A FINE FIX BY R. C. NOLL [Illustration] _Generally speaking, human beings are fine buck-passers--but there's one circumstance under which they refuse to pass on responsibility. If the other fellow says "Your method won't solve the problem!"--then they get mad!_ Illustrated by van Dongen The leader climbed sharply in a bank to the left, and the two othersfollowed close behind. Their jet streams cut off at very near the sametime. Before their speed slowed to stalling, the rotors unfolded fromthe canopy hump and beat the air viciously, the steam wisping back inbrief fingers. Under power again, they dipped playfully in tightening circles towardthe plot-mottled earth. The fields expanded beneath them, and the leaderbrought up and hovered over a farm road whose dust already stirred inthe disturbed air. They settled as one in the rolling dust clouds from which emerged acoveralled figure who had driven the battered pickup truck to meet them. "Y'sure got back in a rush, " he addressed the major, who was justjumping from the plastiglas cabin. The major nodded and put his attention on seeing that the generaldescended safely. He then indicated the farmer. "He's the one, " the major said. The general grunted socially. Taking the opening, the farmer said, "Out there in the wheat, general. "His tone carried eager importance. "My kid saw the light come down thismorning feedin' the chickens. I felt the ground jump, too. Called thesheriff, first off. " "All right, you were a hero, " said the general shortly. "Now, Grant, will you take me to it? I can't mess around here all day. " The party of six men, two of them technicians, waded into the field fromthe road. The farmer remained to watch, frowning. When they had progressed well into the wheat, he shouted after themruefully, "And watch where you're steppin', too!" The group paused on the rim of newly gouged earth, clods and dirt thathad splashed from the center of the crater. It was nearly four feetdeep. The man the major had left on guard had uncovered more of theblackened object, which lay three-quarters exposed and showed a warpedbut cylindrical shape. "Let's have a counter on it, " the general ordered. A technician slid into the crater and swept the metal with hisinstrument. The needle swung far over and stuck. To the other technician the general said, "Get a chunk for verificationof the alloy. " He kicked a small avalanche of dirt down the crater sideand turned back to the road, adding, "Although I don't know why theformality. Even a cadet could see that's an atomjet reactor, beat up asit is. " The major absorbed the jibe without comeback. An hour ago he hadinformed the general of his indecision over the object's identity, though he had suspected it to be the reactor. "We may find more when we get it examined in the shop, " the generalmused, swishing by the wheat. "But at least we know they do come downsome place, and it wasn't flash fusion. On this one, anyway. " "What do you think about instituting a search of this vicinity for otherparts, general?" The officer growled negatively. "Obviously, the reactor was the onlypart not vaporized in the fall--because of its construction. " "That's assuming the ship entered the atmosphere at operational velocityand not less than free fall, " the major qualified. "How can anyone assume free fall? Way outside probability. " "Yes, sir, but there are degrees of velocity involved. He could haveused reverse thrust and entered at a relatively slow speed. " "All right, all right--let's say possible, then. Pull off your search ifyou want to. I'm in this thing so deep now, I'll try anything to getgoing. I've got Congress ready to investigate, and some senatoryesterday put pressure on to cancel the United Nuclear contract. I'lltry anything at this point, Grant!" The big man's voice had risen to anger, but Major Grant Reis had notmissed the vocal breaking in the last syllables. * * * * * "I'm First Lieutenant Ashley and I've an appointment to see GeneralMorrison. " The adjutant said, "Sorry, but you'll have to wait a little longer. Thegeneral's unexpectedly busy. " "My appointment was over an hour ago. " "Another half-hour and you can go in. " "Another half-hour and I'll go. " "It's your bar. " The lieutenant plopped back into a chair just as Grant strode swiftlypast the adjutant's desk from the private office. "Major, " the adjutant asked, "how long is the general going to be tiedup? He won't let me in the conference and the lieutenant here issupposed to see him. " Grant paused at the opposite door and pointing two thumb-and-forefingerguns at his head exploded them. The adjutant groaned understandingly. Even the first lieutenant caught on. "Major, it's pretty important, " the waiting officer said, standingagain. Grant shifted his attention. "Look, lieutenant--" Grant bottled the sarcasm behind his suddenly laxmouth. He saw a first lieutenant's uniform, but it bulged aesthetically;and he saw a first lieutenant's cap and bar, but it sat rakishly onpuffed-up brown curls. "If you'll just look at these papers, major, you'll understand. Istratoed in from the Pentagon this morning, " she said crisply. Though it was Grant's turn to say something, he found too much of hisconcentration on her challenging brown eyes and the efficient down-sweepof her half-pouting mouth, plus a nub of a nose that pointed proudlyupwards with the tilt of her head. In a temporary defensive maneuver, Grant took the papers handed him. * * * * * The borders were marked CONFIDENTIAL and the attached signatures wouldhave impressed even the general. The subject--he might haveexpected--ATOMJET PATROL LOSSES. "Er . . . Look, lieutenant-- What was it?" Grant glanced down at thepapers. "First Lieutenant Bridget Ashley. " "Look, Lieutenant Ashley, the general's been getting nothing buttroubles all day. For your sake and his sake, I suggest you come backtomorrow, huh?" Grant handed back the papers and put a hand on herelbow, but she jerked back. "Major, I've been given a great deal of responsibility in thisassignment, " she flared, "and it's important for me to get work startedat once. I was led to understand these patrol losses constituted afairly urgent matter. " Grant glanced ominously toward the general's door. "Lieutenant, I'mtrying to explain to you that it's in your best interests to take thisup with him tomorrow. I'm one of his aides and I know him. I realizeyou're authorized to see him today, but--" "Then I'll wait. " She reseated herself and emphatically crossed herlegs--a motion not escaping Grant's notice. The adjutant and Grant mutually shrugged at each other, and Grant headedoutside, saying over his shoulder, "I'll be back in a minute. " * * * * * As it developed, it was far more than a minute; but whatever it was, when Grant returned she was gone. The major looked at the adjutant, andthe adjutant indicated the general's door with an apprehensive nod. Grant bit his lip and entered the private office. He had expected to hear the general's bass raging, but through the innerdoor came the strident tones of the lieutenant's modulating contralto. He had expected to see the general towering over the girl's shrinkingfigure, but as he entered she was bent earnestly in the middle, and thetop of her torso inclined toward General Morrison, who had tilted as farback as his swivel chair would permit. ". . . So, if you haven't isolated any mechanical causation, how can yoube sure it's mechanical?" she was laying it on. "And if you're not sureit's mechanical, how can you suggest there's no possibility ofpsychological causation? The authorities that sent me here have not onlyconsidered the possibility, they feel it's quite probable. All I amrequesting, sir, is immediate implementation of my authority so yourinvestigation can be broadened. It's really to your benefit that--" Grant said, "Lieutenant Ashley. " ". . . My work be started at once so as to catch up on what findings youhave obtained in the--" Grant shouted, "Lieutenant Ashley!" ". . . Investigation so far in the mechanical aspects. It's not unlikelythat a combining factor, both psychological and mechanical--" Grant yelled, "LIEUTENANT ASHLEY!!" "Yes, sir, major. " "Would you please wait in the outer office for just a moment?" "But--" "For just a moment, lieutenant. " "Yes, sir. " Grant waited until the door closed before he tried communication withthe general. The officer still teetered in his chair, his eyes bulgingfrom his reddened face. "They sent me a shape, " he sputtered. "That I could take. Shapes I don'tmind, even with authority. But this one-- You know where she's from, Grant?" Grant sighed hopelessly. "She's from syk, " the general was beginning to roar, "with a blankcheck of authority from Washington. She stood there and called thelosses pilot-error. My pilots, Grant, the ones I trained!" "Just a possibility, she meant, " soothed Grant. "Possibility, hell! With that attitude around Mojave we'll never getanywhere in this investigation. " He untilted with a crash. "I want herkept away from me, do you hear? Give her anything she wants--butappointments with me. I've got United Nuclear here for stress tests, coolant analyses, radiation metering in the morning just as a start, andI'm not going to have that shape around fusing up the works. " "I'll see what I can do, sir. " "You're right you will. I'm putting Colonel Sorenson in as G-2, andyou're going to be the new Syk Coördinator for the duration of thisinvestigation!" "The what?" "You heard me. " "It couldn't be that bad, general, " Grant grumbled. "It is. " "Baby-sitting. " The general stood up from his desk. "No, you'll relay any data she mayturn up to me, and you'll see she gets what supplies and personnel shemay need. Look, Washington thinks we need her, so I take orders. And sodo you, Grant. I'll have a special order out this afternoon. " "Yes, sir, " Grant saluted and wheeled, grinding his molars. * * * * * With dubious explanations, Grant managed to steer Lieutenant Ashleytoward the Officers' Club. What excuses he gave her evidently had someeffect; after the first fifty yards across the drill ground she steeredeasily, though still under vocal protest. A drink, and Grant felt he could face the future. They sat in aplastiweave booth, one against the far wall that overlooked through acurved window the blasting circle. So wrapped up with his own feelings, Grant had been unaware of hiscompanion's. Her face had paled, and she stirred her drink absently. Thereflections in her eyes were over-bright with moisture. Offered Grant: "The general has a lot on his mind. " "Yeah, " she choked. "The losses have upset him pretty bad. " "I notice. Me, too. " "Take a drink. " She sipped one CC and said, "And syk upsets him. " Grant smiled, "And shapes. " "And I suppose the rank of first lieutenant makes him nervous. " "No, " Grant chuckled, "he can take or leave that. It's majors that gethim. " She smiled vaguely, so Grant followed up with: "What's your background?" "Psychometrics. Got a doctorate in it. I thought it might be valuable tothe Air Force--at one time. " She sipped two CCs. "I've a little syk background, " Grant said. She looked up in suddeninterest. "Started to major in it until I ran up against some of theprofs. If this is what syk produces, I decided, it's not for me. Changedto engineering then. Unfortunately, the general knows about my record. " "How did he take it out on you, parade duty?" "Worse. He made me an aide. " The girl leaned on an elbow and regarded him with her chin in her hand. "You bring his slippers?" "As G-2, I did up until quarter of an hour ago. I've been promoted. Meetthe Base Mojave Syk Coördinator. " Putting her nose in her drink, she giggled softly. "What is it he wantscoördinated, the syk or me?" "You're on bearing, " he laughed. "My name's Grant. " His hand went across the table, opened, and waited. "Bridget, " she said, and her hand fell into his in a handshake whichlingered slightly. * * * * * At Grant's insistence they jeep-toured the base. To his surprise Bridgettook interest in the installations, but asked most of her questionsaround the atomjet hangars. "I've never seen one close, " she hinted. Grant flashed his Security card at the guards and they went in. Shestrolled about the tapering, snub-winged craft, apparently inspecting itclosely. Grant's thought was that she felt she had to dramatizeunderstanding something about Air Force rocketry. After a short silence Bridget asked, "What is the compensating factorfor the reactor's being placed off the center of stability?" Grant blinked. "What's that again?" She swung a pointed finger at the ship. "Naturally, " she interrupted, "the nose will float downward in the canal, hoisting the hot tubes outof the liquid at the end of the glide-ins. But you've got pilot, powerplant, and wings frontside. How can you affect glide-ins at surface airdensity without nosing in?" The major decided she must have been reading the latest confidentialfiles. High-viscosity liquid landing canals constituted a subject recentenough to be Security and important enough not to be bandied aboutoutside engineering and Base Mojave. "Well, you see, " Grant cleared his throat, "there're the fuel tanksalong the back of the blast chamber, partly lead--" "The tanks usually are nearly empty for glide-ins, " she reminded. Grant frowned. "Yes, usually empty, but still a weight factor. Thenthere's the automatic wing stabilizer that adjusts to the air speed anddensity and acts to pull up the nose--" "O. K. , " she interrupted. "Now, would you lift me through the canopy, please? I'd like to sit inside a minute. " "That's out, " he said. "Only pilots and technicians. " "All right, if you won't, I'll get up myself. " She marched over to thehangar wall and pulled over boarding steps, which were braced on threepivotal tires. "Bridget, Security says pilots and mechanics. " "And you're forgetting why I'm here, and besides that you're supposed tocoördinate. Right now you're uncoördinating. " * * * * * Before Grant's eyes flashed the memory of her orders with the signaturesat the bottom. She was already climbing the steps. "Just don't touch anything, that's all, " he conciliated, following herup. Her seams were straight, he noted. Bridget thudded into the narrow pilot's seat and wiggled herself into acomfortable position. "Awful crowded, " she smiled up at Grant. "I hope you tore your nylons, " he groused. "Now, if you'll just explain these gadgets, " she said, moving her handover the panel embedded with digit-rimmed dials. "Hands off, please. " "By your reaction, I would say you don't know what some of them are, "she counter-fired, and tossed her protruding bunch of curls. Grant took the bait. He leaned into the canopy and with anover-stiffened index finger pointed forcefully at each gauge. For morethan a quarter-hour this went on, with Bridget pitching questions--mostof which he juggled. She seemed to show more interest in the radar screen, the navigationalequipment, and the communications system. About these, she milkedGrant's available knowledge until he felt like reaching down andthrowing open the reactor valve and fuel switch. "Lieutenant, if you don't mind, my back is paralyzed. Let's go back tothe club and I'll answer anything you want. " "Just one more, " she coaxed. "This crosshair sight with the little blackcircle in the middle. How does that work again?" Grant straightened up and carefully massaged the small of his back. "It's for precise manual navigation if you need it. You sit up straightand sight through it. " "And what do you sight at?" "A star, of course. " "Put it in the little black circle?" "An A for you. Then you snap in Automatic Navigational and you're inbusiness. Or you can navigate manually by using Gyroscopic Navigationalif you want. " "I'm ready to get out now. " Bridget lifted her hands where Grant stoodon the platform of the boarding device. Back or no back, Grant couldn't resist the opportunity. He pulled her bythe hands to where she was leaning out the opened canopy, then hestooped and grabbed her under the arms and swung her up. For a momenther soft hair brushed his ear, and a light scent from her neck suggestedhe keep her pliant form close to him a little longer than necessary. [Illustration] He planted her next to the steps, and she muttered an uninspired thankyou. But halfway down, she halted and turned. "It's much easier asking me out dancing, Grant, " she smiled impishly, and clacked across the hangar floor toward the jeep. * * * * * By the next morning arrangements for a small staff and office space hadswiftly gone through. Working through lunch, Bridget had the office setup and the staff briefed and researching when Grant returned from diningwith the general. "You're just in time, " she said, looking up from an already cluttereddesk. "I'm ready now to scan through any G-2 you have on atomjetoperation in your Mojave files. " Grant bristled. "These files are under the general's nose, and I don'tthink he'd appreciate--" He broke off when he observed Bridget tappingher pencil and frowning at him impatiently. With a degree of diplomacy he had to admire, Grant lifted thenon-technical files from the general's office and furtively smuggledthem out in his brief case. "Don't take all day, " he warned, handing them to Bridget. "Part of myjob is keeping the general neutral about you, and not against. " Bridget jumped up and drew another chair up to her desk. "How aboutscanning with me? That'll get the files back faster. Here, take these onpilot training. " The files repulsed him less than Bridget attracted him, and he sat downpromptly. "And what do I look for, psychologically significant portions, is that it?" "Even psychologically insignificant portions, major, if you please. " Grant began to read. As he scanned the copies of directives, reports, operations logs, and procedures the process became automatic, and partof his consciousness turned contemplative. Three months ago he would have considered the situation in which he nowfound himself a future development out of the question. Mojave hadbrimmed with optimism and pride and accomplishment and eagerness. BaseMojave loomed vital in national defense, constituted a main element ofnational scientific pride. From the dusty desert stretches the sprawling, efficient base had takenshape while United Nuclear had yet to assemble an atomjet. The schedulescame out perfectly, and the first single-manned fusion-propulsedrocketplane thundered off the corporation proving grounds and glidedinto Base Mojave as planned. Designed for patrol of the mesosphere, theships were to have gained for the West control of near-Earth space, besides affording superior observation posts for Eastern developmentsand activity of a space nature. Training of the pilots had lasted thirty weeks and went by without acasualty or serious damage. Testing and re-testing of the electronicsbrought out no flaws. Stress and thermal analyses held up under allconditions imposed. The losses began after the third week of patrol. UNR-6 failed to returnto base--with no hint of the cause, with no communication from thepilot. That one was hushed up by the base PR officer, but news of thesecond reached the press. During the fifth week, UNR-2 never returnedfor its glide-in, and, of course, the first loss came out at that time, too. General Morrison worked with the pilots and engineers steadily on theproblem with apparent good results--for a month. Then UNR-9 vanished. Lately the orders had been for patrol over the States, and it waspresumed UNR-9 would have made an appearance somewhere had it been introuble. That's why the Dakota farmer's report had been investigated soswiftly. As of now, the situation had become one patrol a day with reluctantpilots, Congress sending a committee to the base, a taxpayers'injunction against the Air Force rocketplane operation, and UnitedNuclear men experimenting hourly with robot-piloted atomjets at allaltitudes below four hundred miles. Plus the syk research, naturally. Bridget's ash tray spilled over with right-angled cigarette butts, half-burned. Grant studied her as she read through the files intentlyalthough her eyes rolled his way briefly on occasion. She faced him withan unexpected snap of the head. "Well?" "Just looking, " Grant explained. "Then just look for a pilot's manual. It's been mentioned and I haven'tseen one around. Would you mind?" Grant opened his mouth to inform her a pilot's manual for the atomjetwas classified secret, but caught himself before he could verbalize theprotest. He shrugged and planned more strategy for invading thegeneral's files. The only things he could be grateful for so far were Bridget's beautyand the fact the staff had not realized he was her adjutant. * * * * * The Mayo psychiatrist and the Yale psychologist had been in conferencewith Bridget for almost an hour. She had been giving them preliminaryfindings and the results of tests and interviews with the base pilots. When they finally broke up, Bridget approached Grant with athere's-something-I-want-from-you look. Grant nearly had a chance tooffer lunch before she suggested it. What she wanted from him came out over their aerated sherbet pie. By thetime she finished, Grant's dessert was beginning to taste likevitaminized space rations. "Impossible, " he said, dabbing at sherbet spots on his trousers. "Thegeneral would react faster than to a red alert. " "Your concern may be the general's reactions, but mine's not, " Bridgetsnapped. "I just want an objective engineering answer, yes or no. " Grant threw up his hands. "O. K. , O. K. With a live pilot, yes, you canget a TV transmitter in an atomjet with some doing. You'd have to jerkout the extra oxygen space and--" "Wonderful! When can you have it for me?" "Bridget, what I'm getting at, the general will take this as a slap athim and his pilots. We've had TV transmission from robotized atomjetsdozens of times--" "With no results. " "With no results, " Grant admitted, "but that doesn't mean that with apilot you'll necessarily get any, either. " "No, but why hasn't someone tried?" Bridget waited for him to answer adecent two seconds and then added, "The general, naturally. " They left the base lunchroom in silence, Bridget pouting a lip-edge morethan Grant. Before entering the office, Grant brought up a rebuttal. "Another thing, no pilot is going to push up under those conditions, with you down there hoping something will happen. " Bridget had her hand on the door, but instead of opening it, paused. "The pilot would have to trust me. " Her eyes darkened, widened, splitGrant emotionally down the middle. He could understand, for an instantwhen he let himself, how a man could be inveigled to do anything for awoman. "Yeah, " he said. "A pilot like that might be hard to find. I'll see whatI can do. " As he walked toward the hangars, he heard the office door close softlybehind him. * * * * * At the engineering conference after supper Grant had never seen GeneralMorrison looking quite that old. The man was sustaining an overload ofresponsibility, and probably self-imposed guilt on top of it. The mechanical engineers made their report, followed by the electronicengineers, followed by the physicist--all negative. But each group had asuspicion that another had overlooked something. Before it regressed toa high-school debate, the general bellowed the conference to order. Grant was surprised at the twinge of emotion he experienced when herealized the general was not going to ask for a report from syk. Whyshould Grant care, anyway? The position meant nothing to him, SykCoördinator. It meant something to Bridget, though. That General Morrison had not even checked for syk findings annoyedGrant, perhaps. Under the circumstances he was justified: nothing hadyet come out, nothing that Bridget had told Grant, anyway. The generalcould not be aware of this. He assumed it. Maybe that's what upsetGrant. "Then there's this De-Meteor, " the general was saying. "I've always beensuspicious of that gadget. " An electronics man spoke up. "A Clary man checked them all, even usedinstrument flight to be certain. I was with him and counter-checked theradar high-speed scanners, the computers, and the course-alterationmechanism. I was convinced myself it would steer the ship out of anysituation involving the approach of one or two penetrating meteors. " * * * * * General Morrison turned to the spatialogist. "What about the incidenceof penetrating meteors in the mesosphere?" "In average fall, " the man replied, "fairly low. " "And the probability of encountering three at once along a given atomjettrajectory?" "From what limited experiments we have made, the odds would beastronomical, I'd say. " The general snorted. "Too great to account for three ships, anyway, isthat it?" He soothed his forehead with his big hand. "All right, let'smake another check starting tomorrow morning. More robot-flight tests. Let's have ships outside the mesosphere operation range. And I wantreports on anything that looks like anything, understand?" The group emitted a low groan. This was the fourth comprehensivecheck--grueling, close, meticulous, nerve-racking work. From the rear came the voice of a courageous civilian mechanicalengineer, "What about a check on the pilots?" The sudden silence was like an electrical field. The base commandercontinued to shuffle up his notes and papers, but his neck crimsoned. He's not going to hear it, Grant thought. "Conference dismissed!" the general ordered. * * * * * Three-four-five rings, and Bridget answered. The first word was a yawned"Lieutenant" and the next was an exhaled "Ashley. " "Sorry to get you up, Bridget. This is Grant. Can you come down toHangar Four?" "What time is it?" she asked thickly. "Three-fifteen. Will you come down here?" "Unchaperoned?" "That's not the point. A surprise. What we talked about the other day. " Bridget's interest picked up. "What we talked about? But I'll have todress and fix my face--" "Put on a robe and slippers. It's a warm morning. I've got it fixed withthe O. D. Now, will you come on down?" She paused. "You've convinced me. " In a few minutes Grant heard her slippers shuffling over the concrete. She arrived in a brilliant blue nylon robe, with white fluffy slippersand traces of a lighter blue nightgown underneath. The hangar brightnessbrought a frown to her eyes, which she shielded with a hand cupped toher brow. A creature as entrancing as that, Grant decided, should nowrecite prose poetry in contralto tones to make his ideal complete. "Well?" she croaked, a sleepy frog in her throat. "So I'm here. " The last mechanic was picking up his tools and was about ready to leave. Otherwise, they were alone, except for the guard at the hangar entrance. "Up on the platform, " said Grant, unlocking the canopy of UNR-12. Hebusied himself adjusting the guiding tension. He heard the slippers, shuffling and gritting, climb the loading deviceand stop next to him. He heard the gasp as she saw the pilotcompartment's freshly built-in TV transmitter and lens. When he felt thepull on his arm, he chose to notice her. "Thanks, Grant. I thought for a while--" "It's ready for tomorrow if you want it, " Grant mentioned casually. Bridget's fists clenched and her eyes brightened. "Wow, " she observed. "Then you've got a pilot?" Grinning sourly, Grant said, "As if you don't know who. " Her eyes showed concern. "What do you mean?" "I mean things have worked out creamy as you planned. " "Grant, I don't understand. " "Now, don't tell me you didn't know I could push up one of thesethings. " He patted the side of the atomjet. "You, a pilot? Grant. I didn't know. " "Let's say it's been convenient for you, anyway. " * * * * * They had walked outside, Bridget trying to find Grant's gaze, which heput onto a distant ridge of hills rising dimly against the desertstarscape. Bridget said seriously, "You think I've been enticing you into the pilotjob, is that it?" Grant's glance fell to hers. "It looked that way to me. All thegeneral's staff have to fly 'em, I thought you knew that. I don'tpatrol, of course. " They neared her quarters, and the shadow of the building that spilledover them was deep. "I didn't know, Grant, believe me. " Her voice carried earnestness. "You don't have to prove it, " Grant said huskily. He had caught her hand, and then her arm slid softly around his neck. Her kiss was meant as brief, but he persuaded her differently. Theyclung together silently until the barracks guard had spun an about-faceand headed back their way. "Please, Grant, get someone else to go up, " she whispered. "You said you wanted a pilot who trusted you, " reminded Grant. "Now, getto bed before I gig you for being out of uniform. See me tomorrow onTV. " * * * * * The miles altimeter needle swept steadily and was about to pass the 300division. Star-sprinkled space-darkness lay ahead by now, but when helooked to the side the Earth's surface reflected the sunlightdazzlingly. It wasn't that he felt self-consciousness over the lens in front of him, or over the one showing him in profile, and the one just over hisshoulder viewing the instrument panel. Nor was it based on his notpushing up in over a month. He traced it probably to the uncertainty ofhis position. His position was uncertain, because Bridget could easily be right. Actually, considering the lack of one lead in the other avenues of theinvestigation, chances were good something was happening to pilots andcould happen to him. That was not what bothered him: not that something might occur, but_what_ might occur. Fighting unknowns for Grant carried no interest. "I'm over 300, " he transmitted. "Now what?" Bridget's voice arrived with an ionospheric waver. "Level at 375. Pleaseremember, you're trying to simulate patrol conditions. Don't transmitunless it's your report period or something goes wrong. " "Like what, lieutenant?" "If you knew all the psychological quirks possible, you'd avoid them, major. And if you're still worried, I've taken adequate precautions. There's a staff of twenty-five persons here with instruments on you. Bythe way, your picture is coming over horribly. " [Illustration] "Try my profile. I've heard it's better. " "And please replace your galvanometric and respiratory clamps. We'regetting no register here. " "They're too uncomfortable. " "Major, let me remind you this flight is costing the taxpayers plenty, hasn't General Morrison's clearance, and may have to be flown againunless you coöperate fully. " Grant smiled at the lens. He couldvisualize her curls whipping around. "Now, please coöperate and replace the clamps, and try to simulatepatrol conditions. I will call you from time to time for furtherinstructions. Ashley at Mojave--out. " Grant returned, "Reis over Mojave--nuts. " After parodying annoyance at the lens, he dutifully replaced the chestand palm clamps and settled down to the tedium of patrol. * * * * * Behind him, tons of pressure thundered silently out in controlledgaseous fusion, hurled him starward on a pillar of energy. He hadalready broken his vertical ascent and was slanting toward the latitudeBridget requested. The Pacific rolled up under the atomjet's polishednose, which sparkled with myriads of brighter star reflections. Then herecalled he couldn't play over the ocean and veered slowly northward, up the coast to the telltale configuration of Puget Sound. Over the eastern lakes he cut fusion and watched on the altimeter dialthe battle between gravity and inertia. Near the Mississippi delta hewas wrenched in a sharp maneuver as the De-Meteor suddenly took over. Hewas fortunate to see the streaking missile glow brightly and flare outof existence in the thin regions of atmosphere miles beneath him. More than three hours of patrol, and no word from Mojave. Obediently, Grant had not called in. He set course for Mojave and was nearly readyto transmit when a bark of static filled the pressurized control bubble. Disappointed, Grant heard a male voice over the speaker. "High altitude weather observation overdue. UNR-12, please reportsynoptics in quadrants. " They really want simulation, Grant grumbled mentally. "Southwestquadrant, southeast quadrant clear except for banner-clouding higherranges. Northwest, scattered alto-cumulus, looks like the onset of awarm front, with the northeast quadrant moderate-high cirrus. And let metalk to Br . . . To Lieutenant Ashley, please. " A pause. "Ashley, Mojave. " "How's my picture now?" "Your vertical is off, and you flutter. Major, the first three hourshave been without direction from the base. For the next two, we're goingto ask you to perform certain patrol tasks, perhaps repeat them. Theprocess may not prove especially enjoyable. Your close coöperation willbe appreciated. " "If this is all stuff we went through in training--" Grant sputtered. "Some of it may be, " Bridget's voice. "The fact it's distasteful maymake it the more significant. Are you ready to coöperate?" 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 coöperate, 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 aboutfifty miles in altitude. " The others, thought Grant, rode until their oxygen gave out or divedthrough the atmosphere without skin-cooling, or came out of it too lateand found-- He decided not to think about it. "But I don't think I'm hypnotic, " Grant protested. "Everyone is hypnotic to a degree. Some are a great deal more thanothers, and these are the ones that are apparent. Impose the rightconditions and a quasi-hypnotic condition could be affected on mostanyone. " "But why hasn't this happened elsewhere?" Bridget took a quick bite of fish before he could stop her. "It has. First documentation I found was in the South Pacific air war in the'40s. One-man escorting fighter planes in several cases slipped out ofbomber formations they were following at night and splashed. One of theexplanations at their hearings, but never investigated thoroughly, washypnosis from the single red taillight of the bombers. In one outfit, the losses stopped when the fighters flew up front. " "Not only sharp, but good-looking, too, " Grant admired, and beganchewing on the other half of his French bread. Then he ceasedmasticating and mouthed anxiously, "You've told the general this?" Bridget clapped her hands. "With exquisite pleasure. " "And he--?" ". . . Got excited, phoned for engineering to remove navigational sightsand suggested I join the staff at the base. " Grant coughed on the bread and hurriedly reached for his water. "Hewants you around?" "Gratitude, I guess, in his own brassy way. " "And you'll stay?" "If Washington O. K. 's it, and I'm coaxed. " "Then that simplifies the matter, " he said and brought out the daintilywrapped tiny gift box. "For you. " Her eyes warmed and smiled as she said, "That's the kind of coaxing awoman wants. " Grant fumed, "Then you know what it is? Extrasensory perception orsomething psychological?" Their hands met across the table and lingered. "Purely an emotional response, " said Bridget. THE END [Illustration] Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ March 1955. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.