and begin again. “What
exactly
is going to happen?”
Schneider, folding and unfolding his hands absently, said, “This. Theory suggests that the capacity of the brain might encompass up to twelve discrete personalities, but six—to allow for fifty per cent inefficiency—was the maximum we dared aim for. We have case histories galore of naturally occurring multiple personality, but they have all been pathological; that was why it was necessary to establish that more than one individual could harmoniously inhabit a body. That was why I myself”—he lowered his voice—“had to demonstrate the efficiency of my technique. I have done so, and I am going to ask you to take my word for it.”
“Whose body?” said Stephan Prodshenko in a strangled tone.
Schneider hesitated for a little while. At length he said, “We considered yours, Stepan—and rejected it. You are the fittest and most skillful among us, but there is one skill you have not acquired, through no fault of your own: that’s the skill of adjusting to varying conditions of gravitation. Joe Morea has that skill. It will be Joe’s body.”
Joe’s mind froze over with the words. He barely heard the next part of Schneider’s explanation—how the bodies of the others would be kept in artificial coma, how they would most likely be literally rejuvenated owing to the superior efficiency of the artificial lungs, kidneys and digestive systems which would keep them alive. He knew vaguely, because his eyes were still open, that Stepan was studying him thoughtfully. But he could not think. Only the echo of Schneider’s words went bouncing back and forth in his brain, growing louder instead of softer as time passed.
What would it be like? Like nothing else in human experience, said Schneider. But the closest parallel which anyone could think of was their present situation—to be shut up in a featureless room, with no privacy and only their own resources to fall back upon.
What was the effect on the host, on the passenger? Tiring, said Schneider—incredibly tiring. Because of the need continually to bear in mind what was happening, to remember that it was not insanity which was bringing one unprecedented information. The host and all the passengers were always in full communication, so that although one retained his own selfawareness one was also aware of what the others were thinking. It was like remembering, except that it was in the present rather than the past. It had to be experienced, because nothing in human knowledge equaled it.
How about physical differences? How about emotional orientation? Disturbing, said Schneider, but amazingly, less so than he had expected. Unless the passenger consciously concentrated on physical differences, that part of his or her mind which accepted the continuous nerve reports from bodily organs adjusted with fantastic rapidity, finding one-to-one correspondence and thereafter ignoring them. As to emotional orientation, he believed that at least over a short period no problems at all would arise. The companionship of sharing a brain and a body offered such rich rewards of emotional intimacythat he believed it would suffice perhaps for years, without the need for external involvements.
“Regard it this way,” he said thoughtfully. “What is the human impulse toward finding love and affection, if it is not a desire for completion of the self? Agreed, many people never achieve such a level of desire; they are interested in titilating or pandering to the self, rather than extending it or completing it.
“But we here are as emotionally mature and as socially adjusted, as any half-dozen people on Earth. I speak without conceit, I think; I have been married thirty years to a woman who has always balanced me, and I her, and hers is the credit. None of us carries a major phobia or neurosis; we have minor ones, but even those are diminishing. None of us is prey to uncontrollable emotional storms. We are fortunate in having
exactly
is going to happen?”
Schneider, folding and unfolding his hands absently, said, “This. Theory suggests that the capacity of the brain might encompass up to twelve discrete personalities, but six—to allow for fifty per cent inefficiency—was the maximum we dared aim for. We have case histories galore of naturally occurring multiple personality, but they have all been pathological; that was why it was necessary to establish that more than one individual could harmoniously inhabit a body. That was why I myself”—he lowered his voice—“had to demonstrate the efficiency of my technique. I have done so, and I am going to ask you to take my word for it.”
“Whose body?” said Stephan Prodshenko in a strangled tone.
Schneider hesitated for a little while. At length he said, “We considered yours, Stepan—and rejected it. You are the fittest and most skillful among us, but there is one skill you have not acquired, through no fault of your own: that’s the skill of adjusting to varying conditions of gravitation. Joe Morea has that skill. It will be Joe’s body.”
Joe’s mind froze over with the words. He barely heard the next part of Schneider’s explanation—how the bodies of the others would be kept in artificial coma, how they would most likely be literally rejuvenated owing to the superior efficiency of the artificial lungs, kidneys and digestive systems which would keep them alive. He knew vaguely, because his eyes were still open, that Stepan was studying him thoughtfully. But he could not think. Only the echo of Schneider’s words went bouncing back and forth in his brain, growing louder instead of softer as time passed.
What would it be like? Like nothing else in human experience, said Schneider. But the closest parallel which anyone could think of was their present situation—to be shut up in a featureless room, with no privacy and only their own resources to fall back upon.
What was the effect on the host, on the passenger? Tiring, said Schneider—incredibly tiring. Because of the need continually to bear in mind what was happening, to remember that it was not insanity which was bringing one unprecedented information. The host and all the passengers were always in full communication, so that although one retained his own selfawareness one was also aware of what the others were thinking. It was like remembering, except that it was in the present rather than the past. It had to be experienced, because nothing in human knowledge equaled it.
How about physical differences? How about emotional orientation? Disturbing, said Schneider, but amazingly, less so than he had expected. Unless the passenger consciously concentrated on physical differences, that part of his or her mind which accepted the continuous nerve reports from bodily organs adjusted with fantastic rapidity, finding one-to-one correspondence and thereafter ignoring them. As to emotional orientation, he believed that at least over a short period no problems at all would arise. The companionship of sharing a brain and a body offered such rich rewards of emotional intimacythat he believed it would suffice perhaps for years, without the need for external involvements.
“Regard it this way,” he said thoughtfully. “What is the human impulse toward finding love and affection, if it is not a desire for completion of the self? Agreed, many people never achieve such a level of desire; they are interested in titilating or pandering to the self, rather than extending it or completing it.
“But we here are as emotionally mature and as socially adjusted, as any half-dozen people on Earth. I speak without conceit, I think; I have been married thirty years to a woman who has always balanced me, and I her, and hers is the credit. None of us carries a major phobia or neurosis; we have minor ones, but even those are diminishing. None of us is prey to uncontrollable emotional storms. We are fortunate in having
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