The psych techs collected me, hustling me to the big medical complex next door where they shut me in a cubicle with a recorder and a glass of water. I talked into the recorder until my voice was hoarse. I told them everything I could remember of the Sessimoniss, everything the Eggstone had poured into my mind. Their expressions never showed anything more than clinical disinterest. When I finished hours later, they removed the table and chair, replacing them with a narrow cot. I was escorted to a bathroom down the hall, the guard following me all the way there and back. The windows we passed showed night scenes of the spaceport with its yellow spotlights glowing like lost stars. They sent in a hypno tech, but had to resort to the old mind manipulation techniques. They couldn’t establish a telepathic link, because on human scales I scored a zero. “What came next?” The tech’s voice was even, smooth, a soothing alto. I blinked, summoning memories of a bright summer day on Serrimonia.
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