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from Yen Lo—and utterly independently of my voice or any assumed reality of my personal control. Incidentally, while we’re on that subject, we presented one of these refueling devices to the chairman of your subrural electrification program who faced a somewhat lonely and uncomfortably cold winter on the Gydan Peninsula. Our subject was a thoroughly conditioned young ballet dancer whom the commissar had long admired, but she was most painfully, from his view, married to a young man whom she loved not only outrageously but to the exclusion of all others. Comrade Stalin took pity on him and called me. By using our manual of operating instructions he found himself with the beautiful, very young, very supple dancer who never wore clothes because they made her freezing cold and who undertook conditioned sexual conceptions which were so advanced that the commissar’s winter passed almost before he knew it had started.”

    They roared with laughter. Gomel slapped welts on his thighs with his horny hand. The recording assistant beside Berezovo couldn’t stop giggling: a treble one-note giggle which was so comical that soon everyone was laughing at her giggle as well as Yen Lo’s story. Berezovo finally rapped on the wooden back of the chair in front of him with the naked bayonet he was carrying. Everyone but Gomel stopped laughing in mid-note, but Gomel had just about laughed himself out and was wiping his eyes and shaking his head, thinking of what could be done with a beautiful, nubile young woman who had also been conditioned to kill efficiently.
    “Now,” Yen Lo said, “to operate Raymond it amused me to choose as his remote control any ordinary deck of playing cards. They offer clear, colorful symbols that, in ancient, monarchical terms, contain the suggestion of supreme authority. They are easily obtainable by Raymond anywhere in his country and, after a time, he will probably take to carrying a deck of the cards with him. Very good. I will demonstrate.” He turned to the sergeant. “Raymond, why don’t you pass the time by playing a little solitaire?” Raymond sat erect and looked alertly at Yen Lo. “Pull that table over, Raymond,” the old Chinese said. Raymond walked to stage right and carried back with him a small table on whose top had been placed a pack of cards. He sat down.
    “The first refueling key was the sentence suggesting solitaire in those exact words, which unlocks his basic conditioning. Then the queen of diamonds, in so many ways reminiscent of Raymond’s dearly loved and hated mother, is the second key that will clear his mechanism for any assignment.” As Yen spoke, Raymond had been shuffling the cards and was laying out the seven-card spread that is variously called solitaire, Klondike, or patience.
    “He will play the game until the queen of diamonds enters the play, which will be soon because we arranged it that way to save your time. Ah, here it is.” Raymond’s play had turned up the queen. He scooped all the other cards together neatly. He squared them, placed them facedown on the table, and put the queen of diamonds faceup on top of the pack, then sat back to watch the card with offhand interest, his manner entirely normal.
    “May I have that bayonet, please?” Yen Lo asked General Berezovo.
    “Not with the knife,” Gomel barked. “With the hands.”

    “His hands?” Yen responded distastefully.
    “Here,” Berezovo said. “Have him use this.” He handed a white silk scarf to an assistant who carried it to Yen Lo. Yen knotted the scarf tightly in three close places, speaking to Raymond as he did so.
    “Raymond, whom do you dislike the least in your group who are here today?”
    “The least?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Well—I guess Captain Marco, sir.”
    “Notice how he is drawn always to authority?” Yen asked the group. Then he said to Raymond, “That won’t do. We will need the captain to get you your medal. Whom else?” Both Gomel’s and Berezovo’s