Masks

MasksThe eight pens danced against the moving strip of paper, like the nervous claws of some mechanical lobster. Roberts, the technician, frowned over the tracings while the other two watched."Here's the wake-up impulse," he said, pointing with a skinny finger. "Then here, look, seventeen seconds more, still dreaming.""Delayed response," said Babcock, the project director. His heavy face was flushed and he was sweating. "Nothing to worry about.""Ok, d...