Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 7 — page 48: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

See =! ean memory. — , ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION thought settled down in his mind, filling a tremendous gap. Yes, that was it, he had been placed here, for some reason. He wasn’t willfully changing from place to place, against his will and volition. From danger into danger, he was being shifted, like a chessman in some horrible game of death. But no one was touching him, no one was near him—how could these changes be happening? The answer sent a chill through him and his hand trembled. It was obvious. The changes were happen- ing in his own mind. He rubbed his stubbled chin. If this were true, then these things weren’t really happening. He hadn’t actually been in the tunnel. There hadn’t actually been a sand-cat. He wasn’t really lying here in a cold, damp corner, with deadly frost creeping up his legs. Angrily he rejected the thought. There was no room for doubt, these things were real, all right. The slashes on his side were real. He knew, beyond shadow of a doubt, that there had been a sand-cat. He knew it would have killed him if it could have, and if it had, he would have been quite dead. You can die, and only your own re- sourcefulness will save you—who had said that? There had been a program, training him, somewhere, for something —something vastly important. His mind groped through the darkness, trying to penetrate the fuzzy uncertainty of his Those words—from a_ small, red-faced man, and a tall, gaunt man in white—Schiml! Schiml had said those words, Schiml had put him here! Suddenly he thought he saw the whole thing clearly. He was in danger, he must overcome the danger, he wasn’t supposed to know that it wasn’t really happening! There had been a long training program, with Connover, and Schiml, and all the rest, and now he was on his own. But nothing, nothing could really hurt him, because these things were only figments of his imagination. He shivered in the coldness. Somehow, he didn’t quite dare to believe that. Dr. Schiml sat down on the chair and wiped drops of perspiration from his brow. His eyes were bright with excite- ment as he glanced at the pallid form on the bed, and then back at the red-faced Connover. “He’s taken the first step,” he said hoarsely. “I was sure he would.” Connover scowled and nodded, his eyes fixed on the panel beside the bed. “Yes, he took the first step all right. He’s figured out the source of his environment. That’s not very much.” -Schiml’s eyes gleamed. “When we first computed the test, you wouldn’t even concede the possibility of that. Now you « see that he’s made it. He’ll make the other steps, too.” Connover whirled angrily on the doctor. “How can he? He just doesn’t have the data! Any fool could deduct that these are subjective mental phenomena he’s facing, under the circumstances. But you're asking for the impossible if you expect him to go any further along that line of reasoning. He just doesn’t have enough memory of reality to work with.” “He has Mary, and you, and me,” the doctor snapped. “He knows there’s been a training program, and he knows that he’s being tested. And now he knows that he’s living in the nightmares of his own mind. He’s got to solve the rest.” Connover snorted. “And that know- ledge itself increases his danger a thou- sand times. He'll be reckless, over confident—”’ The girl stirred. She had been staring blankly at the man on the bed; her face was drawn and pallid, and her eyes were red. She looked dully at Dr. Schiml. “Con- nover’s right,” she said. “He has no way of knowing. He may just stand there and let himself—” she broke off with a choked sob. Mary, can’t you see? That’s exactly what we’ve got to know. We've got. to know -if the training was valid. He may get reckless, true, but never too reckless. The cat, remember? It hurt him. It really hurt him. He'll take the next step, all right. He may be hurt first, but he’ll take it.” The girl’s face flushed angrily. “It may kill him! You’re asking too much, he’s not a superman, he’s just an ordinary, helpless human being like anybody else. He doesn’t have any magical powers.” The doctor’s face was pale. “That’s cComichbooks:com: