Astounding British Edition, Vol. 9, No. 7 — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

NIGHTMARE BROTHER Was this why he had been trained, sub- jected to this mind-wrenching, gruelling ordeal? Another searing blow struck him, scraping at the feeble strength he had left, benumbing him, driving the picture from his mind. Was this what those men had faced? Was it this that had destroyed them, so infinitely far from their home, so very much alone on some alien world? Or was it something else, something a hundred-fold more horrible? He reeled and screamed, as anger beat through to his consciousness, a certain awareness that imagination or not, the danger was real, so horribly real that he was falling apart under the onslaught, reaching that limit of his endurance beyond which was certain death. Coldly, he searched for a weapon, coldly struggled to erect a shield to block the horrible blows—to fight horror with horror, to die fighting if need be. Bitterly, he closed off his mind to hate and fear, dipped into the welter of horror and hatred in his mind, something to match and conquer the monstrosity he was fac- ing. With a howl of rage he sent out sear- ing pictures of everything he knew of savagery, and hellish violence, and diabo- lical hatred and destruction, matching the alien onslaught blow for blow. They could try to kill him, he knew they could kill him, and he fought them with all the strength of mental power he could drag from his brain, feeling the balance between his mind and the shriek- ing horror from the field rise, and sway, like a teeter-totter, back and forth, up and down, until somewhere he heard a scream, fading into silence, a scream of alien fear and hatred and defeat. | And then he sank to the floor in ex- haustion, his lips moving feebly as he groaned, “I’ve got to fight them, or they'll kill me. They'll kill me. They'll kill me.” The girl’s sobs echoed in the silent room. “Oh, stop it,” she groaned, “stop it, Paul, please—he can’t go. on. Oh, it’s horrible—” “T’ve had about as much as I want to watch,” Connover rasped hoarsely. His face had gone very pale, and he looked ill. “How can you go on with this?” “It’s not me that’s going on with it.” 49 Dr. Schiml’s voice was quiet. “I’m not concocting these things. All I’m doing is applying tiny stimuli to tiny blocks of neural tissue. Nothing more. The rest comes from his own mind—” Mary turned to him, fiercely. “How could that be true? How could there be such . . . such horror in his mind? That isn’t Robert, you know that. Robert’s kind, and fine, and gentle—how could he find such nightmares in his mind?” “Everyone has nightmares ih his mind, Mary. Even you. And everyone has the power of death in his mind.” “But he’s taken all the steps we plan- ned,” Connover cried. “What more do you expect?” “Some of the steps,” Schiml corrected angrily. “Connover, do you want to throw all these months of work out the window? Of course he’s come a long way. He’s, realized that he’s in danger that can kill him—that was desperately important— and he realizes the reason that he’s being tested too, though he hasn’t actually rationalized it out in that way. He’s begin- ning to realize why the starships failed. And he’s realizing that he really must fight for survival. From the evidence he started with, he’s gone a: long way—a remarkably long way. Without the train- ing, he wouldn’t have survived the tunnel. But we can’t stop now. He hasn’t even | approached the most vital realization of all. He’s too strong, too confident, not desperate enough. I can’t help him, Con- nover. He’s got to do it himself.” “But he can’t survive another attack - like the last,” Connover snapped. “Train- ing or no training, no man could. You're deliberately letting him kill himself, Paul. Nobody could survive more of that—” “He'll have to. The crews of the star- ships couldn’t face what they found out there. That’s why they came back—the way they did.” Connover’s face was working. “Well, I wash my hands of it. [’'m telling you to ‘stop now. If that boy dies”—he glared at the tall doctor— “I won’t be respon- sible.” “But you agreed—” “Well, I’ve stopped agreeing. It’s going — too far.” Schiml stared at him for a long moment Eomicbooks (E)