Its surface had the cold, soapy slackness of a polished gem.
It felt oddly heavy – though it was weightless now, he could feel the inertia of its mass.
Projecting from one face was a red, knurled knob.
Clutching it, Bob Star tried not to show his abrupt, breathless tension.
It must be the weapon – and he knew that he himself must use it, instantly.
The attention of Stephen Orco and the ruler of the Cometeers was probably still on the commander.
That might give him time to strike.
But he couldn’t kill –
Or – could he?
For one frozen moment, as his quivering fingers closed on that harmless-looking instrument, it seemed to him that he was back in that dark basement room at the academy museum, nine years ago.
The rusty metal band of the Iron Confessor was around his head again, and that three-edged blade driven once more into his skull, with Stephen Orco’s taunting voice vibrating from it in waves of ultimate agony.
“So you don’t like it, pup?
This rusty crown of your proud forefathers!
But no matter how little you like it, you’ll never do anything about it.
Because this ingenious little device was made to break men.
You may be able to defy your conscience and the law, or even to forget your honor as an officer of the Legion, but you’ll never disobey the Iron Confessor.
“And you can’t kill me, Bob.
You can’t kill – ”
His trembling fingers had relaxed to drop the black cube, because he couldn’t use it.
But then Kay Nymidee must have glimpsed it, for he heard her catch her breath.
The bright image of her flashed into his mind, and his surge of tortured emotion swept him back again to that dark room.
He could feel the sticky pull of his own seeping blood drying on his face, and taste its salt sweetness on his lips.
Once more he saw the wild rage on Orco’s handsome face, dim in the glow from the tubes of the Iron Confessor.
He heard the tramp of the night watchman’s feet, in the corridor above, and then the whispered voices of Orco’s friends.
Those things had been forgotten, buried beneath his fear and pain.
The footsteps and those protesting voices – frightened and defiant, when he heard them now.
Hazing was in the academy tradition, but this thing had gone too far.
If Bob Star died, the truth would certainly come out.
Murder.
All Stephen Orco’s cleverness wouldn’t be enough to save them from court-martial.
But Orco had grown too angry to listen to them.
“Say it, pup!”
That dreadful voice came flooding through Bob Star’s brain again, transformed to red agony by the vibration of that three-edged blade.
Once more it repeated all the unspeakable lies that Orco wanted him to swear. And again it insisted, mercilessly, “Say it, pup.”
But he had never said it.
“He has got you beaten, Orco.”
Now he heard those other voices, sharpened with increasing fear as the watchman’s steady footfalls paused in the corridor.
“You can’t break him – not even with the Iron Confessor.
Don’t you know he’s John Star’s son?”
The buried truth came rushing back.
“I give up!”
Those long-forgotten words were Stephen Orco’s – and the hush of fear had swept the rasping anger from his voice.
“He’s tougher than I expected.
Let’s get him out of here – and fix up a story for him.
He’s John Star’s son, remember.
Too proud to go telling tales.
“Aren’t you, pup?”
Stephen Orco had turned to speak into that cruel device again, before they removed it.
“You’ll forget it, won’t you, pup?”
For nine years, he had forgotten.