Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 71 — page 106: what you’re looking at

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

WISHFUL THINKING ditions we've fitted to the machine.” “Experimental work is per- mitted,” said Sam calmly. . They had reached the labora- tory and he produced keys, opened the door, locked it behind him. John fumbled for a switch and light streamed from the single bulb suspended over the screened corner. “Will you be the subject or shall I?” — “You.” John was nervous. He stared down at the chair, the glistening helmet, the humped equipment. “When I think of what happened to Carl I get scared. Suppose it happened again?’ “It can’t,” said Sam. “Not while there’s someone to do the monitoring.” He sat in the chair, adjusted it to a position of maximum com- fort, snapped electrodes on his wrists, ankles and throat, then reached up to swing down the helmet. “‘T’ll take it easy,”’ he said. “Five minutes and then you cut the power. Cut it sooner if you see any violent physical reaction. ”’ “‘What shall I watch for?” “My wrist.” Sam stared at his left arm. “‘T’ll imagine that I’m wearing a heavy fetter, have worn it for a long time; there should be some reaction if the feed-back is still too high.’ He lowered the helmet over his head before John could argue and, with the fingers of his right hand, tripped the switch in the arm of the chair. There was no sound, noth- ing to show that delicate currents were being amplified, filtered, fed back into a circuit which consisted, in part, of the brain itself. Sam first tensed, then re- laxed, then tensed again. It was a minor tensing, a panto- graph reduction of his ima- gined movements, but his muscles jerked a trifle and his skin seemed to crawl. John watched the left wrist. Sam was, he knew, now immersed in a dream world in which his imagination was | the sole barrier to his ac- complishments. It was, in a way, a complete release from 105 ConmiclsoolkSscomn) *