Render seated himself on the corner of his desk, draw- ing up his world-ashtray with his toe.

"You told me before that being blind did not mean that you had never seen. I didn't ask you to explain it then. But I'd like to ask you now."

"I had a neuroparticipation session with Doctor Ris- comb," she told him, "before he had his accident. He wanted to accommodate my mind to visual impressions.

Unfortunately, there was never a second session."

"I see. What did you do in that session?"

She crossed her ankles and Render noted they were well-turned.

"Colors, mostly. The experience was quite overwhelm- ing."

"How well do you remember them? How long ago was it?"

"About six months ago-and I shall never forget them.

I have even dreamed in color patterns since then."

"How often?"

"Several times a week."

"What sort of associations do they carry?"

"Nothing special. They just come into my mind along with other stimuli now-in a pretty haphazard way."

"How?"

"Well, for instance, when you ask me a question it's a sort of yellowish-orangish pattern that I 'see'. Your greet- ing was a kind of silvery thing- Now that you're just sitting there listening to me, saying nothing, I associate you with a deep, almost violet, blue."

53.

Sigmund shifted his gaze to the desk and stared at the side panel.

Can he hear the recorder spinning inside? wondered Render. And if he can, can he guess what it is and what it's doing?

If so, the dog would doubtless tell Eileen-not that she was unaware of what was now an accepted practice- and she might not like being reminded that he considered her case as therapy, rather than a mere mechanical adap- tation process. If he thought it would do any good (he smiled inwardly at the notion), be would talk to the dog in private about it

Inwardly, he shrugged.

"I'll construct a rather elementary fantasy world then,"

he said finally, "and introduce you to some basic forms today."

She smiled; and Render looked down at the myth who crouched by her side, its tongue a piece of beefsteak hanging over a picket fence.

Is he smiling too?

"Thank you," she said.

Sigmund wagged his tail.

"Well then," Render disposed of his cigarette near Madagascar, "I'll fetch out the 'egg' now and test it. In the meantime," he pressed an unobstrusive button, "per- haps some music would prove relaxing."

She started to reply, but a Wagnerian overture snuffed out the words. Render jammed the button again, and there was a moment of silence during which he said, **Heh heh. Thought Respighi was next."

It took two more pushes for him to locate some Ro- man pines.

"You could have left him on," she observed. "I'm quite fond of Wagner."

"No thanks," he said, opening the closet, "I'd keep stepping in all those piles of leitmotifs."

The great egg drifted out into the office, soundless as a cloud. Render heard a soft growl behind as he drew it toward the desk. He turned quickly.

Like the shadow of a bird, Sigmund had gotten to his feet, crossed the room, and was already circling the ma- chine and sniffing at it-tail taut, ears flat, teeth bared.

"Easy, Sig," said Render. "It's an Omnichannel Neural

54 .

T & R Unit. It won't bite or anything like that. It's Just a machine, like a car, or a teevee, or a dishwasher. That's what we're going to use today to show Eileen what some things look like."

"Don't like it," rumbled the dog.

"Why?"

Sigmund had no reply, so he stalked back to EUeen and laid his head in her lap.

"Don't like it," he repeated, looking up at her.

"Why?"

"No words," he decided. "We go home now?"

"No," she answered him. "You're going to curl up in the corner and take a nap, and I'm going to curl up in that machine and do the same thing-sort of."

"No good," he said, tail drooping.

"Go on now," she pushed him, "lie down and behave yourself."

He acquiesced, but he whined when Render blanked the windows and touched the button which transformed his desk into the operator's seat.

He whined once more-when the egg, connected now to an outlet, broke in the middle and the top slid back and up, revealing the interior.

Render seated himself. His chair became a contour couch and moved in hallway beneath the console. He sat upright and it moved back again, becoming a chair.

He touched a part of the desk and half the ceiling dis- engaged itself, reshaped itself, and lowered to hover over- head like a huge bell. He stood and moved around to the side of the ro-womb. Respighi spoke of pines and such, and Render disengaged an earphone from beneath the egg and leaned back across his desk. Blocking one ear with his shoulder and pressing the microphone to the other, he played upon the buttons with his free hand.

Leagues of surf drowned the tone poem; miles of traffic overrode it; a great clanging bell sent fracture lines run- ning through it; and the feedback said: ". . . Now that you are just sitting there listening to me, saying nothing, I associate you with a deep, almost violet, blue...."

He switched to the face mask and monitored, one- cinnamon, two-leaf mold, three-deep reptilian musk . . . and down through thirst, and the tastes of honey and vinegar and salt, and back on up through lilacs and wet concrete, a before-the-storm whiff of ozone, and all the

55.

basic olfactory and gustatory cues for morning, afternoon and evening in the town.

The couch floated normally in its pool of mercury, magnetically stabilized by the walls of the egg. He set the tapes.

The ro-womb was in perfect condition.