"Yeah," Forester said, a sour taste in his mouth.
"Let's get back to the problem at hand, shall we?" Kincaid cut in. "One of our Spoonbenders may be losing his touch—and if so, we've got to find out why, pronto. Doctor, there aren't any tests your people will want to do before we pull him off the line, are there?"
Barenburg sighed. "Probably not. You want us to start right away?"
"Wait a second," Forester said. He'd been counting on Barenburg to be a little less gung-ho than the director was. "You take him off the line for tests and it's pretty certain he won't be coming back, isn't it? Well?"
"Ted, look—"
"You do plan an autopsy as your final test, don't you?"
"Ted, you're out of line," Kincaid said softly, warningly.
Forester turned to him. "Why? There are tests that could be done right where he is: changing his glucose or oxygen levels, for instance—"
"That's enough!" Kincaid snapped. "Doctor, go ahead and get your team together to plan your procedure, but don't take any action until I give you my okay. Forester, come with me; I want to talk with you."
He spun on his heel and stalked toward the door. Smoldering, Forester followed.
—
It is a long time before I dare to reach out across the large empty space again. Instead, I stay near the box I found the last time, searching among the bewildering collection of movement/flows in the area. There are many of them, all seemingly different, with purposes I cannot even guess at. Part of me would like to remain here and learn... but I know I wish to find the other, more confusing thing again. Letting go, I reach out.
It is closer to me than it was last time, and when I touch it I am startled. I recoil, but do not leave. Instead, I wait nearby until I am better prepared and then touch it cautiously.