Caitrin sat in her quarters. The hour was late, and the Temporal Police were getting too close. She had to prevent them from getting to Braxton. If they captured her, it would be all to easy to get the whereabouts of the Relativity and the secrets of the mission. The entire endeavor could be ruined. The Temporal Police, were, of course, masters of psychological torture. With only the push of a button, they could release the sounds of Oh-Ay-Siss, guaranteed to scrape across the soul with a horrendous effect similar to fingernails on an ancient Terran chalkboard. If that didn't drag the information from their poor subject, they could bring out the most terrible, horrifying, scarring form of torture imaginable. They called it "Bob Dylan and Neil Young's Christmas Favorites." The origins of this awful thing are as cloaked in mystery as the answer to the age old question "Who let Madonna record American Pie?" Even the most brilliant historians and philosophers of the 26th century could not determine the reasoning behind the creation of these foul devices. Caitrin merely knew that she doubted her own ability to withstand the tortures of the Temporal Police.