Excerpts They took him to the office of the Chief Provost, who invited him to sit down with formal civility. "Now then, sir," the Provost said with a slight local twang, "if you will help us by letting the orderly make a slight injection in your arm-"
"For what purpose?"
"You want to be socially cooperative, I'm sure. It won't hurt you."
"That is beside the point. I insist on an explanation. I am a citizen of the United States."
"So you are, but the Federation has concurrent jurisdiction in any member state - and I am acting under its authority. Now bare your arm, please.
"I refuse. I stand on my civil rights."
"Grab him, lads."
It took four men to do it. Even before the injector touched his skin, his jaw set and a look of sudden agony came into his face. He then sat quietly, listlessly, while the peace officers waited for the drug to take effect. Presently the Provost gently rolled back one of the prisoner's eyelids and said, "I think he is ready. He doesn't weigh over ten stone; it has hit him rather fast. Where's that list of questions?"
A deputy handed it to him; he began, "Horace Foote, do you hear me?"
The man's lips twitched, he seemed about to speak. His mouth opened and blood gushed down his chest.
The Provost bellowed and grabbed the prisoner's head, made quick examination. "Surgeon! He's bitten his tongue half out of his head!"
