The boy sat very still, intently watching the large man who

stood before him.

In the hand of the man rested a long, curling whip, which snaked through the dusty air, twisting and sliding as if alive. Tantalizingly it probed, back and forth, then suddenly, responding to a deft jerk of the man's wrist, it flicked forward, almost faster than the eye could follow.

The boy leaped and twisted in an effort to avoid the punishing strike, but even as he began to move he could feel the sting of the punishing leather as it cracked against his skin, and he glanced down to see a fresh welt arise upon his bare shoulder. Instantly he looked back up at the man, his eyes burning fiercely green in their intensity.

Again the whip flicked out, this time catching the ankle of the naked child, and ripping open a small gash in the smooth skin. Again the boy was too slow, but the whip had missed his thigh, at least. The boy closed his mind to the pain and the flowing blood, and concentrated again upon the man and the whip.

He did not understand why this man continued to torment him; only that his life has been full of torments and terrors since the day he had lost his mother. He had been brutally taken from a life in which all of his needs had been met, and in which love and tenderness had been standard and constant companions.

Loving, familiar faces had always surrounded him, and he had been tenderly cared for always.

In the many months since he had been taken by the hairy men his life had been a nightmare. No longer was he happy or comfortable. Each day he was subjected to new torments, and his nights were endured in endless pain.

He had been kicked, shackled, bitten, starved, beaten almost to death, and whipped regularly.

Frequently small starving carnivores had been let loose into the small chamber in which he was imprisoned.

When the first creature had entered, the boy had merely watched, curious in his tender experience. The sinuous, furry creature had slowly approached, watching him with quick, bright eyes, and then had suddenly leaped at the boy's throat.

The child had felt the intense pain of its bite, and screamed as the uk, as the creature was known, probed for his jugular with its sharp teeth.

Instinctively the boy had grabbed the beast with his small hands, and had flung it away against the wall.

The uk had bitten his hand, and upon landing on the floor turned and sprang at him again, fearless in its ravishing hunger.

Terrified, the boy had tried to slap at the creature, but, insane with hunger, the uk had attacked with maddened frenzy, biting and tearing in its rage.

The boy grabbed and squeezed the creature as it bit into his small hands, and slammed the uk to the floor, pounding in terror until it lay still, and continuing to slam the body to the ground, even after its obvious death.

Finally he had thrown the uk against the wall, and had sat crying for his mother, hysterical with pain and fear, until he had exhausted his energy, and had fallen asleep upon the cold stone floor.

He had awakened hours later in the arms of Amena, the slave girl.

She had held him closely, murmuring softly, and bathing his wounds. Instinctively he had grabbed for her, holding her as if she were life itself. The girl had begun to weep, stroking the child, and warming him with her body.

He had calmed then, looking up into her gentle eyes, and soon was asleep again, now with a peaceful expression on his small face. Later she had fed him, providing him with food for his bodily strength, as well as with crucial love for his lonely heart. She had returned him to his tiny cell, but kissed him before she left, and promised to see him again.

The next day he had faced another uk, and again he killed the creature, but more quickly this time. A second uk had been set loose, and he had killed this one as well. He was learning.

That night Amena cared for him again.

In the days and weeks that followed he had been often forced to kill an uk, or other small carnivore, which had been starved and maddened by the boy's captors.

Soon he became adept at killing them, and in learning to endure the pain in his efforts. He had also learned quickly that no mercy existed within this prison, nor could he afford to be merciful and yet live.

Two creatures attacked him simultaneously one day, and he had suffered several painful bites before he was able to kill both. Again, as always, he had been mended and comforted by the loving Amena, who provided a sense of security for those few hours each day when she was permitted to comfort and tend the boy, and she was the one bright light in a life of darkness and despair.

Some weeks after his arrival the whippings had begun, initially with a small, woven string, and later with a leather whip. At first the strokes had been softly given, bothersome, but not extremely painful.

He had tried to avoid them, and had become quicker in his movements as time passed, but never quite enough to avoid the sting of the whip.

Finally he had begun to successfully avoid the small whip with regularity, and it was replaced with a larger, faster one. The one Brona now held was the third, and from its lightning lash there seemed to be no escape.

Still the boy tried, for he had learned, with the animals and with this man, that to submit was to die.

On the occasions which he had ceased his efforts he had been struck continuously, again and again, with increasing intensity, until he had begun to move again. He knew that this man would whip him to death. By moving he could avoid a facial injury, and he knew that eventually the man would cease whipping him.

With a patience unheard of in one so young he waited and watched his captor, his small body coiled like a spring as he tensed for the lash.

His former life was already a distant memory in his child's mind. He now lived to survive, as an animal survives, and he continued to obtain his needed love and support from the unfailing Amena, who cried with him at night, and loved him like the mother he would never see again.

His senses were alive with fear and aggression, while his eyes burned with his hate for the man who controlled the whip, and for the other man, who sat back and watched as the boy was whipped, and whose eyes lit with pleasure as the boy fought the small carnivores in his cell.

Gonor, sitting behind Brona, permitted a faint smile to pass across his lips. This child had thus far exceeded his expectations to a remarkable degree. Although kept and caged like an animal, and subjected to a continuing variety of tortures and torments, the boy had neither perished not lost his sanity.

More importantly, the child, who Gonor estimated was perhaps four years old, moved with speed and strength far superior than was normally possessed by a child of such tender years, and moved in addition with greater balance and dexterity. The child seemed possessed of an iron will to survive.

He had learned and progressed thus, of course, at the risk of his life.

Determined to continue with his biological experiments, Gonor had almost immediately subjected the child to a series of life-threatening situations. From the first, the child had learned that to survive, he must kill. He must learn to endure pain and suffering, and to seek it, in fact, if necessary.

Gonor knew that the daily comforts of the slave girl were critical, enabling the child to find some measure of love, warmth, and support, and providing a haven to which the child could flee from each day's terrors.

The pattern had been endlessly repeated, each time forcing the boy to extend himself further, and thus far the drive for self-preservation had triumphed. The growing child had responded to the challenges, learning to kill quickly, to attack mercilessly when faced with more than one antagonist, and to maneuver endlessly when having a session with the patient Brona and his whip.

The boy would kill animals which only a few weeks previously would have easily killed the child, had they been introduced into his cell at that time.

Gonor had studied the boy's capabilities, and and had calculated and re-calculated the ever-changing limits of his potential, providing new challenges which were calculated to require the child to learn new skills, or else perish.

Even Gonor was amazed at the speed and skill of the boy, and at the grim determination with which he endured his torments. Fortune had certainly played a large part, for several times the child had been near death before dispatching his assailant, and afterwards had required days of physical and emotional healing.

A slightly more deadly opponent would have ended the experiment at that time, had it been introduced. It was always a matter of some guesswork, and Gonor hoped the boy would live a while longer before they erred in their calculations, and placed too formidable an antagonist in to engage in a death struggle with their small captive.

Gonor had never experimented upon such an ideal subject. This child was far different from the peasant children he had used in Elur. Intelligence and vitality, as well as strength, flowed within him, and Gonor wondered what type of man had been the child's father.

Momentarily he let his eyes drop to the floor, where Amena knelt at his feet, her neck chained to a ring in the stone floor. Her eyes were moist with pity and compassion as she watched Brona whip the boy, and Gonor kicked her gently with his sandaled foot. Her love and tenderness had been instrumental in his experiment, and Gonor could see that she too had changed. The child had become the focus of her life, and she appeared to have regained her spirit to some extent.

It amused the scientist to speculate on what she would do when the boy died. He usually had her in attendance when he was experimenting on the child, so that he could watch her reactions. When the experiment terminated, he would enjoy crushing her will once again. He contemplated various methods with some interest, and then dismissed the thoughts from his mind, for the boy still lived.

Again the slender whip lashed out, blindingly fast, and this time the child was so quick that it barely touched his shoulder. Gonor raised his hand. "Enough for now, Brona. He is learning to beat this whip. Leave him chained, and release some hungry rigots upon him."

Brona nodded, rising and moving to a ladder which climbed the wall from the pit in which he had been whipping the boy. Drawing the ladder up behind him, he turned and looked down at his prisoner.

No expression registered upon that small face, and only the green glow which burned in the eyes provided any indication that the child was aware of his situation, and was other than indifferent to the man who had just whipped him and left him bleeding in the pit.

They had moved the child into the pit in which he now lived some months ago. It was thirty feet in diameter, with walls eight feet high, and several doors which opened in the walls, through which animals could be sent at the boy, from several directions at once, if desired.

With all doors closed, the pit could also be flooded, and pumped dry. It provided an ideal environment in which to keep the child, and to observe his reactions to various types of stimuli.

Brona turned to Gonor with a smile. "He is incredibly fast for a child. It is hard to believe such speed can exist in one so young."

Gonor chuckled. "He must become fast, Brona. His survival requires it."

Gonor's eyes glittered with excitement. "A human child can learn to move quickly, or to kill efficiently, just at he can learn to crawl, or to walk. When faced with a situation which demands instant reaction, the body's reflexes and learning capacity become responsive to desperate needs, and abilities can increase with incredible speed. Reaction time becomes instant and complete. Senses expand to meet the necessity of survival."

He clenched his fist. "Civilization has long robbed children of the need for speed or strength. We allow them to mature at an easy, leisurely pace, and in the instances later in life when they are faced with a life-threatening situation, they cannot cope with any real efficiency, and often perish. The threat is too great, and comes too late in the maturation process, long after patterns of learning and behavior have become fixed."

"It is during the formative years when a person is at the height of his learning capacities. We presently are dealing with an extremely healthy, intelligent and imaginative child, who is passing through critical growth periods which will never be available to him again. He has not been softened and pampered, and allowed to squander his maturation process."

The scientist smiled. "We have learned much from this boy, and hopefully we may learn much more before he dies."

Brona nodded agreement. Clearly Gonor's experiments had provided some measure of empirical proof for his theories. The cruelties inflicted on the child did not affect Brona, and he too was fascinated with the progress of the boy.

Gonor often seemed in unusually good humor because of his success, too, and Brona hoped that the child would survive for a period of time. He knew that eventually he would tire of the experiment, however, and might lose patience and have to kill the boy, so that they could move on to more profitable pursuits.

Brona turned and looked down again at the small child, as Gonor rose and headed for the door. Then Brona moved a lever, and a small door opened into the pit, through which a pack of wild rigots bounded. Immediately they fixed their small eyes on the figure of the child, and raced towards him with ravenous snarls. The naked boy crouched as he turned quickly to meet their charge, his green eyes bright with the light of battle.

To TARAK OF AANTOR