But how? Suddenly, she found herself flummoxed. Of course she could revisualize the Centauri construct, then open the cubic door; surely that would sever the link. But how brutal would the severing be? A psychic amputation? Would part of her be left here, inside Ideko, while the rest—her autonomic self, perhaps—was discarded back in Toronto? She felt her heart pounding, felt sweat beading on her forehead; she had at least that much connection to her body back in her office. How to separate? The tools must be there; there must be a way. But it was like suddenly being able to see for the first time. The brain experienced the color, the light, but couldn’t make sense of what it was seeing, couldn’t resolve images. Or it was like being an amputee—that metaphor again, reflecting her anxiety about the upcoming separation. An amputee, fitted with a prosthetic arm.
