"No, my friend, the difference is much greater because it has gone far beyond questions of handedness. Just tell the Commander what I've told you. And say the change probably extends to the very nature of consciousness itself but I'll need the best projector to prove that."
Crawford bewilderedly considered his two hands. "Complete control—can you beat that! The Commander'll have to listen all right."
After he was gone, though, Stern, gloomy and impatient, wondered whether the younger man's optimism was justified. Suppose the Commander refused and he had to wait more than three months, cooped up and in coventry, before he could find out whether he was right? This project had turned out to be one of psychology rather than semantics but everything, absolutely everything, would be affected if he—.
The intercom speaker grated in response to someone's breath. "Stern to Commander's quarters on the double!" shouted Linder.
Grinning with relief, he jumped up, at the same time unlocking a reel of magnetic tape from the projector housing. He hurried along the catwalk to the bow where the Commander was waiting, scowl and all.
"No time for apologetic chit-chat," Linder snapped. "Crawford here has spoken to me and I'm interested. Not convinced, just interested. What do you propose doing?"
"I need the projector to test out my wider conclusions, sir."
"You have one in your cabin, don't you? Your inventory statement should show you do."
"It can't project a reel at slow enough speed, sir. It wasn't designed for the kind of analysis I'm suggesting."