These exotics, thinks ghem-Colonel Naru, all seem to have this unreasonable reaction to fast-penta. They all seem to be under the impression that they're about to be poisoned or subject to some kind of torture. Fast-penta is the humane alternative to torture. It's not as though this is a Cetagandan practice. It's galactic standard.

York will recognize the Chief Medical Officer from his physical exam, though he's wearing slightly different facepaint today. He sits across the table from York, hands folded on its smooth surface; an officer stands by to administer the drug, and another by the door. Fairly standard interrogation setup. He raises an eyebrow slightly at York.

"You can relax already. It's not going to hurt. Lieutenant, allergy check?"

The officer takes York by the wrist and gently sticks the inside of his arm with a prick, tipped with just a tiny bit of the solution. "Some people have an allergy," ghem-Colonel Naru explains, "and the reaction is usually rather nasty. We prefer to avoid that."

"He's clear, sir," the lieutenant announces after a minute.

Naru nods in acknowledgment and turns his gaze back to York. "Any questions before we begin?"