A Fine Fix
sputtered.
"Some of it may be," Bridget's voice. "The fact it's distasteful maymake it the more significant. Are you ready to cooeperate?"
Grant nodded at the lens and screwed up his face in an exaggeratedfrown.
Bridget's thoroughness called for admiration. She had him at the end ofa string, activating him from a plot taken directly from the pilot'smanual. He would cooeperate, but he was not enthusiastic.
As the exercises progressed, Grant detected subtle variations Bridgethad added to the basic maneuvers. On the tight starboard circle, forinstance, she had him keep his eyes on Earth, making him slightly dizzy.
Then she requested a free-fall drop from a stall with the provision hethis time place his attention on the instrument panel--"with no peekingoutside." He complied, watching the altimeter trace forty miles towardthe basement, and experienced effects no different than usual.
After a while, he came to consider it a game and might have gainedamusement from it, were it not for the tiredness creeping in behind hiseyes and the fact two dozen technicians somewhere down there were hopingto trip a fatal, hidden synapse.
"How much more of this?" Grant transmitted finally.
"Getting tired?" Bridget replied, and paused for an answer.
"Let's say I don't feel like six sets of tennis."
"A few more, major, and we'll authorize your glide-in." If there wasdisappointment in her voice, it did not manifest itself. "Your nextexercise is manual navigation with Jupiter as your fix."
* * * * *
Grant took down the figures she gave in acute disinterest. Boredom hadsettled heavily over his outlook on the operation. No longer did itmatter that his facial reactions were being televised to the syk-happyprobers; and it made no difference to him any more that his everybreath, swallow, heart beat, tension, and sweat-secretion was magnifiedby inky needles along moving rolls of paper.
His exercise target was a southwestern New Mexico town, and he swungback from the Gulf area and coaxed the responsive craft until the planetgleamed brightly in the crosshairs of the navigational sight. That puthim four degrees off the horizontal, he noted, but Jupiter was setting;he adjusted his velocity to maintain the planet's relative skywardposition in the west.
In some irritation he stepped up the thrust. This one could easily taketoo long. The faint hum of the power plant provided music as the brightpoint of light danced slightly from the sight's center.
The realization came that he had jumped convulsively. Grant was puzzledthat he was not aware what had happened. Some sort of reflex? But reflexfrom what? Tingling coursed its way up his left leg and he rubbed histhigh.
When he put his attention on the sight again, the planet had slippedout. In fact, it was nowhere in the immediate starscape ahead of him.
His quick glance at the basement showed first that a twilight shadow wasmoving in from the north-- From the north? It had to be the east! Andhow come so soon?
* * * * *
Small panic twisted his diaphragm when he viewed below the unfamiliartopography and increasing cloudiness. And when he saw by his watch itwas nearly three--
The radio had started to transmit. He swallowed a lump of fear andprepared some kind of an answer. "... If you hear me. Please indicate ifyou hear me, Grant."
He nodded at the lens.
"Would you like a pilot to help you orient from here?"
Grant felt sheepish, but the panic still remained. He was now aware hisalertness was not up to par, so he nodded again. But he was feelingbetter by the minute.
Back on course under one of the pilot's directions, Grant soon tookover.
"Skip that exercise, Grant, and glide in," Bridget sent. "Feel up to it,now?"
"Yeah, but what's it all about? I must've passed out, but damned if Iknow what for."
Grant heard Bridget's laugh and his morale improved. "You come down andtake me to dinner and I'll give you the answer--and what I think may bethe answer to all the general's troubles. Right now I've got a report towrite so the general can get the word soon--and as painlessly aspossible."
Grant pressed the stud to activate the skin coolant system for entranceinto the atmosphere. He almost felt like grinning.
* * * * *
Grant at the medical officer's advice took a brief nap, which quicklycleared up his mental fuzziness. As a surprise to Bridget he ordered arotocab from Barstow, the nearest town, booming since the base hadbecome operative.
In a specialty restaurant over freshly arrived seafood from SanFrancisco, Grant tried to persuade Bridget to stop teasing him about thenavigational foul-up and set him straight. He had put up with it as longas he did only because she had worn an off-shoulder yellow gown, snuglyfitted, that made the uniform seem like the design of a Mid-Victorianprude.
Grant, exasperated, brought her teasing up short. "I've been pridingmyself on keeping up the myth I'm a wide-awake young man and pilot.Never have I passed out before--never. I feel like a washed-out cadet.You've had your fun baiting--now, what made me blank?"
Bridget cringed as he tore a slice of French bread in half with onehostile, meaningful bite.
She waved her cigarette haughtily. "We in psychology have found certainstimuli productive of consistent human response. Especially true intactile sensation, this, however, is not as true in the auditory andvisual."
"You're being technical," Grant interrupted. "Just let me knowsimple-like, if you don't mind."
"Consequently," she continued, "the problem presented to theinvestigating psychologist was one of seeking an involuntary response toone or more stimuli, in sequence or grouped. Traditionally--"
"Miss Ashley--" Grant held up the small, square tissue-wrapped box, tiedwith a bow--"I would like to have you open this tonight, but obviouslyyou're not going to have time what with the thesis, and all." Hedeliberately put the box back in his coat pocket.
Their eyes held over her swordfish momentarily.
"So, O.K., I looked around for nasty stimuli, that's all," Bridget wenton. "There were lots of possibilities, but I sorta picked two or three.Part of our pilot interviews was for getting descriptions from the menon what the conditions up there felt like, sounded like, looked like,smelled like, and so on. Completely individual, mind you. From that wespotted negative elements held in common by them."
Grant reached for her arm and blocked the upward motion of herfish-loaded fork.
"You can eat after," he said.
"I threw the nasty ones at you when you began tiring, because that'swhen the body's stimulus-response setup starts pulling away fromconscious direction. I saved the one I had the hunch on for the last."
"The navigation exercise, you mean? I still don't get what that has todo with my leg cramp."
Bridget laughed. "Oh, that. One of those leads attached to your legcarried a little voltage--just in case you passed out. The benefits ofcurrent psychology, you know."
* * * * *
Grant repressed a smile. "Thanks for letting me know what brought mearound, but you are still stalling about why I went under."
"You figure it out. What were the stimuli associated with the manualnavigation problem?"
"Let's see," he mused. "Tactile: nothing important, just the controllevers. Visually, the star field and Jupiter and the crosshairs.Auditorily, the power hum--"
"What stands out?"
"The planet and the hum, I guess."
"And how did the planet appear?" Bridget asked.
"A point of light, you mean?"
"And what does that add up to: a bright concentrated light source onwhich you fix your attention and a monotonous hum?"
"Not hypnotism!"
Bridget shrugged. "A reasonable facsimile. Especially when you throwmental fatigue in with it."
"But you need a suggestion, I thought--" Grant was amazed.
"Not necessarily," she replied. "You were mentally tired, there was someself
-suggestion for sleep. But simply a continued fixation of the eyesin suggestive subjects can be enough. There may be a subconsciousassociation with previous hypnosis, or early states of mental shock. Inthe highly suggestive, a steady lulling noise can be sufficient initself. And you were alone, with no one around to snap a finger underyour nose. Add it up in your situation, and you blank out."
Grant slapped his forehead. "What did I look like?"
"Not any different than usual," she said, laughing. "You continued tohold the controls, but you stared vacantly and tensed quite a bit. Well,we have the complete recording on your reactions if you want to check.Naturally, you pulled off course, ended up over Mexico, gaining