The answering voice I recognized as that of the man who had walked in on us. “Which subject?” he asked. “It affects the measurements.”
“The original volunteer.”
“That’s the smaller rig?” the voice asked doubtfully.
“Right. Get it in here.”
I started for the door. The Old Man snapped, “Where do you think you are going?”
“Out,” I snapped back. “I’m having no part of this.”
He grabbed me and spun me around as if he had been the bigger and younger. “No, you don’t. You know more about these things than the rest of us; your advice could be of help.”
“Let go of me.”
“You’ll stay and watch!” he said savagely, “strapped down or free to move, as you choose. I’ve made allowance for your illness but I’ve had enough of your nonsense.”
I was too weary to buck him; I felt nervously exhausted, tired in my bones. “You’re the boss.”
The lab people wheeled in a metal framework, a sort of chair, more like a Sing Sing special than anything else. There were metal clamps for ankles and knees, more of the same on the chair arms for the wrists and elbows. There was a corselet effect to restrain the waist and the lower part of the chest, but the back was cut away so that the shoulders of the person unfortunate enough to sit in it would be free.
They brought it over and placed it beside the ape’s cage, then removed the back panel of the cage and the panel on the side nearest the “chair” rig.
The ape watched the procedure with intent, aware eyes, but his limbs still dangled helplessly. Nevertheless, I became still more disturbed at the cage being thus opened. Only the Old Man’s threat of placing me under restraint kept me from leaving.
The technicians stood back and waited, apparently ready for the job. The outer door opened and several people came in; among them was Mary.
I was caught off balance by her sudden appearance; I had been wanting to see her and had tried several times to get word to her through the nurses—but they either honestly could not identify her or had received instructions. Now I saw her first under these circumstances. I cursed the Old Man to myself, knowing it was useless to object. It was no sort of a show to bring a woman to, even if the woman was an agent. There ought to be some sort of decent limits somewhere.
Mary saw me, looked surprised, and nodded. I let it go with a nod myself; it was no time for small talk. She was looking good, as always, though very sober. She was dressed in the same sort of costume as the nurses had worn, shorts and a skimpy halter, but she did not have on the ludicrous metal helmet and back plate.
The others in the party were men. They wore shorts, like the Old Man and myself. They were loaded with recording and stereo equipment as well as other apparatus.
“Ready?” inquired the lab chief.
“Get going,” answered the Old Man.
Mary walked straight to the metal chair and sat down in it. Two of the technicians knelt at her feet and started busying themselves with the clamps. Mary reached behind her, unfastened her halter and let it fall, leaving her back bare.
I looked at this in a frozen daze, as if caught in a nightmare. Then I had grabbed the Old Man by the shoulders and had literally thrown him aside and I was standing by the chair, kicking the technicians out of the way. “Mary!” I screamed, “get up out of there!”
Now the Old Man had his gun on me and was motioning me back with it. “Away from her,” he ordered. “You three—grab him and tie him up.”
I looked at the gun, then I looked down at Mary. She said nothing and did not move; in fact her feet were already bound. She simply looked at me with compassionate eyes. “Get up from there, Mary,” I said dully, “I want to sit down.”
They removed the chair Mary had sat in and brought in another, larger one. I could not have used hers; both of them were tailored to size. When they finished clamping me in place I might as well have been cast into concrete. Once secured, my back began to itch unbearably, although nothing, as yet, had touched it.