"The what? Look, if you think I'm going to .... expose my genitals to a whole crowd of God knows—"
"There'll be no crowd, I promise you. The number is eight, and one of those is doubtful."
"All medical students," said Thatch. "Think of them as doctors, like us."
"They won't get in anybody's way," said Rosenberg. "They've been carefully briefed on being as unobtrusive as possible and things are so arranged that you'll hardly know they're there."
Jake reflected: there were six of them here; another seven or eight wouldn't make much odds, true, but it was a bit thick to be treated as mid-Victorian for not favouring a come-one-come-all admissions policy at the impending show. When he signified that on consideration this could go ahead they switched to treating him like a child just bravely out of its mopes or dumps. So, as the party trooped along a corridor that had the look of being identical to several hundred others in the place, he was not best pleased when Rosenberg moved him a little apart from the others and said,
"I found your attitude just now quite interesting."
"Oh you did, did you?"
"You reacted somewhat violently to the notion of a large number of persons witnessing our investigations."
"Mm.,
"Why?"
"Well, to start with, it's not inconceivable I might be recognised."
"Would that be so disastrous?"
"Most things people object to aren't so disastrous or even disastrous, doctor. I object to somebody who knows me seeing me having this done, whatever it may be."
"You mean the exposure itself?"
"Well-needing treatment for sexual .... inadequacy."
"Really now? You wouldn't object to being known to need treatment for, er, diabetes, which arises from insulin inadequacy?"
"Of course not. That's different."
"Would you call that a mature attitude?"
"Perhaps I wouldn't and then again perhaps I would, and either way it's my attitude. Like my genitals."
"We'll discuss this again, Mr Richardson," said Rosenberg as they approached an unluxurious lift in which the others already stood.
The lecture-theatre was of a type familiar to Jake chiefly from American films: semi-circular tiers of seats rising up from a level space on the other side of which were blackboards and a projection-screen attached to the wall. Near the middle of the space there stood a metal framework mounted on struts and castors and with electric cables attached to several of its components; Jake assumed that what he saw was the back of the apparatus, which as he soon gathered bore dials or other measuring devices on its front. He found himself sitting on an ugly and expensive-looking straight-backed chair without his trousers and underpants. Otherwise he was neatly, almost formally dressed on the clean-linen-for-the-scaffold principle: dark-grey suit jacket, cream shirt, well-knotted regimental tie, grey socks and much-polished black shoes. The promise of immunity from spotlights given him a little earlier had been kept in the letter but not so much in the spirit: though there were several sources of light, all of them overhead or somewhere near it, their illumination was concentrated on him and the couple of dozen square yards round him; the one exception shone on the faces of Thatch and his bald colleague as they peered at their machine and clicked a switch here and there. Professor Trefusis stood near Jake at a metal table taking folders, typewritten sheets and a hard backed file-cover of some kind out of a briefcase and arranging them on the table. Her expression was serious almost to the point of grimness, like that of an official about to announce a threat to the security of the kingdom. What was her husband like? What did he photograph? Did she do this instead of sex or was she so barmy about it that she had to spend her whole working day on this sort of substitute or semblance, keeping herself quiet, so to speak, until she could scuttle off for several uninterrupted hours of the real thing? Could anyone really tell? What about the visitor from Ghana, the only other person in plain sight? Which raised a question.
"Are your students here, Professor Trefusis?"
"Yes, all eight of them."
"So the doubtful one made it after all; I'm so glad. Tell me, how can they see to take notes?"
"They don't have to. All the technical information and a full account of the procedure have been circulated to them already. From—their point of view, this session provides an opportunity to watch the work actually being carried out under field conditions."
"Oh I see."
"I think we're about ready. Miss Newman?"
Miss Newman came into the light carrying a length of flex that ended in what looked to Jake like a classier version of the plastic hoop on the old nocturnal mensurator. Without looking him in the eye she hung it on him and withdrew. Was that all she did?
"Bill?"
"Okay."
"Now Mr Richardson, I want you to try and concentrate entirely on me, on what I tell you and on what I show you. Forget about everybody else. If there's anything you don't like for any reason you're to say so immediately, and you can stop the whole session at any time simply by saying Stop. Right? Now. Shut your eyes. Have a sexual fantasy. Think of something that really turns you on."
What Jake wanted to say immediately was that nothing really did that and if anything within reason really did then he wouldn't be there and hadn't Rosenberg told her so, but he followed doctor's orders and thought away like mad. Or tried to. Girl. Beautiful girl. Fantastically beautiful girl with an unbelievable..... No. 'Girl.' Girl with slinky dress which she slowly draws up over her head. Underclothes and stockings. No, tights these days. Bugger these days. She slowly takes off one stocking. But he'd never been one for that kind of thing: off with the lot in short order had been his way. Off with the lot, then. Kiss. And so forth. He was well, or as well as he could manage, into the so forth when Professor Trefusis said,
"All right, Mr Richardson, hold it and relax for a moment. Bill?"
"Point-nine and thirty-three point-nine."
Perhaps these figures displeased or disquieted the boss; anyway, she went over and joined the two at the apparatus, behind whom Jake could now make out two or three or more dim shapes. He could tell there was at least one other person to his left rear but didn't look round. Only the Ghanaian observer was now in full view; he had got in a lot of observing when Miss Newman did her bit and even now was still at it on and off. Jake wanted to tell him to pull up a prayer mat or whatever he fancied and be his guest. He yawned and stretched. It could hardly be that he had broken the machine by overloading it—no, no, here came Professor Trefusis with a satisfied expression.
"Sorry about that." She picked up the file he had noticed and passed it to him. "Would you read aloud what it says on the first page? I should explain that the object is to make sure you're turned off after each stimulus."
"Ah." He found that the thing was actually a loose-leaf book containing sheets of typescript." Clear enough. He read aloud,
"Apart from the peculiar tenets of individual thinkers, there is also in the world at large an increasing inclination to stretch unduly the powers of society over the individual, both by the force of opinion and even by that of legislation; and as the tendency of all the changes taking place in the world is to strengthen society and diminish the power of the individual, this encroachment is not one of the evils which tend spontaneously to disappear, but, on the contrary to grow more and more formidable. The disposition of mankind, whether as rulers or as fellow-citizens, to impose their own opinions and inclinations as a rule of conduct on others, is so energetically supported by some of the best and by some of the worst feelings incident to human nature that it is hardly ever kept under restraint by anything but want of power; and as the power is not declining, but growing, unless a strong barrier of moral conviction can be raised against the mischief, we must expect, in the present circumstances of the world, to see it increase."