I didn’t move. He said patiently, “There’s a squad of EPs outside this room who could hold you down and put this on you themselves, so your hesitation doesn’t really accomplish much, does it?”
I still didn’t move. “What is it?”
“Let’s let it be a surprise.”
“I thought in cases like this it’s standard to tell the prisoner everything that’s going to be done to them.”
“Oh, don’t let’s be hemmed in by rules. I always feel improvisation is important in a relationship like ours.”
I said, “Anyway, I don’t have a glove like you do.”
“Considering it’s already over half your body area—”
“But not my hands yet. Although I hate to put the idea in your head.”
He smiled and said, “Oh, very well. We’ll skip that bit of skin, it’s not very large. Would you follow me, please?”
He walked over to a large vertical board with straps. “Just lean against that, facing outward.”
I found I was starting the ritual a third time. “Uh, I feel I should mention that Graykey training will make my heart stop if the interrogation seems to be getting anywhere. Amo doesn’t believe me, but I thought it was something you should know.”
“I assure you I’ll bear it in mind. Now, against the board, please.”
The whole nightmarish scene was reminding me of the unhappier medical examinations of my life. I wondered if that said anything about this man’s technique, or about the techniques of medical personnel.
I continued the ritual mentally. He raised my left arm and strapped it to the board at the wrist. “This is to prevent you from hurting yourself,” he said.
“Is that likely?”
“Well, it’s possible. And we wouldn’t want that to happen.”
He fastened the leg straps, and I cleared my throat. “Uh—”
“Yes?” He looked up as he put the final snap in place.
“Nothing. I was thinking about begging and pleading for mercy, but I guess that’s sort of undignified.”
He stood up. “Oh, that won’t bother you in a while,” he said cheerfully. “But you may as well not, since it would be pretty useless. I mean, it’s not in my orders to let you off, and if it’s not in my orders, it’s pointless to even talk about it, isn’t it?”
“I suppose that’s true.”
He walked toward the door. “Believe me, it is, so don’t even confuse yourself by thinking about it. Now, I have to leave for a little while. Everything’s in place so you can carry on without me, and when I get to the end of the poem I’m reading I’ll be back.”
“I hope it’s an epic,” I said.
“Not very soon you won’t. In about ten minutes you’ll wish it were a haiku. You know, you’re lucky you came during my shift. Six hours later and you would’ve gotten Garrett, and he’s much more conservative than I am. Does all the proper things, not much of a conversationalist.”
“But then,” I said, “I suppose it’s only a job to him.”
“Exactly. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” He turned again at the door. “You know, I appreciate your sense of humor.”
After he left, I said, “You’re one of the few.”
It was several minutes before my skin started to prickle. “Just suggestion,” I said to myself. “Ignore it.” I took the subjectivity ritual further and entered the first stage of incorporation. I thought of being one of my teachers in school, but that seemed a very long time ago and a very long way from here; instead I decided to be Tal. He was easier to do at this point and I’d had a lot of practice.
It was good to feel physically stronger than I usually did. It was good to know that I could take on just about anybody around me, and that they weren’t that bright in any case. It was unfortunate that their behavior was so irritatingly opaque—
A sensation of being infested pulled me back into my own subjective body. It felt as though thousands of tiny legs were walking over me—up and down my back, over my breasts, down my arms, up my neck.
I began to itch.
Less than half a minute later I was screaming. Every inch of the top part of my body demanded relief, and it was impossible to provide. It was impossible to think. I would have tom out the straps if I could—I would have tom off strips of my skin if I could have, normal pain seemed like a blessing. I pushed myself back against the board and contorted my body every way I could. Nothing helped. I writhed in the straps.
This went on for several years. Eventually the itching sensation became less fierce, than faded very slowly to a slight glowing feeling in the skin. I looked out through blurry eyes and saw the brown-haired deacon.
“How long have you been there?”
“About ten minutes,” he replied.
I said a Graykey curse, then asked, “How long did that last?”
“Forever, they tell me.”
I expressed a wish in the Old Tongue that he’d find himself in hell one day with all the people he’d worked on. He said, “That sounded poetic. I’m sorry I don’t speak your language.”
“So am I.”
“We haven’t very long,” he said. “Have you had a change of heart?”
“Why don’t we have very long?”
“One question at a time, please.”
“No.”
“Ah. We haven’t very long because the second phase of your unfortunate skin condition is about to kick in. This one is a bit more challenging. I’ve brought my book in with me, and if you want anything, just call me.” He sat down on the side of a piece of equipment. “I’m very good at differentiating that from the normal run of screams and cries.”
I didn’t feel anything now, beyond that warm glow. I said, “What’s the second phase?”
“Heat,” he said. He opened his book. “It’s the ‘Legend of Beatrice and
