The dean of the faculty, embarrassed in his fund-raising, had berated Norman about that incident, but the difficult truth was that psychology had severe limitations. Even with professional knowledge and the best of intentions, there remained an enormous amount you never knew about your closest friends, your colleagues, your wives and husbands and children.
And your ignorance about yourself was even greater than that. Self-awareness was the most difficult of all. Few people attained it. Or perhaps nobody attained it.
"Norman, are you there?"
"Yes, Beth."
"I think you are a good person, Norman."
He said nothing. He just watched her on the monitor.
"I think you have integrity, and that you believe in telling the truth. This is a difficult moment for you, to face the reality about yourself. I know your mind is struggling now to find excuses, to blame someone else. But I think you can do it, Norman. Harry couldn't do it, but you can. I think you can admit the hard truth - that so long as you remain conscious, the expedition is menaced."
He felt the strength of her conviction, heard the quiet force of her voice. As Beth spoke, it felt almost as if her ideas were clothing being draped over his body. He began to see things her way. She was so calm, she must be right. Her ideas had such power. Her thoughts had such power. ...
"Beth, have you been in the sphere?"
"No, Norman. That's your mind, trying to evade the point again. I haven't been in the sphere. You have."
He honestly couldn't remember going into the sphere. He had no recollection at all. And when Harry had been in the sphere, he remembered afterward. Why would Norman forget? Why would he block it?
"You're a psychologist, Norman," she was saying. "You, of all people, do not want to admit you have a shadow side. You have a professional stake in believing in your own mental health. Of course you will deny it."
He didn't think so. But how to resolve it? How to determine if she was right or not? His mind wasn't working well. His cut knee throbbed painfully. At least there was no doubt about that - his injured knee was real.
Reality testing.
That was how to resolve it, he thought. Reality testing. What was the objective evidence that Norman had gone to the sphere? They had made tapes of everything that occurred in the habitat. If Norman had gone to the sphere many hours ago, somewhere there was a tape showing him in the airlock, alone, getting dressed, slipping away. Beth should be able to show him that tape. Where was that tape?
In the submarine, of course.
It would long ago have been taken to the submarine. Norman himself might have taken it, when he made his excursion to the sub.
No objective evidence.
"Norman, give up. Please. For all our sakes."
Perhaps she was right, he thought. She was so sure of herself. If he was evading the truth, if he was putting the expedition in jeopardy, then he had to give himself up and let her put him under. Could he trust her to do that? He would have to. There wasn't any choice.
It must be me, he thought. It must be. The thought was so horrible to him - that in itself was suspicious. He was resisting it so violently - not a good sign, he thought. Too much resistance.
"Norman?"
"Okay, Beth."
"Will you do it?"
"Don't push. Give me a minute, will you?"
"Sure, Norman. Of course."
He looked at the video recorder next to the monitor. He remembered how Beth had used this recorder to play the same tape, again and again, the tape in which the sphere had opened by itself. That tape was now lying on the counter beside the recorder. He pushed the tape into the slot, clicked the recorder on. Why bother to look at it now? he thought. You're just delaying. You're wasting time.
The screen flickered, and he waited for the familiar image of Beth eating cake, her back to the monitor. But this was a different tape. This was a direct monitor feed showing the sphere. The gleaming sphere, just sitting there.
He watched for a few seconds, but nothing happened. The sphere was immobile, as always. Polished, perfect, immobile. He watched a while longer, but there was nothing to see.
"Norman, if I open the hatch now, will you come down quietly?"
"Yes, Beth."
He sighed, sat back in the chair. How long would he be unconscious? A little less than six hours. It would be okay. But in any case, Beth was right, he had to give himself up. "Norman, why are you watching that tape?"
He looked around quickly. Was there a video camera in the room allowing her to see him? Yes: high up in the ceiling, next to the upper hatch.
"Why are you watching that tape, Norman?"
"It was here."
"Who said you could watch that tape?"
"Nobody," Norman said. "It was just here."
"Turn the tape off, Norman. Turn it off now."
She didn't sound so calm any more. "What's the matter, Beth?"
"Turn that damned tape off, Norman!"
He was about to ask her why, but then he saw Beth enter the video image, stand next to the sphere. Beth closed her eyes and clenched her fists. The convoluted grooves of the sphere parted, revealing blackness. And as he watched, Beth stepped inside the sphere.
And the door of the sphere closed behind her.
"You goddamned men," Beth said in a tight, angry voice. "You're all the same; you can't leave well enough alone, none of you."
"You lied to me, Beth."
"Why did you watch that tape? I begged you not to watch that tape. It could only hurt you to watch that tape, Norman." She wasn't angry any more; now she was pleading, near tears. She was undergoing rapid emotional shifts. Unstable, unpredictable.