“Roughly,” confirmed Howson. He searched Rudi’s face keenly, but the evident tension there held him back from forestalling his next words. In his own mind he felt a taut premonition.
“Well, what I was thinking was … if you can transfer practically anything from another person’s mind to your own, couldn’t you sort of borrow the necessary part of
my
mind to make up for what you haven’t got?” The last part came in a rush, and Rudi looked at once hopeful and excited. “You see, I owe you everything, including my life, and I’d like to do something equally valuable in return.”
The world was spinning around Howson. He stared at Pandit Singh, mutely inquiring whether this thing could be.
“I’ve hardly had a chance to think it through,” Singh said. “But at first glance I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be tried. It might mean that your bodily appearance would tend toward Mr. Allef’s, but it also holds out the hope of our being able to operate on you and give you a chance of healing normally. It might even mean your growing in height. I’ve warned Mr. Allef that it would mean lying in a hospital bed as long as was required, unable to do anything and enduring as much pain as if he himself had been operated on, and that with no sure promise of success—”
“And I still insist on being allowed to do it,” said Rudi firmly.
Howson closed his eyes. He could do nothing else but accept, of course, but even as he uttered grateful words he felt it was unnecessary. Whether or not this hope were granted, whether or not the operation were successful, was of little account. For in the moment when Rudi made his offer, he, Gerald Howson, had become a whole man.