he was floating, and when he could see again, a murky green haze surrounded him.

floating, completely submerged!

he felt no desire to breathe. he did not have to breathe at all. it was as if his life had been suspended completely, as if there was no need for his body to carry out its normal functions. but he wasn't dead. he could open his eyes and stare at the green liquid, and he could think.

and after a time, vague forms appeared outside. he saw the walls of the laboratory and the shining instruments—through green murk. and he saw something else moving about, a shadowy form. the stilt-like creature?

abruptly, sharp pain lanced from the front of his skull to the back. briefly. and it did not repeat itself.

a voice whispered, "you are struggling. do not struggle, for it can only prolong the inevitable. transfer takes time, of course; but the longer it takes the more unpleasant it will be for you."

"go to hell."

it was then that the pain came back—stronger. and something almost physical pushed in at his mind, something ugly, unclean, wet with a damp, chilling moisture which brought twinges of fright. like the ganymede-fear, but more intense.

"to struggle is useless."

the wet feeling, like fingers now, fingers which oozed slime, clung to his brain, probed it, bore inward.

"why struggle? i think you will make a good fit."

"go away. damn you, go away!"

"i see the auction-master was right. emotionally, you are strong."

the fingers departed, came back again, more insistent. no longer wet, they were digits of fire now, burning, burning.

steve screamed soundlessly and fainted.