What would happen, Lindstrom had thought, if he could find a way to artificially induce this disconnect. He would thus create a man—or woman—without a moral center, someone who would commit any atrocity and not feel responsibility. This was the premise of Mobius and, to his credit, with triptyne Lindstrom had succeeded. But only up to a point. There were those pesky chimps for whom the disconnect was intolerable. They looked at themselves in their water bowl and did not know what they saw. Rather than live in that state, they ripped that unknown face off.

“All set, Doctor,” Jerry said.

“The subjects’ vitals are normal,” Ben said.

“Then they’re ready for Blue,” Lindstrom said via an intercom.

He watched through a two-way mirror as his assistants led the subjects—one man, one woman—from Green to Blue. He had decided to use a male and a female because the success rate among female chimps was unaccountably higher than among males.

Ben and Jerry laid the two subjects facedown on operating tables set up in Blue, affixed oxygen masks so they wouldn’t suffocate when sedated, then administered Propofol IV. After scrubbing his hands, wrists, and forearms, Lindstrom entered Blue to begin the procedure of implanting the triptyne into the place where the spine met the skull. The alkaloid had to be delivered in just the right way at just the right dose. From this moment on, every move, every decision was critical.

As he began work, Ben said, “A guy walks into a bar. There’s nobody there except the bartender and a beautiful woman. The man says, ‘I’m buying that woman a drink.’ The bartender says, ‘You don’t want to do that. She’s a lesbian.’ The man says, ‘I don’t care.’ After the woman gets the drink, she raises the glass to her benefactor. The man strolls over to her and says, ‘Hi, I’m Bill Williams from Terre Haute. So how are things in Beirut?’”

Jerry almost doubled over in laughter. Not to be outdone, he said, “A boy catches his mom and dad having sex. He watches them for a moment, then asks them what they’re doing. His dad replies, ‘Making you a brother or sister.’ The boy thinks a minute, then says, ‘Do her doggy style; I want a puppy.’”

More guffawing and general hilarity ensued.

Lindstrom made a face. “I fail to see why you two feel the need to tell what I assume to be jokes while crucial matters are in progress.”

“Tension,” Jerry said.

Lindstrom’s mind was firmly on the procedure. “What about it?”

“Sometimes it needs to be broken.”

“Again, why?”

“Because it gets to be too much.”

“You’re in the wrong profession,” Lindstrom said.

“Forget it, Jake,” Ben said with a wry smile, “he’s Chinatown.”