Virtual Unrealities, The Short Fiction of Alfred Bester Read Online Free

Hanmer’s fiery oratory, waited breathlessly for him to continue.
    “I can say no more,” Hanmer said at last. His voice was choked with emotion. His face was blanched and grim. “I will fight for this bill at the beachheads. I will fight in the cities, the towns, the fields, and the hamlets. I will fight for this bill to the death and, God willing, I will fight for it after death. Whether this be a challenge or a prayer, let the consciences of the right honorable gentlemen determine; but of one thing I am sure and determined: England must own the Suez Canal.”
    Hanmer sat down. The house exploded. Through the cheering and applause he made his way out into the division lobby where Gladstone, Churchill, and Pitt stopped him to shake his hand. Lord Palmerston eyed him coldly, but Pam was shouldered aside by Disraeli who limped up, all enthusiasm, all admiration.
    “We’ll have a bite at Tattersall’s,” Dizzy said. “My car’s waiting.”
    Lady Beaconsfield was in the Rolls Royce outside the Houses of Parliament. She pinned a primrose on Dizzy’s lapel and patted Hanmer’s cheek affectionately.
    “You’ve come a long way from the schoolboy who used to bully Dizzy, Georgie,” she said.
    Hanmer laughed. Dizzy sang: “Gaudeamus igitur… .” and Hanmer chanted the ancient scholastic song until they reached Tattersall’s. There Dizzy ordered Guinness and grilled bones while Hanmer went upstairs in the club to change.
    For no reason at all he had the impulse to go back for a last look. Perhaps he hated to break with his past completely. He divested himself of his surtout, nankeen waistcoat, pepper and salt trousers, polished Hessians, and undergarments. He put on a gray shirt and gray trousers and disappeared.
    He reappeared in Ward T of the St. Albans Hospital where he was rendered unconscious by 1½ cc of sodium thiomorphate.
    “That’s three,” somebody said.
    “Take ’em to Carpenter.”
    So there they sat in General Carpenter’s office, PFC Nathan Riley, M/Sgt Lela Machan, and Corp/2 George Hanmer. They were in their hospital grays. They were torpid with sodium thiomorphate.
    The office had been cleared and it blazed with light. Present were experts from Espionage, Counter-Espionage, Security, and Central Intelligence. When Captain Edsel Dimmock saw the steel-faced ruthless squad awaiting the patients and himself, he started. General Carpenter started grimly.
    “Didn’t occur to you that we mightn’t buy your disappearance story, eh Dimmock?”
    “S-Sir?”
    “I’m an expert too, Dimmock. I’ll spell it out for you. The war’s going badly. Very badly. There’ve been intelligence leaks. The St. Albans mess might point to you.”
    “B-But they do disappear, sir. I—”
    “My experts want to talk to you and your patients about this disappearing act, Dimmock. They’ll start with you.”
    The experts worked over Dimmock with preconscious softeners, id releases, and superego blocks. They tried every truth serum in the books and every form of physical and mental pressure. They brought Dimmock, squealing, to the breaking point three times, but there was nothing to break.
    “Let him stew for now,” General Carpenter said. “Get on to the patients.”
    The experts appeared reluctant to apply pressure to the sick men and the woman.
    “For God’s sake, don’t be squeamish,” Carpenter raged. “We’re fighting a war for civilization. We’ve got to protect our ideals no matter what the price. Get to it!”
    The experts from Espionage, Counter-Espionage, Security, and Central Intelligence got to it. Like three candles, PFC Nathan Riley, M/Sgt Lela Machan, and Corp/2 George Hanmer snuffed out and disappeared. One moment they were seated in chairs surrounded by violence. The next moment they were not.
    The experts gasped. General Carpenter did the handsome thing. He stalked to Dimmock. “Captain Dimmock, I apologize. Colonel Dimmock, you’ve been promoted for making an important discovery …