"We'll know for sure in a minute," Kincaid said. "You ready, Doctor?"

"Yes." With only the slightest hesitation, Barenburg grasped the knob and carefully began to turn.

—

There is something changing within me, something I sense is very wrong. My thoughts are coming slower; my touch and sight seem less sure. I realize I am becoming less aware.

I freeze with panic for a single heartbeat—and then I burst into frantic action, searching with all my waning ability for what is happening to me. I touch many instruments and types of movement/flows, things I was not even aware of a short time ago. There is so much more to learn about, I know. But I have learned so much, and I cannot bear the thought of losing it. It terrifies me.

Already I sense a haze flowing over me. Desperately, I continue my search.

—

"Watch it!" Kincaid snapped, pointing at the gauge. The needle's jumping!

"I see it," Barenburg shot back. "What's wrong, Ted?"

For a split second Forester had an image of Twenty-Seven telekinetically seizing control of the bulky oxygen-line valve and forcing it open. But hard on the heels of that picture came the more reasonable explanation. "The valve's part plastic, too; it probably got damaged along with the line. Some of the seals may not hold too well in places. There; it's steadying—you must've turned past a bad spot."

"The whole system will probably need to be replaced," Kincaid growled. "Okay; give him an RNA booster before you turn him down any further."

Barenburg complied, and then turned his attention back to the oxygen knob. Together, the three men watched as the needle slowly went down.

—

There is no hope left. I can barely continue to think now, and I am helpless to resist the sudden urge to return to my work that overwhelms me. I reach for the cold boxes, touch the movement/flow.