diablo!"
Markham smiled. "I thought you folks didn't believe in gods or devils. No, not gods, not devils, but we are a bit, uh, other-worldly, and we've had a lot of practice." He paused for a moment. "Now, this white button does the opposite. Stimulates the pleasure center directly. It's the most intense high you can possibly imagine. I'll demonstrate-if you tell me your real name. It doesn't matter anyway, you know. This is just a quick and dirty way of getting information. In a while, you and your friends will be put under a machine that will read out every memory you have from your first memories inside the womb to right now. We'll know far more about you than you. But it takes a lot of timeto sort and edit that kind of information and that can't be done best on this world. We'd like some answers now."
"My-my name is Ramon Gloriona," the man said, not quite believing all that but definitely remembering that intense pain. Markham sighed. "Red button," he mumbled, and his thumb went up.
" I swear on my mother's grave that is my true name!" the man screamed with such conviction that Markham relaxed.
"You know, I think it just might be," the security chief commented. "All right, Ramon, we'll show you what cooperation brings." He pushed the white button, just briefly, and the man's face and body suddenly went into contortions of sheer ecstasy that seemed to last after Bill took his finger off and stopped it.
"The same principal as the narcotics you dump on the West, Ramon," Markham told him, "only without all the messy chemicals and middlemen and simon-pure. Even we have to have a computer override on the white button, because you never forget it and you always want more." He sighed. "Sam, I think he's softened up a bit. Want to ask your questions?"
Sam nodded, but he was feeling somewhat queasy about this even though it was kind of a revenge dream come true. He was beginning to have some difficulty distinguishing on a moral basis between his old friend Bill and this bastard in the chair.
"Where did you meet the other group?" Sam asked him.
There was a moment's hesitancy, but Bill's thumb only had to head for the red and the mananswered. "Asheville."
"How were you hired?"
"We do not hire out like common criminals!" the man responded with some of the pride he'd had before getting the pain treatment. "It was a fraternal favor between revolutionary groups. They have done some favors for us, we do some for them."
Sam's eyebrows rose. "And who exactly is 'them'?"
"Why, the American Revolutionary Brigades."
Sam looked at Bill, who shrugged. "I thought that shit went out with the Sixties," the security man muttered. "At least here. Beruit, maybe, but not here. Still, it's a nice cover for dealing with these kind of folks if you're really other-worldly."
Sam nodded and turned back to Ramon. "We know about the pair who transferred with you and the boy. Who were the others? The ones who didn't come along?"
The prisoner tried to shrug. "Who knows? We have only dealt directly with the comrades who remained with the boy up to now, and even then we knew them only by code names."
That figured, Sam thought. "All right, then, tell me what the others looked like. Did they look different or speak in a different language or was there anything odd about their clothes?"
The man frowned. "Yes, in fact. Most looked sort of-Chinese or Japanese or something like that. Oriental, you know. Smaller. They all wore heavy wool coats and pull-down caps and you could not tell much else. They did speak to each other in some nonsense-sounding tongue, though."
That was jibing with what little Dash had beenable to tell them. "What about the leader with the funny voice?"
"There was one fellow. A mestizo, I think. He did not speak with us but spoke briefly with the other two. He had an odd accent, I remember that. We thought he might have
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