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"I suppose that's possible," Ushakov said slowly. "I've never actually considered it, but Vlad did say — and it matches my own experience — that the very thought of being examined was enough to make him acutely uneasy. He couldn't define precisely why, although he certainly had any number of conscious reasons to avoid such an examination, and neither can I. My Dasha —" his eyes darkened briefly as he spoke the diminutive form of his murdered daughter's name "— was always afraid of needles, of being poked and prodded. But I never was. Until now, when it can't possibly hurt me. That does seem . . . odd, doesn't it?"
"That's one way to put it," Maighread agreed. "But what if that's because something deep inside you is . . . resisting exposure? Wouldn't that explain it?"
"It might," Ushakov acknowledged.
"But you said you can override the sensory cutout when it happens automatically," Maighread went on, brown eyes intent. "What if you tried that while Doctor MacMurdo tries to take a specimen?"
"You mean concentrate on the fact that I consciously wish for him to succeed?"
"Exactly!"
"I don't see where it could hurt," MacMurdo said with a shrug. "We've certainly tried everything else!"
"Very well," Ushakov said. He sat back, eyes closed, frowning faintly in concentration.
"Try now," he said in a slightly distant voice, and MacMurdo inserted the core needle again. He withdrew it, crossed back to the microscope, and slid the needle into the viewing receptacle. He looked up at the display, and smiled suddenly.
"Worked!" he said exuberantly. "At least this time we got something." He tapped a control, zooming the image even farther. "In fact, it looks like — Jesus Christ!"
