Don said, “Where is Dr. Jefferson? What did you do with him?”
“Sit down, I said.” Don did not move; the lieutenant went on, “Why make it hard for yourself? You know where you are; you know that I could have you restrained in any way that suited me—some of them quite unpleasant. Will you sit down, please, and save us both trouble?”
Don sat down and immediately said, “I want to see a lawyer.”
The lieutenant shook his head slowly, looking like a tired and gentle school teacher. “Young fellow, you’ve been reading too many romantic novels. Now if you had studied the dynamics of history instead, you would realize that the logic of legalism alternates with the logic of force in a pattern dependent on the characteristics of the culture. Each culture evokes its own basic logic. You follow me?”
Don hesitated; the other went on, “No matter. The point is, your request for a lawyer comes about two hundred years too late to be meaningful. The verbalisms lag behind the facts. Nevertheless, you shall have a lawyer or a lollipop, whichever you prefer, after I am through questioning you. If I were you, I’d take the lollipop. More nourishing.
“I won’t talk without a lawyer,” Don answered firmly.
“No? I’m sorry. Don, in setting up your interview I budgeted eleven minutes for nonsense. You have used up four already—no, five. When the eleven minutes are gone and you find yourself spitting out teeth, remember that I bore you no malice. Now about this matter of whether or not you will talk; there are several ways of making a man talk and each method has its fans who swear by it. Drugs, for example—nitrous oxide, scopolamine, sodium pentothal, not to mention some of the new, more subtle, and relatively non-toxic developments. Even alcohols have been used with great success by intelligence operatives. I don’t like drugs; they affect the intellect and clutter up an interview with data of no use to me. You’d be amazed at the amount of rubbish that can collect in the human brain, Don, if you had had to listen to it—as I have.
“And there is hypnosis and its many variations. There is also the artificial stimulation of an unbearable need, as with morphine addiction. Finally there is old-fashioned force—pain. Why, I know an artist—I believe he is in the building now—who can successfully question the most recalcitrant case, in minimum time and using only his bare hands. Then, of course, under that category, is the extremely ancient switch in which the force, or pain, is not applied to the person being examined but to a second person whom he cannot bear to see hurt, such as a wife, or son, or daughter. Offhand, that method would seem difficult to use on you, as your only close relatives are not on this planet.” The security officer glanced at his watch and added, “Only thirty seconds of nonsense still available, Don. Shall we start?”
“Huh? Wait a minute! You used up the time; I’ve hardly said a word.”
“I haven’t time to be fair. Sorry. However,” he went on, “the apparent objection to the last method does not apply in your case. During the short time you were unconscious at Dr. Jefferson’s apartment we were able to determine that there actually was available a person who meets the requirements. You will talk freely rather than let this person be hurt.”
“Huh?”
“A stock pony named ‘Lazy.’ ”
The suggestion caught him completely off guard; he was stunned by it. The man went quickly on, “If you insist, we will adjourn for three hours or so and I will have your horse shipped here. It might be interesting, as I don’t believe the method has ever been used with a horse before. I understand that their ears are rather sensitive. On the other hand I feel bound to tell you that, if we go to the trouble of bringing him here, we won’t send him back but will simply send him to the stockyards to be butchered. Horses are an anachronism in New Chicago, don’t you think?”
Don’s head was whirling too much to make a proper answer, or even to follow all of the horrid implications of the comments. Finally he burst out, “You can’t! You wouldn’t!”