"That's a hard question to answer. I should say that the understanding was of a very low level. Here, I'll show you what I mean." He turned and looked directly at the seated spaceman.

"Captain Gisser, how old are you?" he asked in a firm, clear voice.

There was no answer.

"Gisser, when were you born?"

Still no answer.

"Gisser, tell us when you were born."

"Twelve, Eight, Seven sixty-four," Gisser said promptly.

Bilford looked back at Roysland. "He won't do anything on his own; there's absolutely no conscious volition. He has to be told what to do.

"Just asking him a question isn't enough; you have to insist on the answer. That's what I meant by saying that his understanding is on a very low level. He can't even deduce the presence of an unspoken command."

Roysland frowned and started to say something, but he was interrupted by a flicker of light on his desk panel.

He looked at Bilford. "The boss," he said dryly. Then he pressed a stud.

Light flickered in the air and coalesced into the seated figure of a portly, smiling, middle-aged man. The image wavered a little, then settled into an illusion of material solidity.

General Director Eckisster smiled and said: "Are we getting anywhere, gentlemen?"

"We're just getting started," Roysland said.

Eckisster nodded. "I see." His eyes lit on the captain, who was still sitting in the same position he had taken when he was ordered into the chair. "Is this one of the Bedevin's men?"

It was Bilford who answered. "Yes, sir. Captain Gisser, Prime Officer."

"And you haven't found out anything about him yet? Don't you know what's wrong with these men?" Eckisster's voice was bland on the surface, but there was a biting hardness underneath.

"We know what's wrong with them, sir," Bilford said stiffly; "we just don't know what caused it."

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