The Inquisitor by Robert Silverberg

When Conway Kroll reached his office that morning, there were three prisoners waiting to be interrogated. He smiled coldly at the sight of them, standing in the large bare room awaiting their fate.

"Good morning," he said, with steely politeness. "My name is Kroll. It is my job to conduct the interrogation to which you three will be subjected today."

One of the three—a tall, youthful-looking man—glared up at him bitterly. "Interrogation? Torture, you mean!"

Kroll brought his eyes to rest on the man who had spoken slowly, almost scornfully. "You have the wrong idea completely, my friend. It is necessary to persuade you to divulge certain facts. The State requires it of you. If you refuse—" He gestured sadly—"we must compel you. But you are all so determined to make things hard for us. I don't want to hurt you, you know."

"But you will hurt us," said another of the prisoners. She was a girl, no more than twenty, slim and darkhaired. Even in the dreary prison garb, thought Kroll, she retained her beauty. "You're going to torture us!"

Kroll shrugged: "I repeat: I don't want to."

He looked at his watch. "Come; we are wasting time, and the Inquisitor is waiting. Miss Horniman, you must be first."

The girl shrank back behind the bitter-eyed young man. The third prisoner, a resigned-looking, balding man of fifty or so, did not change his expression.

"Take me first," the man said. "Leave her alone."

Again Kroll shrugged. "The Inquisitor would like Miss Horniman first, Mr. Leslie. This is the preferred order, and this is the order that will be."