Hell no. That’s what my mind kept telling me, but I knew women quite well by now. She wasn’t going to ever let this go, or ever forgive me, if I didn’t let her perform this particularly wicked crime against all that was holy and natural.
Throwing a big arm around her, I faked a smile and gave her a polite hug.
“It’s decided, then. Let’s tell the old man. He’ll be pleased as punch.”
We walked out, but we found the Investigator was already hard at work. He had dragged out a big set of electrodes, some kind of fancy headdress made of wires, and a leather apron with crusty stains on it that were of a questionable nature.
“Uh…” I said. “Were you listening in, or something?”
He smiled. “No. but I’m a student of the mind as well as the body. I calculated you two would go through with the procedure. No one comes all the way out to Dust World to seek my help without being highly committed to their cause.”
We couldn’t argue with his logic, so we followed him back into the main chamber. Floramel served as the Investigator’s assistant, and she did her job with quiet efficiency. You wouldn’t have even known how personally involved she was—not until, that was, they began shocking the body.
When the thing in the tank began to squirm and writhe grotesquely, curling up its limbs in random patterns, she winced every time.
But she never faltered. They worked for hours, loading the mind in my tapper into that poor carcass. Apparently, the Investigator’s equipment wasn’t as efficient as that developed over centuries by the people of Edge World. That wasn’t really a surprise, as his gear was essentially homegrown and almost untested. There were showers of sparks and blasts of stinky bubbles—it was awful.
Still, we dared to hope it would work in the end.
-15-
After the lengthy loading process, the body in the tank finally stopped squirming around in agony. That was a sheer relief for Floramel.
The Investigator, however, was frowning. He kept prodding at the floating lizard, as if he expected it to stand up and sing hallelujah.
“What’s wrong?” Floramel asked in concern.
The Investigator didn’t answer her.
She waited a long moment or three, then she sniffled. That was the first sign of grief she’d displayed all night.
I knew what the trouble was right off: She’d figured out the procedure hadn’t worked.
I was ahead of her on that score. I gently took her by the elbow. “Come on. Let’s get some air outside. Let the Investigator do his work.”
She flinched at my touch, but she didn’t pull away. She let me guide her toward the exit, walking backwards. Her eyes never left that dirty tank, and there were tears welling up at the corners.
Good job, McGill, I thought to myself. Due to my efforts, the poor girl was experiencing her loss and grief all over again. Sometimes, false hopes were worse than none at all. I should have just left well enough alone.
As we were about to leave, the Investigator suddenly straightened and looked around for us. “Where are you going? McGill, are you on yet another campaign of fornication? If so, it’s poorly timed. This is a critical stage in the process. Please unhand my assistant.”
Floramel pulled away from me and took six steps toward the Investigator. “You mean… the saurian might live?”
“Of course he’ll live. Gaining a mind has never been fatal to anyone.” Then he gave a dark look. “Well, with our present company excepted. Come here, please. I need your help.”
Floramel rushed to his side. It made me chafe to see it. After all, what did that damned lizard have that a proper human male—such as myself—lacked?
Thinking that question over in my mind made my lips twisted up in disgust. I didn’t want to know.
Walking up to the edge of the tank, I peered inside. The two spooky scientists were shocking the water again—or rather, they were zapping the lizard floating in the middle of the tank.
“Good… adjust the gain and repeat.”
“Is this an analog control, sir?” Floramel asked in shock.
“Yes. Experimental equipment requires a highly variant set of inputs to do these tests.”
“Yes, but…”
“Please increase the gain. Make slow, steady increments.”
Floramel examined the knob in her hand. There was a dark line on it, and some ridges to grip it better—but that was about it. There weren’t any numbers or anything.
“I have no idea how much to turn this knob. There are no markings, no indicators—”
“If I knew what the correct increments were, I’d have no need of your hand on the knob. Nudge it about five percent of a full revolution at a time—and do that slowly, with care. We’re trying to see where the sweet spot is.”
“The sweet spot?”
“It’s an old Earth expression,” I told her.
Floramel gave me a baffled look, but she started working the knob. As she did so, the lizard twitched now and then. As she turned the knob slowly around the poor body wriggled with increasing frequency and vigor.
But no matter how much she twiddled that knob, the Investigator kept gesturing for more juice. Soon, Floramel and I were both wincing.
Then, all of a sudden, the tail splashed up into the air. It slapped on the side of the tank, making a loud banging sound and sending a spray of disgusting fluids all over the place.
“Aw, Hell!” I complained, backing away from the tank and brushing at my soiled clothing.
Floramel stood her ground, however. She kept working the knob and squinting through the occasional showers. I stayed well back,
