Then Odal released him. The sergeant fell to all fours, coughing. Odal swung his legs out of the cot and stood up.
“When you rouse me. you will do it with courtesy,” he said. “I am not a common criminal, and I will not be treated as one by such as you. And even though my door is locked from the outside, you will knock on it before entering. Is that clear?”
The sergeant climbed to his feet, rubbing his throat, his eyes a mixture of anger and fear.
“I’m just following orders. Nobody told me to treat you special….”
“J am telling you,” Odal snapped. “And as long as I still have my rank, you will address me as sir!”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant muttered sullenly.
Odal relaxed slightly, flexed his fingers.
“You’re wanted at the dueling machine … sir.”
“In the middle of the night? By whose orders?”
The guard shrugged. “They didn’t say. Sir.”
Odal smiled. “Very well. Step outside while I put on my ‘uniform.'” He gestured to the shapeless fatigues draped over the end of the cot.
A single meditech stood waiting for Odal beside the dueling machine, which bulked ominously in the dim night lighting. Odal recognized him as one of the inquisitors he had been facing for the past several weeks. Wordlessly, the man gestured Odal to his booth. The sergeant took up a post at the doorway to the large room as the meditech fitted Odal’s head and torso with the necessary eurocontacts. Then he stepped out of the compartment and firmly shut the door.
For a few moments nothing happened. Then Odal felt a voice in his mind: