Inquisition
InquisitioFive feet square the cell was. There was nothing in it save the armchair, of some greenish opaque synthetic, oddly resilient, in which Brad Lilling sat. No one but Brad was in the cell.
He knew only that it was in the same building. He did not know even through which of the four dun-colored blank walls he’d been brought in. They had put the blindfolding goggles on again before he’d been led from the room with the World Council’s insigne on its walls—he had removed them only when he knew himself to be alone.
Someone had been waiting here for Brad. He hadn’t seen him, of course, but he had sensed him moving silently about. He had felt the unseen individual place a weighty cap on his head, a curious helmet that fitted tightly over Brad’s scalp. It had an arm which cur
