'Careful, Roffrey - it's beginning,' said O'Hara.
And it was only a mild beginning.
Whatever the aliens had learned of the human subconscious, they used. However, they had gained such a store of information, Roffrey would never know - though the human psychiatrists had a similar store of 'weapons' to turn back against their enemies.
Every dark thought, every unhealthy whim, every loathsome desire that they had ever experienced was dredged up by the alien machines and shoved before their conscious minds.
The trick, as O'Hara had said, was to forget values of good and evil, right and wrong, and to accept these impressions for what they were - desires and thoughts shared by everyone to some degree.
But Roffrey found it hard going.
And this was not all. The alien means of triggering these thoughts was spectacular and mind smashing in its incredibly clever intensity.
He found it difficult to define between what was sight or smell, taste or sound.
And pervading it all, in the aching background of everything, was the swirling, whirling, chattering, shrieking, odorous, clammy, painful colour - the blood red sense.
It was as if his mind had exploded. As if it were gouging its contents, awash with blood and the agony of naked thoughts, unclothed by prejudice and self-deception. There was no comfort in this world he had suddenly entered - no release, no rest or hope of salvation. The alien sensory-projectors were forcing him further and further into his own mind, jumbling what was there when it did not suit their purpose to show it to him as it really was. All his conscious thoughts and senses were scrambled and jellied and altered. All his subconscious feelings were halted before him and he was forced to look.
In the back of his mind was a small spark of sanity repeating over and over again: 'Keep sane - keep sane - hang on - it doesn't matter - it's all right.' And at times he heard his own voice blended with dozens of others as he howled like a dog and cried like a child.
Yet in spite of all this that was flung against him and the rest, in spite of the loathing he began to feel for himself and his fellows, there was still the spark which kept him sane.
It was at this spark that the aliens aimed their main concentration, just as the more experienced Gamblers in the human ranks aimed to destroy the little sparks of sanity alive in their opponents.
Never in the history of the human race had such dreadful battles been fought. This was more like a war between depraved demons than between material creatures.
It was all Roffrey could do to keep that spark alive as he sweated and struggled against the columns of sound, the vast, booming waves of smells, in the groaning movement of colour.
And as if in keeping with this battleground, the blood red mingling of senses swam and ran and convulsed and heaved themselves through his racked being, hurled themselves along his neural tracts, hacked past his cortical cells, mauled his synapses and shook body and brain into a formless, useless jelly of garbled receptions.
Blood red! There was nothing now save the blood red shrilling of a pervading, icy, stinking taste and a washed-out feeling of absolute self-loathing that crept in everywhere, in every cranny and corner of his mind and person so that he wanted nothing more than to shake it aside, to escape from it.
But it trapped him - the blood red trap from which he could only escape by retreating back down the corridors of his experience, to huddle comfortingly in the womb of…
The spark flared and sanity returned completely for a moment. He saw the sweating, concentrated faces of the other operators. He saw Talfryn's face writhing and heard the man groaning, saw O'Hara's thin hand on his shoulder and grunted an acknowledgement. He glanced at the tiny screen which was fluttering with dancing graphs and pulsating light.
Then he was reaching for the small control panel before him, and his bearded face bore a twisted half-smile as he shouted:
'Cats!'
'And they crawl along your spines with their claws gripping your nerves.
'Tides of mud, oozing. Drown, creatures, drown!'
The words themselves were of little effect, but they were not meant to be - they were triggering off emotions and impressions in his own mind.
He was attacking now! Using the very emotions and impressions which the aliens had released. And he had grasped some understanding of how they could react to these things, for there had been in their attack several impressions which had meant nothing to him, translated into his own terms. These he flung back with a will and his own screens began to lap to the horrid rhythms of his savagely working mind.
First he sent the blood red impressions back, since these were obviously a preliminary attack which formed the basis of the Game. He didn't understand why this should be, but he was learning quickly. And one of the things he had learned was that reason played little part while the Game was on. That instinct had to be turned into a fighting tool. Later the experts could analyse results.
But then he felt the hysteria leave him and there was silence in the chamber.
'Stop! Roffrey - stop! It's over - they won. Christ! We haven't got a hope now!'
'Won? I haven't finished…' 'Look - ' Several of the Gamblers were sprawled on the floor, mewling and drooling insanely. Others were curled into tight foetal balls. Attendants rushed in to tend to them.
'We've lost seven. That means the aliens won. We got perhaps five. Not bad. You nearly had your opponent, Roffrey, but they've pulled back now. You'll probably get another chance. For a first-timer you did exceptionally well.'
Talfryn was insensible when they turned their attention to him.
O'Hara appeared unconcerned. 'He's lucky - it looks as if he's only blacked out. I think he's tough enough to take another round or two now he's got used to the Game.'
'It was - filthy…' Roffrey said. His whole body was tight with strain, his nerves were, bunched, his head ached terribly, his heart pumped wildly. He even found it hard to focus on O'Hara.
Seeing his trouble, O'Hara took a hypodermic from a case in his pocket and gave Roffrey an injection before he could protest.
Roffrey began to feel better. He still felt tired, but his body started to relax and the headache was less intense.
'So that's the Blood Red Game,' he said after a moment
'That's it,' said O'Hara.
Selinsky studied the papers Mann had prepared for him.
'You may well have something here,' he said. 'It is possible that the Shifter exerts a particular influence on the human mind that equips that mind for withstanding the attacks of the aliens.'
'He looked up and spoke to Zung, who was fiddling with some equipment in one corner of the room.
'You say that Roffrey stood up particularly well in his first round?'
'Yes,' the little Mongolian nodded. 'And he resumed the attack without direction. That's rare.'
'He's valuable enough without having any special characteristics,' Selinsky agreed.
'What do you think of my suggestions?' Mann said, almost impatiently, wanting to get back to his own line of inquiry.
'Interesting,' Selinsky said, 'but still nothing very definite to go on. I think we might ask to see Roffrey and Talfryn
and find out what we can about their experiences in the Shifter.'
'Shall I ask them to come here?' Zung suggested.
'Yes, will you?' Selinsky frowned as he studied Mann's notes.
From the turmoil that was her ruined brain, Mary was emerging. Half afraid, for the knowledge of her insanity preyed always on her sane mind, she was reassembling her reason.
Suddenly there was no more confusion. She lay there, eyes seeing nothing at all - no sights of disordered creation, no threatening creatures, no danger. All she heard was the slight scuffling sound of somebody moving about near her.