And some empty stick-figure man began making advances. You’re right, Subadar; pleasure and satisfaction are prime motives…
But a dark woman-id was watching him, or me, or both of us. Again eyes…
And her face turned into another devil mask.
Then a Negro stick-figure made its move at me…
And transformed into Death in a cloak clutching at me…
I think, perhaps, that I tried to escape, and a form appeared that—I don’t know—that seemed to be an open trap set for me. Like this. Could inanimate objects also have ids… ?
And it melted into or was replaced by this. I don’t know what it was. Maybe kissing Siamese twins?
The pretty one came back, flirting again. There is a strange sort of continuity and persistance in the Phasma civilization…
And that vague thing I thought might be an open trap turned itself into a coronet. It’s a sliding, misty, fluid world, the gelatin reality of people…
And then it enlarged into an imperial crown…
And then the imperial crown on a devil, witch-doctor mask. Very much like this…
The Siamese twins returned, this time back-to-back and apparently not on speaking terms; or maybe I was seeing a pair of dancing cobras. Look at them…
Then, out of nowhere, appeared a fat letter double-U…
Which turned into a pair of upraised arms with enormous biceps; something like this…
And then transformed itself into a ludicrous, droopy fat ass…
Suddenly Death returned!
And there was a sunflower explosion into infinity, and—
“—and then I came back to the cell.”
Gretchen tried to catch her breath; she’d been pouring out her report and sketching for half an hour. Both men were so deeply absorbed that they ignored her. Despite the painful shocks she had suffered, Gretchen was forced to chuckle. Shima was focused on the jade fly dead on 47°N. Ind’dni was studying her sketch notes with the concentration of a connoisseur of id blots.
At last Gretchen said, “So?”
“That explosion,” Shima asked the Fabergé fly. “The explosion into infinity… ?”
“Was your attack-escape against me,” Ind’dni murmured. “In all likelihood it was cause of Miz Nunn’s abrupt return.” He looked up from the sketches. “I think you may agree, doctor, that it reveals most curious and unexpected relationship.”
“Between Gretchen and me? There’s nothing unex—”
“No, no. Between soma and psyche.” Ind’dni turned to Gretchen. “You are always a source of inspiration, madame.”
“Thank you, Subadar.”
“I devoutly wish I had you on my staff.” Back to Shima. “Now, doctor, have you drawn any astute conclusions from Miz Nunn’s exploratory?”
“I have; that I was right. It isn’t the Golem100 alone. There is an id population.”
“Yes. And?”
“That there’s an entire Phasmaculture.”
“And?”
“And that there is a link between Realworld individuals and Phasmaworld iddividuals.”
“Id-dividuals? Well put, doctor. I like ‘iddividuals’ very much. Anything else?”
Shima grimaced. “A rotten conclusion. Given my analysis of the scene: we’d have to know Ourworld individuals intimately before we could establish their links with Phasmaworld iddividuals, and vice versa. Summa: it’ll take ages to discover the source of the Golem.”
“Bravo, doctor!” Ind’dni beamed. “I agree in entire, with exception of your estimate of time required.”
“You don’t think it’ll take time? Why?”
“I come last, doctor. Now it is madame’s turn. If you have recovered stamina, Miz Nunn, please to give us your conclusions.”
“Well…” Gretchen began slowly, “as I said when I was reporting, Subadar, you were right to be concerned. The Infraworld is motivated by pleasure and satisfaction on the basic brute sublevel. But… But that’s what confuses me because I sensed so much danger and death.”
“Why the confusion, madame?” Ind’dni was faintly surprised. “Selfish pleasure may often endanger others. For the cruel carnivores is there not pleasure in slow killing? Have you never seen a cat delay final demise of a mouse?”
“That’s true.”
“Then with confusion resolved, what did you construct of dissolving images, the id blots that drifted and replaced and transformed? Are you able to interpret?”
“But I gave you my interpretations as I reported them, Subadar.”
Ind’dni shook his head ruefully. “Alas, there we have dilemma of laboratory experiment. The subject is too engrossed in the test to give objective estimate of experience.”
Shima broke in. “If you’ve come to different conclusions, Ind’dni, let’s have ‘em, for God’s sake. Don’t play cat-and-mouse with us!”
“Such was never my intent, doctor; I am no cruel carnivore. I have been able to interpret a few of madame’s primal perceptions… her senseeing, Dr. Leuz called it… and should like to submit same for your judgment.”
“Time estimate first,” Shima insisted. “Why’d you disagree with mine?”
“Because Miz Nunn has, I believe, achieved the goal of her Promethium trip. She has unconsciously disclosed true source of the Hundred-Hander-Golem beast.”
“What?” Gretchen exclaimed. “I did? When? How?”
“Who?” Shima shot.
“Your suspicions were correct; Winifred Ashley, Queen Bee of the hive.”
“How did you come to that interpretation of the id blots, Subadar?” Gretchen was bewildered.
“First I must point out that many of your perceptions were through your cloud-chamber-seventh-sense which Dr. Shima so brilliantly discovered. (Patience, I beg. The chain of induction is delicate and must be taken link by link.) In fine, madame, you were often sensing living energy auras which can be as powerful as subatomic particles.”
“Yes, and… ?”
“The eyes watching you constantly: for the physical eye of sight substitute the psychological ‘I’ of ego. You were seeing yourself reflected in the Phasma-entities and, no doubt, they were seeing themselves reflected in you. The Phasmaculture is a world of mutual masturbation.”
“My God!” Shima exclaimed. “What a concept!”
“Now I come to most delicate link of all,” Ind’dni continued. “The dark woman-id watching you, Miz Nunn, who transformed into a devil mask… Examine your memory objectively… Look at your sketch again… Could the mask not have been the letter ‘R’ attached to its mirror image?”
“What? I never—”
“And supported by your Siamese-twin impressions?”
“It never occurred to—”
“The open trap which transformed into a coronet, then an imperial crown, then a crowned devil mask? Look at your sketch. Is not the mask the letter ‘R’ attached to its mirror image? What does a crowned ‘R’ suggest to you?”
“It can’t be mistaken… now! The Queen Bee. Regina.” Gretchen turned to Shima. “He was right, Blaise. I was too engrossed in the Pm trip to form any constructs.”