“As I was saying,” Mercy said hastily before they could get into the full swing of the argument, “there will also be a tape recorder to catch whatever sounds you make and an olfactory perception instrument to record any scents. Wires will be attached to your temples and to various other parts of your bodies to record your physical responses during the act and -”
“How can we do everything the way we usually do if there’s all those wires and stuff to trip us up?” Mr. Jones wanted to know.
“Just try to ignore them. Now over here -”
“Just try!” he muttered.
“—is the giant computer which has been especially created for this project,” Mercy continued doggedly. “After the other machines have recorded everything, the data will be fed into the computer and correlated.” Mercy went on to describe the functions of the other instruments in the room. When she had finished, she conducted the Joneses down the hall to another room which was similar to the “experiment room,” but which lacked most of its apparatus. This was the “rehearsal room.” She explained its function to the Joneses. “I’m going to leave you alone here for a while,” she concluded. “Everything is much as it will be during the actual experiment, except that none of the instruments will be operative and you will not be watched. The idea is for you to accustom yourselves to the clinical environment. We want you to look upon this room as your own bedroom. Behave here just as you would there.”
“Can’t,” Mr. Jones told her succinctly.
“Well, I realize there are difficulties in adjustment, but-—”
“That isn’t what I mean,” Mr. Jones interrupted.
“Can’t behave like it’s our bedroom because there’s no TV.”
“You see! You see!” Mrs. Jones said excitedly. “Now is this the husband to inspire a wife to romance, I ask you? Is this—?”
“Do the best you can,” Mercy told them. “I’ll see you later.” She left, closing the door behind her.
When she returned an hour later, Mrs. Jones jumped up to greet her. “How much longer do we have to stay here?” she demanded.
“Why, you’re free to leave at any time,” Mercy told her. “We just wanted you to see if you were able to function in these surroundings, or if they’d be too inhibiting to you without further orientation.”
“We can function,” Mrs. Jones said. “That took five minutes tops. So what were we supposed to be doing the rest of the time?”
“I see.” Mercy ignored the question. “Well, then, you’re free to go.”
“Harry!” Mrs. Jones called to her husband. “Harry, for God’s sake wake up and let’s go home. I’ve been cooped up with him snoring like that long enough,” she told Mercy. “Harry! Harry, wake up!”
“Huh? Wazzit? How-—?” Slowly, Harry Jones came awake.
Mercy made an appointment for them to return the following day and saw the Joneses out of the Observatory. Then she went to check with the others on the staff to make sure that everything was in readiness for their first experiment with non-prostitute subjects. Equipment and procedures were checked out as thoroughly as if the event being prepared for was a manned space flight. It was late in the evening before the staff finally closed up the Observatory and went home to catch some sleep.
They were back and waiting when the Joneses arrived at eleven sharp the next morning. Professor Woocheck, Dr. Peerloin, Mercy and “Fig” Newton met in the observation room to oversee the experiment. The Joneses had already been conducted to the “experiment room.” Dr. Peerloin and Mercy took seats directly in front of the tele-viewer which would enable them to see and hear everything as it was occurring. The Professor and “Fig” sat directly behind them.
“Fig” glanced at the second-hand on his watch and slowly began the countdown. “Ten . . . Nine . . . Eight ... Seven... Six... Five... Four... Three... Two . . . One . . . Blast off!” He chopped the air with his hand, signaling to the Professor.
Immediately the Professor picked up the mouthpiece of the tape-recorder at his side and spoke into it: “Experiment number 8463A. First experiment, Second Phase, Bio-Erotic Project. Subjects Mr. and Mrs. J. Correlate interview data computer card number P7932.” The Professor glanced at the screen. “Note silence as clothes removed.” There was a long pause. “Clothes removed,” the Professor said finally. A shorter pause, then - “All instruments connected. Activate for start of experiment.”
“Fig” checked the control board beside him. “All instruments activated,” he confirmed.
The four of them settled back to watch the tele-screen and to listen.
“What are you lying on your stomach for?” Mr. Jones was saying.
“With that damned camera who knows where, you think I’m going to lie on my back?” his wife complained‘.
“You always have to make things difficult.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll turn over. . . . Is that better?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Mr. Jones fondled her, Mrs. Jones fondled back. Both were silent for a short while. Then Mrs. Jones broke the silence, her voice indignant. “Stop that yawning! What’s the matter with you? You’re not home now. There are people watching!”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“You want to attract attention?”
“Absolutely not!” Mr. Jones’ voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Well, I suppose we might as well get on with it.” He slapped her hard on her naked buttocks.
“Ouch!” She retaliated with a punch to the stomach.
“Oof!” Mr. Jones bit her shoulder.
“Aggh!” Mrs. Jones pummeled his kidneys.
“Umpf!” He twisted her left breast.
“Aggh!”
He twisted her right breast.
“Aggh!”
He twisted them both at the same time.
“Aggh! . . . Abh!”
“Yeah!”
“Ahhh! Ahhh!”
“Yeah! Yeah!”
“I do believe the experiment is going to work.” Professor Woocheck leaned over and whispered into Dr. Peerloin’s ear.
Mercy’s eyes were glued to the TV screen. “Oh, the poor woman,” she murmured.
“That was a real good close-up,” “Fig” remarked. On the screen the Joneses were thrashing about and the sound of their panting was pronounced. It was becoming more difficult for the viewers to make out what was actually transpiring between the two entangled bodies. Suddenly Mrs. Jones pulled slightly away and there was a hint of panic in her voice.
“Be careful! You’re getting the wires all tangled!”
“God damn it! . . . I knew . . . How do they expect—?”
“Fig” moved fast. He grabbed up a microphone hooked to the instrument board and flicked the switch which activated it. His voice boomed out over the loudspeaker in the “experiment room.” “Wait! Don’t move!” he commanded. “You might damage some highly sensitive equipment!”
“What about my highly sensitive equipment?” Jones yelled back.
“Just stay still. I’ll be right there. I’ll untangle you.”
“Fig” dropped the mike and started for the “experiment room” on the run. The other three observed his arrival there on the tele-screen.
“Fig” stood over the Joneses and peered, studying the situation. “My, you certainly are an active man, Mr. Jones,” he observed. “You really have things tangled up.”
“He tosses in his sleep, too,” Mrs. Jones told “Fig” “You ought to see what he does to the bedclothes. It’s like sleeping with a cement mixer.”
“Ah, there we are!” Deftly, “Fig” rearranged a few wires and removed a rheostat which had become tangled in Mr. Jones’ pubic hair. “Now just let me reconnect this relay, wire and you can resume the experiment.”
“Good show,” Professor Woocheck congratulated “Fig” when he returned to the observation room. “Well done Mr. Newton.”