"Is he really unconscious now?" Valeska asked, watching the prostrate form of the lieutenant as he lay flushed and breathing, but otherwise inert.
"Not really. He may be dimly aware that we are here; but his will is gone. He won't speak until he rises to the level of volition again. It's a sort of double consciousness, a rhythmic process of alternate sinking into apathy, where he sees visions, and rising into full consciousness when he can talk for a moment. I wish I knew what dose he had. The intervals are about three minutes. I tried hashish when I was in college; but I took such an overdose the last time that I have dreaded to use it again."
The lieutenant now began to mutter, as if talking in his sleep. "I'm tottering on the tops of tall pendulums. . . . The world is full of spiralated mucilages . . . lovely color. . . . In a tunnel now, twisting, turning, violet, green, orange . . . floating . . . floating like a spirit . . . tops of tropic trees . . ."
Suddenly he gasped and sat up, staring hard at them. "What did I say? What was it? Quick! before I go off again! I was saying something."
"Find the drawer," Astro suggested, leaning to him.
"Draw—draw— What was it? Drawings!" he exclaimed. "Beimer wants the drawings! For God's sake, help me! I'm losing it again! Drawings! What is it about drawings?"
"Where did you put them.
"Drawings! Yes. Un-der the—mat—" His eyes closed.
Astro tried again. "Under the mat in the little room?"
The lieutenant stared stupidly. "I forget. Mat—
