A murmur was swelling through the room. Heads turned toward the door.

Commander Morrison frowned. “Major Hall, may I remind you that when the council is in session no one is permitted to interrupt!”

Hall swayed back and forth, supporting himself by holding on to the door knob. He gazed vacantly around the council room. Finally his glassy eyes picked out Lieutenant Friendly, sitting halfway across the room.

“Come here,” he said hoarsely.

“Me?” Friendly sank farther down in his chair.

“Major, what is the meaning of this?” Vice-Commander Wood cut in angrily. “Are you drunk or are—?” He saw the blast gun in Hall’s hand. “Is something wrong, Major?”

Alarmed, Lieutenant Friendly got up and grabbed Hall’s shoulder. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Come to the lab.”

“Did you find something?” The Lieutenant studied his friend’s rigid face. “What is it?”

“Come on.” Hall started down the corridor, Friendly following. Hall pushed the laboratory door open and stepped inside slowly.

“What it is?” Friendly repeated.

“My microscope.”

“Your microscope? What about it?” Friendly squeezed past him into the lab. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“I blasted it.”

“You blasted it?” Friendly looked at the other man. “I don’t get it. Why?”

Hall’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

“Are you all right?” Friendly asked in concern. Then he bent down and lifted a black plastic box from a shelf under the table. “Say, is this a gag?”

He removed Hall’s microscope from the box. “What do you mean, you blasted it? Here it is, in its regular place. Now, tell me what’s going on? You saw something on a slide? Some kind of bacteria? Lethal? Toxic?”

Hall approached the microscope slowly. It was his all right. There was the nick just above the fine adjustment. And one of the stage clips was slightly bent. He touched it with his finger.

Five minutes ago this microscope had tried to kill him. And he knew he had blasted it out of existence.

“You sure you don’t need a psych test?” Friendly asked anxiously. “You look post-trauma to me, or worse.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Hall muttered.

The robot psyche tester whirred, integrating and gestalting. At last its color-code lights changed from red to green.

“Well?” Hall demanded.

“Severe disturbance. Instability ratio up above ten.”

“That’s over danger?”

“Yes. Eight is danger. Ten is unusual, especially for a person of your index. You usually show about a four.”

Hall nodded wearily. “I know.”

“If you could give me more data—”

Hall set his jaw. “I can’t tell you any more.”

“It’s illegal to hold back information during a psyche test,” the machine said peevishly. “If you do that you deliberately distort my findings.”

Hall rose. “I can’t tell you any more. But you do record a high degree of unbalance for me?”

“There’s a high degree of psychic disorganization. But what it means, or why it exists, I can’t say.”

“Thanks.” Hall clicked the tester off. He went back to his own quarters. His head whirled. Was he out of his mind? But he had fired the blast gun at something. Afterward, he had tasted the atmosphere in the lab, and there were metallic particles in suspension, especially near the place he had fired his blast gun at the microscope.

But how could a thing like that be? A microscope coming to life, trying to kill him!

Anyhow, Friendly had pulled it out of its box, whole and sound. But how had it got back in the box?

He stripped off his uniform and entered the shower. While he ran warm water over his body he meditated. The robot psyche tester had showed his mind was severely disturbed, but that could have been the result, rather than the cause, of the experience. He had started to tell Friendly about it but he had stopped. How could he expect anyone to believe a story like that?

He shut off the water and reached out for one of the towels on the rack.

The towel wrapped around his wrist, yanking him against the wall. Rough cloth pressed over his mouth and nose. He fought wildly, pulling away. All at once the towel let go. He fell, sliding to the floor, his head striking the wall. Stars shot around him; then violent pain.

Sitting in a pool of warm water, Hall looked up at the towel rack. The towel was motionless now, like the others with it. Three towels in a row, all exactly alike, all unmoving. Had he dreamed it?

He got shakily to his feet, rubbing his head. Carefully avoiding the towel rack, he edged out of the shower and into his room. He pulled a new towel from the dispenser in a gingerly manner. It seemed normal. He dried himself and began to put his clothes on.

His belt got him around the waist and tried to crush him. It was strong—it had reinforced metal links to hold his leggings and his gun. He and the belt rolled silently on the floor, struggling for control. The belt was like a furious metal snake, whipping and lashing at him. At last he managed to get his hand around his blaster.

At once the belt let go. He blasted it out of existence and then threw himself down in a chair, gasping for breath.

The arms of the chair closed around him. But this time the blaster was ready. He had to fire six times before the chair fell limp and he was able to get up again.

He stood half dressed in the middle of the room, his chest rising and falling.

“It isn’t possible,” he whispered. “I must be out of my mind.”

Finally he got his leggings and boots on. He went outside into the empty corridor. Entering the lift, he ascended to the top floor.

Commander Morrison looked up from her desk as Hall stepped through the robot clearing screen. It pinged.

“You’re armed,” the Commander said accusingly.

Hall looked down at the blaster in his hand. He put it down on the desk. “Sorry.”

“What do you want? What’s the matter with you? I have a report from the testing machine. It says you’ve hit a ratio often within the last twenty-four hour period.” She studied him intently. “We’ve known each other for a long time, Lawrence. What’s happening to you?”

Hall took a deep breath. “Stella, earlier today, my microscope tried to strangle me.”

Her blue eyes widened. “What!”

“Then, when I was getting out of the shower, a bath towel tried to smother me. I got by it, but while I was dressing, my belt—” He stopped. The Commander had got to her feet.

“Guards!” she called.

“Wait, Stella.” Hall moved toward her. “Listen to me. This is serious. There’s nothing wrong. Four times things have tried to kill me. Ordinary objects suddenly turned lethal. Maybe it’s what we’ve been looking for. Maybe this is—”

“Your microscope tried to killed you?”

“It came alive. Its stem got me around the windpipe.”

There was a long silence. “Did anyone see this happen besides you?”

“No.”

“What did you do?”

“I blasted it.”

“Are there any remains?”

“No,” Hall admitted reluctantly. “As a matter of fact, the microscope seems to be all right, again. The way it was before. Back in its box.”

“I see.” The Commander nodded to the two guards who had answered her call. “Take Major Hall down to Captain Taylor and have him confined until he can be sent back to Terra for examination.”

She watched calmly as the two guards took hold of Hall’s arms with magnetic grapples.

“Sorry, Major,” she said. “Unless you can prove any of your story, we’ve got to assume it’s a psychotic projection on your part. And the planet isn’t well enough policed for us to allow a psychotic to run loose. You could do a lot of damage.”

The guards moved him toward the door. Hall went unprotestingly. His head rang, rang and echoed. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was out of his mind.

They came to Captain Taylor’s offices. One of the guards rang the buzzer.