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

only what the hell does it mean? We’ve got to check ourselves first.”
    Carpenter snapped up the intercom. “Get me a combat-shock expert and an alienist.”
    The two experts entered and were briefed. They examined the witnesses. They considered.
    “You’re all suffering from a mild case of shock,” the combat-shock expert said. “War jitters.”
    “You mean we didn’t see them disappear?”
    The shock expert shook his head and glanced at the alienist who also shook his head.
    “Mass illusion,” the alienist said.
    At that moment PFC Riley, M/Sgt Machan, and Corp/2 Hanmer reappeared. One moment they were a mass illusion; the next, they were back sitting in their chairs surrounded by confusion.
    “Dope ’em again, Dimmock,” Carpenter cried. “Give ’em a gallon.” He snapped up the intercom. “I want every expert we’ve got. Emergency meeting in my office at once.”
    Thirty-seven experts, hardened and sharpened tools all, inspected the unconscious shock cases and discussed them for three hours. Certain facts were obvious: This must be a new fantastic syndrome brought on by the new and fantastic horrors of the war. As combat technique develops, the response of victims of this technique must also take new roads. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Agreed.
    This new syndrome must involve some aspects of teleportation … the power of mind over space. Evidently combat shock, while destroying certain known powers of the mind must develop other latent powers hitherto unknown. Agreed.
    Obviously, the patients must only be able to return to the point of departure, otherwise they would not continue to return to Ward T nor would they have returned to General Carpenter’s office. Agreed.
    Obviously, the patients must be able to procure food and sleep wherever they go, since neither was required in Ward T. Agreed.
    “One small point,” Colonel Dimmock said. “They seem to be returning to Ward T less frequently. In the beginning they would come and go every day or so. Now most of them stay away for weeks and hardly ever return.”
    “Never mind that,” Carpenter said. “Where do they go?”
    “Do they teleport behind the enemy lines?” someone asked. “There’s those intelligence leaks.”
    “I want Intelligence to check,” Carpenter snapped. “Is the enemy having similar difficulties with, say, prisoners of war who appear and disappear from their POW camps? They might be some of ours from Ward T.”
    “They might simply be going home,” Colonel Dimmock suggested.
    “I want Security to check,” Carpenter ordered. “Cover the home life and associations of every one of those twenty-four disappeared. Now … about our operations in Ward T. Colonel Dimmock has a plan.”
    “We’ll set up six extra beds in Ward T,” Edsel Dimmock explained. “We’ll send in six experts to live there and observe. Information must be picked up indirectly from the patients. They’re catatonic and nonresponsive when conscious, and incapable of answering questions when drugged.”
    “Gentlemen,” Carpenter summed it up. “This is the greatest potential weapon in the history of warfare. I don’t have to tell you what it can mean to us to be able to teleport an entire army behind enemy lines. We can win the war for the American Dream in one day if we can win this secret hidden in those shattered minds. We must win!”
    The experts hustled, Security checked, Intelligence probed. Six hardened and sharpened tools moved into Ward T in St. Albans Hospital and slowly got acquainted with the disappearing patients who reappeared less and less frequently. The tension increased.
    Security was able to report that not one case of strange appearance had taken place in America in the past year. Intelligence reported that the enemy did not seem to be having similar difficulties with their own shock cases or with POWs.
    Carpenter fretted. “This is all brand-new. We’ve got no specialists to handle it. We’ve