That train of thought had a short life in his mind. Because if this were a coffin, it was no problem to him. Five or six feet of packed earth on top of a coffin and its box was no barrier to twenty decimal similarity.
Gosseyn actually shook his head, chidingly. The fact was it was a meaningless thought for him to have had. People in coffins didn’t have little rubber tubes stuck to several dozen parts of their bodies.
He was about to lie back again, when he had a thought that had no relation to anything. The thought was: “This is Gilbert Gosseyn. I must have blanked out. What happened?”
Several voices answered in some way. What was peculiar about them was, although the thoughts seemed to derive from other persons, they came through as his own thoughts. The meaning was: “Leej seems to have had a bad reaction, too.” The impression was of Eldred Crang speaking. Another meaning: “My impression is that something big happened, but I don’t know what. And the impression of that was that the words came from John Prescott. And Crang said, “Patricia, dear, get the doctors in here. Fortunately, we’ve got help standing by.”
“Yes—” That was the first voice again—“get the doctors. But right now, before we lose our impressions, let me say that at this moment I have the feeling that there are two Gilbert Gosseyns.” Pause. “Anyone got anything to match that?”
Another thought from (impression) Eldred Crang: “Oh, Leej is coming to. Leej, Leej, any impressions? Any predictions?”
It was a faraway voice that answered: “Something happened. Something absolutely colossal. We didn’t fail completely… I have a strange certainty about that. But—it isn’t a matter for prediction. It’s already happened, whatever it is. I, uh, don’t get a thing.”
“Lie back, dear.” Patricia’s voice was also, somehow, coming through another mind. “Let the doctor check you.”
For Gilbert Gosseyn, lying there in the pitch darkness of what could have been a grave, but probably wasn’t, the strange feeling had come that he was mentally not well.
—Now, I remember, he thought uneasily, we were going to make the jump from this galaxy to that other one, but…
As his mind came to the vagueness of that “but”, a man’s voice said almost directly into his ear: “There’s only one distortion in his brain profile that doesn’t resolve. But there’s no power connection to that. So he can’t use that against us in any way that we can anticipate. But now what do we do?”
It was a question that was surely as applicable to Gosseyn himself as it was to the speaker. The time had clearly come for another cortical-thalamic pause.
He noticed that this time he was more hopeful. True, there was silence again, and the darkness remained as black as ever. Also, he was still lying on the couch; and the feel of his naked body, with its numerous attachments, was all still there, exactly the same.
But as Gosseyn mentally replayed the words he had heard, their implication was that he was being closely observed by someone who spoke the English language of earth.
He visualized the exterior condition in its drabbest form, taking into account what had been said:… I m guessing that I’m inside a metal box, roughly the shape of a coffin. The box is resting on a solid table in a laboratory. And electronic devices are peering at me after the manner of X-ray machines or certain types of particle initiators. Whoever is doing the looking, doesn’t know that I am Gilbert Gosseyn, because that brief, spoken analysis was impersonal; and although he demonstrated exceptional refinement of understanding and apparently noticed the extra-brain inside my head the observer showed no awareness of identity…
Accordingly, this was a stranger, and not connected in any knowledgeable way with what Gilbert Gosseyn had been doing out there in the exterior universe.
Presumably, there would presently be more observations made; and the prisoner’s best purpose was: wait at least a little longer in the hope of obtaining some kind of meaningful information. He really ought to know what had happened, and what was happening.
He had not long to wait. A somewhat deeper—more baritone-ish voice said, also in English: Tell me the exact circumstances whereby you took this person aboard.”
“Sir,” was the courteous reply, “we detected a capsule floating in space. Our spy rays observed that there was a male human being inside, who seemed to be either sleeping or unconscious. However, now that we have him aboard, closer observation has determined that he was in a spacial state of suspended animation, whereby the brain was receptive to a variety of incoming signals. What those signals are is not wholly clear to us. But he seems to be a recipient of all the thoughts of an Alter-Ego who is actively pursuing some life situation while in a state of normal activity many light-years distant.” Another pause. Then the second voice said, “Perhaps, he needs to be placed under stress. So let’s leave him isolated, as he is—and let him be aware.”
“Of what?”
“We’ll consult with the biology department.”
A new voice, quiet, determined, holding in its tone a quality of higher command, said, “I have been monitoring this experiment. And it is not on such a cautious basis that a decision can be made. Our problem is severe. We don’t know where we are, and we don’t know how we got here. Bring him out of that capsule. It may have equipment that could operate in his favor in a crisis. So let’s get him away from his one possible assistance area.”
To Gilbert Gosseyn, it was a false-to-facts evaluation. Surely, the one thing he needed, most of all, was to get out of his tight, little prison. Presumably, then, he would be able to see what his captors looked like; and maybe he might even find out who they were.
There were other vaguer thoughts operating in the back of his mind: among them, the beginning of an analysis of the words that had now given him a picture of where these people had found him: in a capsule floating in space. The location raised as many questions as it answered—but not think of that now.
Because he had a feeling of movement. The movement seemed to be in the direction that his head pointed. Gosseyn reached up tentatively to check his impression. Moments after he had touched the cushiony stuff above him, there was no question: the “ceiling” was moving past him towards his feet; moving very slowly.
The double awareness brought a mental picture of a container with a sliding bed in it. Interesting, and logical, that people who could “see” inside a human brain, were able with their instruments to observe the mechanism by which the capsule was put together, and were in process of unlocking it.
Gosseyn anticipated that, any instant now, the head end of the capsule would fold back, or release, and light from the room would glare into his eyes. In a kind of a way, then, he braced himself for the shock of the brightness.
What actually happened: the movement under him ceased. A sudden freshness touched his cheeks. It was another level of perception, or maybe several levels. More air around him, and a tiny change in temperature: cooler.
Which suggested that his head and body had emerged into a room that was as dark as his prison had been.
… They’re really taking no chances!
What was doubly interesting was that, except for the flexible rubber devices attached to his body, presumably he could now get up.