That's all there is to it! Simple, isn't it? Now plug in your General
Motors Regenerator and GET SANE!
-- -- -- -- --
"Nothing hard about that," Caswell said to himself. He pushed the
Regenerator closer to the couch and plugged it in. He lifted the
headband, started to slip it on, stopped.
"I feel so silly!" he giggled.
Abruptly he closed his mouth and stared pugnaciously at the
black-and-chrome machine.
"So you think you can make me sane, huh?"
The Regenerator didn't answer.
"Oh, well, go ahead and try." He slipped the headband over his
forehead, crossed his arms on his chest and leaned back.
Nothing happened. Caswell settled himself more comfortably on the
couch. He scratched his shoulder and put the headband at a more
comfortable angle. Still nothing. His thoughts began to wander.
Magnessen! You noisy, overbearing oaf, you disgusting--
"Good afternoon," a voice murmured in his head. "I am your
mechanotherapist."
Caswell twitched guiltily. "Hello. I was just--you know, just sort of--"
"Of course," the machine said soothingly. "Don't we all? I am now
scanning the material in your preconscious with the intent of
synthesis, diagnosis, prognosis, and treatment. I find...."
"Yes?"
"Just one moment.
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