"Is that what you're doing? Scanning what?" "Memory banks, of course. Don't you remember the book we read three years ago? 'Human brain estimated—' Oh, all right; I'll slow down. You could follow me better if you'd let me grow some permanent direct connections." "Am I stopping you?" "Well, not you, exactly. I'll show you." Unconscious began directing the growth of certain nerve tendrils in the brain. Amos could only follow it vaguely. "Fear!" screamed a soundless voice. "Stop!" "What was that?" Intellect asked, startled. "That was Id. He always fights any improvements, and I can't override him." "Can I?" "Of course; that's mainly what you're for. Wait till I get these connections finished and you'll see the whole setup." "FEAR!" shrieked Id. "STOP! NO CHANGE!" "SHUT UP!" yelled Intellect. It was strange being integrated; Amos found he was aware on two levels simultaneously. While he responded normally to his external environment, a lightning inner vision saw everything in vastly greater detail. The blink of an eye, for instance, was an amazing project. Even as commands flashed out and before the muscles started to respond, extra blood was rushing into the area to nourish the working parts. Reports flowed back like battle assessments: these three muscles were on schedule; this was lagging; that was pulling too hard. An infinitesimal twinge of pain marked some minor accident, and correction began at once. A censor watched the whole operation and labeled each incoming report: trivial, do not record; trivial, do not record; trivial, do not record; worth watching, record in temporary banks; trivial, do not.... He felt now that he could look forward to permanent health, and so far he didn't seem to be losing his identity or becoming a moral monster (though certain previously buried urges—toward Alice Grant, for instance—were now rather embarrassingly uncovered). He was not, like Frank Barnes, inclined to slip out of the situation at once. He still felt the responsibility to make the decision. He
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