He was helpless to be anywhere that this mobile vessel of a soul carrier, this container of flesh and blood, was not.
If his soul needed to be 20 miles away in a half-hour, he had to transport this soul carrier to that location. If it was better to be 1,500 miles away, well, then, he was helpless to do anything - although he could transmit his image and his voice to that far-away location, and that worked almost as well. And there, in that fact, was the reason for the technology. If the tech failed, how would he get the message across the miles?
Even with the tech, how would he sense the how would he sense the feelings in the room when only the image and voice could be experienced? And how would he understand the community he was talking to, without walking its streets and among its people?
No, to be real, he needed to move the body into those other places. Or ...
Or else ...
He pulled a book off the shelf and was on a riverboat chugging down the Mississippi River a century and a half ago.
He was a young girl hiding from insidious forces that wished her harm because of the accident of her birth.
He was a scientist traveling to the moon in the faraway future of 1962. He was the captain of a submarine plying 19th century ocean watsers.
Each book a time machine, a moment captured in amber to be preserved for the ages.
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