Withdrawing again, retreating into itself, Miryam's mind brushed the fragment of a thought. It was a half-formed thought, more a groping, more a question, than an idea. It was delicate, fragile, a wraith and a wisp. But it came to her as clear as the note from a silver bell.
Startled, she hesitated in her withdrawal, and perceived the young Geno-Doctor in the corridor near her room. He had paused by the casement window, and was staring out at the twinkling islands of light around Government Square.
And as his gaze wandered moodily from Tech, to Psycho, to Chemico, to all the incandescent, isolated centers of genius, the idle speculation had formed.
"Wouldn't it be an unusual view if all those bright islands were connected by strings of light...?"
Once formed, the speculation had fanned the ember of a thought:
"Wonder if psi will build those strings of lights?"
Then the young doctor turned almost guiltily from the window to meet the Geno-Sar coming down the corridor. And he said with crisp efficiency,