Empyrion II: The Siege of Dome by Stephen Lawhead

been worked out,” said the administrator, reaching out to tap a few keys into the console. “You are to be made an example of.” He glanced at the Nilokerus standing behind Treet, slapping the rod against his hand. “Take him to the conditioning tank.”
    “No, wait! You're making a mistake. Let me go. I won't cause you any trouble. Please!”
    The guard prodded him with the end of the rod, pushing him away from the console. The administrator glared at him and said, “Director Hladik has ordered this himself. Perhaps you'd care to discuss it with him?” He laughed as if he'd made the perfect joke, and Treet was steered down another of the rock-cut corridors radiating from the central room like the arms of an octopus.
    The conditioning tank was an enormous transparent six-sided aquarium filled with green fluid. It looked like a jumbo nutrient bath; however, Treet strongly doubted its designers had any such benevolent purpose in mind. Several harnesses of webbing and electrical wire dangled from a gridwork suspended above the tank. There was no one in the tank at present, and only one other person in the hexagonal room—a rather stout toad of a man with a mashed-in, wrinkled face. Hair stuck out of his red-striped yos at the neckline, and his hands looked as if he wore fur gloves. He grunted when Treet and his guard entered the room.
    “Here's one for you, Skank,” said the guard with the rod, shoving Treet forward. “Take good care of him. Hladik wants him undamaged.”
    The one called Skank grunted again and shuffled over to Treet, appraising him with his eyes as if he were being asked to bid on a piece of spoiled merchandise. “Undamaged,” snorted Skank, prodding Treet with hairy fingers. Treet was aware of a sour smell, like stale sweat or urine or both, and something else. Saltwater? He looked at the giant aquarium; there appeared to be algae growing in the water—which explained its charming green color, no doubt.
    Treet stood passively and allowed himself to be poked. Skank turned him around and pounded him on the back, looked into his mouth, and felt him under the armpits. The guard watched this inspection idly and then turned to leave. “Where do you think you're going?” hollered Skank. “Get back here and help me put him in the soak.”
    The guard huffed and rolled his eyes, but did not speak. Very likely, he knew any protest would be lost on Skank, who was now grumbling and shuffling off to a small pedestal where he flicked a few switches. There came a grinding sound, and the metal grid began descending from the ceiling. “Take off your clothes,” said Skank, returning with a large brown ball of waxy substance in his hands.
    Treet undressed slowly, saying, “You're all making a big mistake.”
    “Save your breath,” grunted Skank, grabbing the nearest harness as it came down. “You're headed for the tank.”
    The guard lifted Treet's arms and held them out at shoulder level while Skank fastened a band around Treet's chest and passed two straps between his legs. Next, webbing was wrapped around his torso and snugged down. His hands were bound loosely to his side; he could move his arms in shallow arcs, but could not touch his face or any other part of his body. The electrical wires, each with a flat electrode on the end, were attached to his skin at various points: over his heart, on his throat below his right jaw, on each temple and cheek, at the base of his spine, on his abdomen.
    Treet submitted to this strange indignity, trying to appear far more calm and unconcerned than he felt. His stomach fluttered, but that might just have been emptiness; and his palms sweated, but it was quite humid in the room. He knew his act of aplomb was unconvincing when, as Skank's back was turned, the guard leaned close and whispered, “Don't fight it. Just relax. It will go easier for you if you don't resist.”
    Skank turned back, and Treet saw that he had fashioned a sort of mask out of the waxy ball. The