Dr. Westcott tightly closed his eyes and pressed his thumbs firmly against either side of Babel’s forehead. Despite the mage’s terrific exertion, the technoshaman wasn’t showing any ill effects from the mind probe. He seemed serene, in a trance-like state ... or a coma, perhaps. Lanier wondered if Babel’s mind had already been ripped away by the mage’s probes. Westcott whispered arcane words, and mystical energy flickered around his hands and Babel’s head. The simsense gear hummed counterpoint.