“Lindsey Joyce, Skoptsy Colony, Mars,” he thought as he was thrust back deep into the pneumatic chair. “A Skoptsy… Without senses, without pleasure, without pain. The ultimate in Stoic escape. How am I going to punish him? Torture him? Put him in the port stateroom and make him feel what I felt aboard Nomad? Damnation! It’s as though he’s dead. He is dead. And I’ve got to figure how to beat a dead body and make it feel pain. To come so close to the end and have the door slammed in your face… The damnable frustration of revenge. Revenge is for dreams…never for reality.”
