Baker looked at the animals—they were animals?—in the cages lining the laboratory. He had been hungry a minute before. Now he had trouble just swallowing.
"Like making the original adjustments on a video set," the old man explained. "Hard to get your focus, your horizontal and vertical interlineation just right. There's some distortion sometimes. Sort of—messy."
"On soul-searching consideration—" Baker began.
"Don't take another step toward that door. I've got the floor checkerboarded with electric grids where I can turn on the juice wherever you set your foot. Control's in my upper plate. Step in that coffin, boy. Just my little pet name for it; don't worry."
With some degree of reluctance, Baker stepped into the left of twin vertical boxes. The lid closed in his face and locked.
Before he could have time to begin worrying about his air supply, the cover sprang open, and he stepped out. "Test over?" There was an echo.
A man stood in front of the second coffin. Baker had entered the one on the left and he was still in front of the left box.
But he was also now in front of the cabinet on the right. He had been completely duplicated.
"That damned feedback again," Gentle grumbled.