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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/32238-h.zip b/32238-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9714d45 --- /dev/null +++ b/32238-h.zip diff --git a/32238-h/32238-h.htm b/32238-h/32238-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ebb21ff --- /dev/null +++ b/32238-h/32238-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1187 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Thought For Tomorrow, by Robert E. Gilbert. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Thought For Tomorrow, by Robert E. Gilbert + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Thought For Tomorrow + +Author: Robert E. Gilbert + +Illustrator: David Stone + +Release Date: May 3, 2010 [EBook #32238] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A THOUGHT FOR TOMORROW *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h1>A Thought for Tomorrow</h1> + +<h2>By ROBERT E. GILBERT</h2> + +<h3>Illustrated by DAVID STONE</h3> + +<p>[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction +November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="sidenote"><i>Any intolerable problem has a way out—the more impossible, +the likelier it is sometimes!</i></div> + +<p>Lord Potts frowned at the rusty guard of his saber, and the metal +immediately became gold-plated. Potts reined his capricious black +stallion closer to the first sergeant.</p> + +<p>"Report!" the first sergeant bellowed.</p> + +<p>"Fourth Hussars, all present!"</p> + +<p>"Eighth Hussars, all present!"</p> + +<p>"Eleventh Hussars, all present!"</p> + +<p>"Thirteenth Hussars, all present!"</p> + +<p>"Seventeenth Lancers, all present!"</p> + +<p>The first sergeant's arm flashed in a vibrating salute. "Sir," he said, +"the brigade is formed."</p> + +<p>Potts concentrated on the sergeant; but, aside from blue eyes, a black +mustache, and luminous chevrons, the man's appearance remained vague. +His uniform had no definite color, except for moments when it blushed a +brilliant red, and his headgear expanded and contracted so rapidly that +Potts could not be certain whether he wore a shako or a tam.</p> + +<p>"Take your post," Potts said. "Men!" he shouted. "We're going to charge +at those guns!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Oi say!" wailed a small private with scarcely any features but a +mouth. "Them Russians'll murder us!"</p> + +<p>"Yours not to reason why," Potts said. "Draw sabers! Charge!"</p> + +<p>The ground quaked under the beat of twenty-four hundred hoofs. As the +first puffs of smoke billowed from the entrenchments half a league away, +Potts remembered that he had forgotten to give orders to the lancers. +Should he tell them to couch lances, or lower lances, or aim lances, +or—</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"P. T. boys, let's go. Out to the door," a bored voice called.</p> + +<p>Potts opened his eyes. He sighed. Again he had failed. The dayroom had +hardly changed. The chairs were all pushed together in the center of the +floor, and two patients with brooms swept little ridges of dirt and +cigarette butts toward the door. Potts sat slouched in one of the chairs +and raised his feet as the sweepers passed.</p> + +<p>"Orville Potts, out to the door," the bored voice said.</p> + +<p>Potts gave Wilhart a killing look when the big attendant, immaculate in +white duck trousers and short-sleeved linen shirt, passed through to the +porch. Potts wondered why so many of the attendants resembled +clean-shaven gorillas.</p> + +<p>He arose leisurely from the chair, shuffled around the sweepers, and +entered the hall. A pair of huge, gray, faded cotton pants draped his +spindling legs in wrinkled folds, and an equally faded khaki shirt hung +from his stooped shoulders. Potts had not combed his hair in three days. +He pushed the tangled brown mass out of his eyes and threaded between +the groups of men that jammed the hall, smoking and waiting to go to the +shoe shop, or the paint detail, or psychodrama, or merely waiting.</p> + +<p>At the locked door to the stairs, Potts stopped and glared at the six +patients already assembled.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Orville Potts," said another long-armed, barrel-chested +attendant. This one wore a black necktie, and, so far as Potts knew, had +no name but Joe. Potts ignored Joe.</p> + +<p>The attendant pulled a ring of keys attached to a long heavy chain from +his pocket and unlocked the door, when Wilhart brought the rest of the +P. T. boys.</p> + +<p>"Downstairs, when I call your name," Joe said, and read from the charts +attached to his clip-board.</p> + +<p>When his name was called, Potts stepped through to the landing and +descended the top stairs. Joe locked the door.</p> + +<p>Potts looked up at Danny Harris, who stood motionless on the landing. +While Joe weaved down the crowded steps, Wilhart took Harris by the arm +and pushed him.</p> + +<p>"Let's go," he said. "Here, Orville Potts, take Danny Harris downstairs +with you."</p> + +<p>Potts said, "Do your own dragging."</p> + +<p>"Well!" Wilhart gasped. "Hear that, Joe? Orville Potts is talking this +morning!"</p> + +<p>Joe turned up a red, grim face. "He'll talk a lot before I'm through +with him," he promised.</p> + +<p>The sixteen patients from Ward J descended the stairs, were counted +through another door, and formed a ragged column of twos on the concrete +walk outside. With Joe leading and Wilhart guarding the rear, the little +formation moved across the great grassy quadrangle enclosed by the +buildings and connecting roofed corridors of the hospital.</p> + +<p>Potts tried to close his ears to Wilhart's incessant urging of Danny +Harris. Harris would do little of his own volition, but Potts was tired +of acting as his escort.</p> + +<p>The blue morning sky supported but a few brilliant clouds. Potts wished +he were up there, or anywhere except going to P. T. He hated P. T. It +terrified him. Potts closed his eyes.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Major Orville Potts stood in the soft grass and rested a gloved hand on +the upper wing of his flying machine.</p> + +<p>"Sir," he said, "with my invention, the Confederacy will soon put the +Yankees to rout."</p> + +<p>The general stroked his gray goatee and pursed his lips. Potts felt +pleased that every detail of the general's uniform stood out in bold +clarity. The slouch hat, gray coat, red sash, and black jackboots were +more real than life. Of course the surrounding landscape was a green +blur, but increased concentration would clear that.</p> + +<p>The general said, "Ah'm doubtful, Majah. Balloons, Ah undahstand. Hot +aiah natuahlly rises, but this contraption seems too heavy to fly."</p> + +<p>"No heavier, in proportion, than a kite, sir," Potts explained.</p> + +<p>The crude mountaineer captain, standing slightly behind the general, +snickered.</p> + +<p>"Hit won't work nohow," he predicted. "Jist like that there Williams +repeatin' cannon at Seven Pines. Ain't even got no steam engine fur as I +kin see."</p> + +<p>Potts said, "This is a new type engine. It operates on a formula of my +own, which I have named gasoline. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, +I shall proceed with the demonstration."</p> + +<p>Potts climbed into the cockpit. A touch of the starter set the 1,000 +h.p. radial engine roaring. He waved to the gaping officers and opened +the throttle. The bi-plane whisked down the field and rocketed into the +blue morning sky.</p> + +<p>Too late, Potts saw the buzzard soaring dead ahead. He shoved the stick +forward, but the black bird rushed toward his face in frightening +magnification.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Potts opened his eyes. He had walked into a wall.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, Orville Potts?" Joe asked. "You sleep-walking? Get +in there! I'll wake you up."</p> + +<p>Joe shoved Potts through the door marked PHYSICAL THERAPY and into the +dressing room. With sixteen patients in the process of disrobing, the +small room presented a scene of wild, indecent activity. Potts squirmed +through the thrashing tangle to a bench against the wall. He sat down +and removed a shoe.</p> + +<p>Potts almost felt the currents surging through the neurons of his brain +and sensed a throbbing on the inside of his skull. Twice this morning, +he had tried to break through the physical barrier and had failed. Even +with a minimum of thought, the reasons for failure became obvious.</p> + +<p>Lack of intimate detail seemed the principle cause. In his attempt to +reach the Crimean War and lead the Charge of the Light Brigade, he had +been hampered by his ignorance of correct uniforms and commands. He did +not know at what time of day the charge had taken place, the weather +conditions, the appearance of the terrain, or even the exact date. He +believed it was about 1855, but he wouldn't risk a dime bet on his +guess. Perhaps an attempt to return to the past was certain to fail. +Surely the past had happened, was settled, inviolate. Someone named Lord +Cardigan, not Orville, Lord Potts, had led the charge.</p> + +<p>Inventing an airplane during the Civil War also had no chance of +success. No such thing actually happened, and, if it had, the plane +would have been more crude than the Wright brothers' machine. +Furthermore, Potts was no aviator. Success, if any, lay in the future. +The future was yet to come, and Potts could mold events to his liking. +Or perhaps he could move his body in space, instead of time. He could +think himself out of the hospital.</p> + +<p>"Orville Potts, get those clothes off!" Wilhart ordered. Potts slowly +removed his faded garments. He took his place at the end of the line of +naked men leading to the needle shower.</p> + +<p>Joe stood in all his glory at what Potts called the P. T. machine. The +apparatus was a marble box with rows of knobs and gauges and a pair of +rubber hoses on the top. Potts felt sure that Joe took a sadistic +delight in his work. As the line moved forward, he glanced at the +attendant's florid face, tight smiling lips and squinted eyes. Potts +shuddered.</p> + +<p>No member of the hospital staff had ever condescended to explain to +Potts the exact purpose of the P. T. bath, other than that it would make +him feel good. It only frightened Potts. The correct procedure was that +the patient stepped between the pipes of the needle shower and washed +himself. Then the attendant turned off the shower and sluiced the +patient with powerful streams of water from the hoses.</p> + +<p>The routine seemed senseless and innocent enough, but Potts had heard +whispered conversations in the night that filled him with horror. The P. +T. machine, rumor said, was actually an instrument of torture and death. +The water pressure could be increased to two thousand pounds, enough to +push out a man's eyes or break his bones. Instead of water, the hoses +could spit fire like a flamethrower. Acid could spray from the shower. +Potts had even heard that Joe had killed seven men in the P. T. bath. +How much of this was true, Potts did not know. When he saw bodies turn +suddenly red under a rain of hot water, or writhe and tremble as if +being whipped, he could believe all of it.</p> + +<p>The line advanced slowly, like a gang of criminals going to the gas +chamber. Potts grimly determined to think himself out of the hospital at +once, for who knew when fire instead of water would spout from the +hoses? If he recalled some place outside, in exact detail, Potts knew he +could become all mind and project himself there. He must recall +everything, scents, temperature, the ground beneath his feet, precise +colors. Potts concentrated.</p> + +<p>He tried to remember the home he had not seen for three months. He +received a dim impression of a tiny crowded apartment and a wife growing +increasingly indifferent. He could not even remember the color of her +eyes, or whether the living room contained one easy chair or two. He +would have to project himself to another place, one that did not seem +like a vague dream.</p> + +<p>Potts saw that his bath would come next. Danny Harris stood in the spray +and stared stupidly at the tile floor. Potts looked at Joe. A wide smile +that revealed two gold teeth creased the burly attendant's face. Hairy +hands turned off the needle shower, twisted two more knobs, and picked +up the twin hoses. Joe stood like the villain in a Western movie, +blazing away with two guns, and shot thin powerful streams of water +against Harris's spine. Harris shrieked, though he rarely uttered a +sound outside the P. T. bath. As the icy water raked him from head to +heels, he yelled and danced.</p> + +<p>"Turn around," Joe commanded.</p> + +<p>Harris pivoted and wailed, and Joe basted him on all sides with water. +Potts watched fascinated as the thin body turned alternately blue with +cold and red under the stinging water. He would not endure that again +this morning. He knew now one place he could sense and visualize in +complete detail.</p> + +<p>"All right," said Joe, laying down his hoses. "Let's go, Orville Potts!"</p> + +<p>Harris reeled, like a man rescued from drowning, into the dressing room, +and Potts took his place between the four vertical pipes of the needle +shower. From innumerable holes in the pipes, powerful jets of water +spouted against his body. He stood with his back turned to the machine +and made no attempt to wash. He never did—he saw no point in bathing +without soap.</p> + +<p>Potts thought of the Ward J dayroom, the room in which he had spent much +of his time for the past three months. He visualized the maroon chairs +with metal arms and legs, the green cretonne curtains, the cream walls, +the black-and-red inlaid linoleum floor glinting with spots of old wax. +He sensed a stale odor of tobacco smoke, furniture polish, and +perspiration. He heard the talk of patients engaged in perpetual games +of rook. He felt his thighs, hips, and back pressing against one of the +chairs, and his feet on the smooth floor.</p> + +<p>"Now, Orville Potts," Joe jeered, "let's hear you sing like Danny +Harris!"</p> + +<p>But Potts wasn't there.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Potts opened his eyes. He had always wondered how it would feel, but he +had felt nothing. In the same instant, he stood tensed, waiting for the +water, and he sat in a chair in the Ward J dayroom. Directly in front of +him, a nurse played rook with three of the patients grouped around a +square table. Not many patients were in the room at this hour, and no +attendant stood guard. The nurse turned her head slightly. She gasped, +shoved back her chair and ran to the porch. Nasen, the ward attendant, +charged through the door she had used.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Orville Potts!" he cried. "Where's your clothes?"</p> + +<p>Potts then noticed that he was completely naked and wet.</p> + +<p>Nasen dragged Potts from the chair, applied a light hammerlock, and +marched his captive from the room. "Did you come over here from P. T. +like that?" he asked. "How'd you get out?"</p> + +<p>Potts went along willingly enough, but without answering.</p> + +<p>Nasen unlocked the door to the shower room and thrust Potts within. +"Stay right there," he said. As he was locked in, Potts heard the +attendant call, "Frank, go tell Dr. Bean that Orville Potts slipped out +of P. T. with no clothes on. I don't know how. He must have stolen a +key."</p> + +<p>Potts took a towel from the shelf, sat on the bench, and rubbed his hair +with the towel. He hoped they all went batty trying to learn how he had +escaped. He thought most of the attendants should be patients anyhow.</p> + +<p>Clutching a pile of clothing and a pair of slippers, Nasen returned. +"Put these on," he said. "Orville Potts, you're in trouble now. What did +you do with the key?"</p> + +<p>Potts struggled into a tight blue shirt minus most of the buttons. "I +didn't have a key."</p> + +<p>"You're <i>talking</i>?"</p> + +<p>"I can talk when I want to," Potts admitted. "I just never want to."</p> + +<p>Nasen said, "That's more words than I've heard from you all at one time. +Why did you come back stark naked like that?"</p> + +<p>"I thought my way out," Potts explained, pulling on the trousers that +had evidently been tailored for a giant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you thought your way out. Put those slippers on."</p> + +<p>Joe and Wilhart, flushed and panting, charged into the shower room.</p> + +<p>"There he is! Grab him!" Joe yelled. He seized Potts' arms and pulled +them behind in a brutal double hammerlock.</p> + +<p>"He's not giving any trouble," Nasen said. "What happened, Joe?"</p> + +<p>"Damn if I know. He was in the shower, and I turned my head for a +second. Next thing I knew, he was gone. What'd you find on him—a key or +a lock-pick or something like that?"</p> + +<p>Nasen grinned. "He didn't have even that much on when I first saw him. +He came into the day room and sat down, and Miss Davis like to threw a +fit."</p> + +<p>Wilhart tossed a bundle on the floor. "There's nothing in his own +clothes but a pack of cigarettes."</p> + +<p>"Where's the key, Orville Potts?" Joe grated, squeezing Potts's arms. +"You know what's going to happen to you? You'll get the pack room, or +maybe Ward D. How would you like Ward D, Orville Potts?"</p> + +<p>Nasen said, "If he had a key, he—"</p> + +<p>"You better run along, Nasen," Joe said. "I think Dr. Bean wants to talk +to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I—uh—" Looking worried, Nasen left the shower room.</p> + +<p>Wilhart handed Joe a towel.</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone!" Potts yelled.</p> + +<p>Joe wrapped the towel around Potts's neck. "Where's the key, Orville +Potts?"</p> + +<p>"Help!" Potts cried. The towel tightened.</p> + +<p>With rapidly dimming vision, he saw Wilhart assume a stance. A huge fist +thudded against his shrunken stomach. He tried to scream, but the towel +cut off all air and sound. Again and again, the fist struck.</p> + +<p>Potts found himself sitting on the floor, gulping air into starved +lungs. For a moment, he hoped he had managed another transportation, but +the two white-clad human gorillas leering down at him proved he had not +left the shower room.</p> + +<p>"Get up," Joe said.</p> + +<p>They dragged Potts to his feet. Nasen opened the door, clamped his +teeth, and then opened his mouth to say, "Dr. Bean wants Orville Potts. +I'll—"</p> + +<p>"I'll take him," Joe said.</p> + +<p>Potts winced as spatulate fingers almost met through his biceps. His +feet barely touched the floor of the corridor when Joe marched him to +the office of Dr. Lawrence D. Bean.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Dr. Bean, a thin bald man, sat behind a maple desk and peered at Potts +over spectacles attached to a black ribbon. Joe shut the door and leaned +against it.</p> + +<p>"I've been hearing things about you, Orville," Dr. Bean said. "We'll +have a little examination. Now, hold your right arm out straight, close +your eyes, and touch the end of your nose with your index finger."</p> + +<p>"Can't we do without the foolishness?" Potts asked. He sank into the +chair beside the doctor's desk and gently rubbed his bruised arm.</p> + +<p>The doctor looked slightly startled, but said, "I'm pleased to hear you +speaking again, Orville. If you continue to talk to people, take an +interest in your surroundings, write home, you'll be out of here very +shortly."</p> + +<p>"He choked me," Potts said, pointing a thumb at Joe. "He choked me with +a towel, and the other one, that Wilhart, hit me in the stomach."</p> + +<p>Dr. Bean's spectacles jumped from his nose and dangled by the ribbon. He +focused a pair of bleary eyes on Potts and said, "You know they didn't, +Orville. The attendants are here for your benefit. They would never +subject a patient to physical violence."</p> + +<p>Potts laughed for the first time since he was hospitalized. He said, +"Why don't you ask me what I did with the key?"</p> + +<p>"What did you do with the key, Orville?"</p> + +<p>"Talk about monomaniacs!" Potts snickered. "You all have one-track +minds. You can't think of any way I could have escaped without stealing +a key. Is any key actually missing? Did anyone see me crossing the grass +or coming through the halls? I'll tell you how I did it. Exactly how. +You already think I'm nuts, so it won't matter."</p> + +<p>Again, Potts pointed at Joe. "Laughing boy here can bear me out. He was +about to whip me with his ice water, and I vanished. I vanished from the +shower and materialized in the dayroom."</p> + +<p>Dr. Bean replaced his glasses and grabbed a pad and pencil.</p> + +<p>"That's right, Doc," Potts approved. "Write it down. I'm giving you a +better break than you ever gave me. I've been in this hospital four +times, and no doctor ever sat down and explained what was wrong with me, +or tried to learn why. There was something about combat fatigue, +whatever that is, over in Italy. Otherwise, I don't know anything. If I +so much as raise my voice or break a dish at home, my wife has me +shipped back here as dangerously psychotic, or psycho-neurotic, or +something. Which makes it nice for her.</p> + +<p>"And what do you do when I come back? You give me electric shock +treatments and have your sadists whip me with P. T. baths, as if torture +could cure a sick mind! Maybe there's nothing wrong with my brain. Maybe +it's just different from yours, or this jerk's, if he has a brain."</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Joe," Dr. Bean cautioned in a theatrical aside. "Just stand +by."</p> + +<p>Potts smiled and said, "Take it all down. Then you can check your notes +and decide if it's schizophrenia, or catatonia, or psychasthenia, or +what not. I know a little about mental diseases from reading, and I'll +explain my theory the best I can."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Potts tapped his forehead with a forefinger and asked, "What is a brain? +You'll say it's an organ occupying the skull and forming the center of +the nervous system, and the seat of intellect, or some such thing. I +don't think so. It generates electricity. You know that. A nerve impulse +is a wave of electricity started and conducted by a nerve cell. You can +test it. You've made brain-wave patterns of some of the boys in the +ward.</p> + +<p>"The brain transforms energy into thought, or thought into energy. I'm +sitting here thinking and not moving my body at all. My brain is +transforming electric energy into thought. You're writing, and your +thoughts guide the movement of your hand. Thought into energy."</p> + +<p>Dr. Bean turned a page and continued to scribble rapidly. Potts heard +Joe move and felt the big attendant's presence behind his chair.</p> + +<p>Potts said, "The ability to think improves with use, like a muscle +growing stronger with use. The first time you memorize a poem, it's a +hard job. If you keep on memorizing, it becomes easier, until you read a +poem a couple of times and you have it. The same goes for remembering. +I'll bet you can't even remember how your breakfast tasted and smelled +this morning. Probably not even what you ate.</p> + +<p>"I practice remembering with all the senses. How things look and taste +and smell. Exact colors, shadows, size, impressions. Think of an +airplane, and you probably think of a little silver thing in the sky. +Actually, an airplane is much bigger than that, so your mental picture +of an airplane is all wrong. An airplane gives me a certain impression. +I have it only when looking at one. Maybe it's an unrecognized sense. I +have an entirely different impression when I'm looking at a horse."</p> + +<p>Dr. Bean threw down his pencil, caught his falling glasses, drew a +handkerchief from his breast pocket, and polished them.</p> + +<p>"Too deep for you, Doc?" Potts inquired. "Well, just assume that my +brain is a more powerful generator and transformer than any you ever +saw. I've developed it by memorizing, remembering, visualizing, working +problems in my head, and so on. I've been trying to make my brain take +complete control of my body. The body is composed of atoms, and the +atoms are electrical charges, protons and electrons. Therefore, you're +nothing but electricity in the shape of a man.</p> + +<p>"By changing myself to pure thought, or pure electricity, I believed +that I could escape to the past. Get away from this age where a man is +suspected of insanity if he so much as mislays his checkbook or kicks +his dog. People didn't used to be crazy unless they went around hacking +their relatives with an ax.</p> + +<p>"I tried to meet Columbus when he rowed ashore from the <i>Santa Maria</i>. I +tried to watch the Battle of Bunker Hill. I tried to lead the Charge of +the Light Brigade. I tried to invent an airplane during the Civil War. I +always failed, because I didn't have enough sensory knowledge of the +period, and I couldn't change the past.</p> + +<p>"I succeeded in P. T. because I transported myself through space instead +of time. I knew every detail of the day room, so it worked. My brain +reduced my body to its elemental charges in the P. T. bath and +reassembled it in the dayroom. Something like radio, with the brain +acting as sending set and receiver. Maybe we should call it philosophy, +Doc. What is reality? If I sit here in your office but imagine I'm +sitting in the dayroom, until the chair in the dayroom becomes more real +than this, where am I actually sitting?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Bean stood up, adjusted his glasses, and said, "Orville, I am going +to do as you asked. I am going to tell you exactly what is wrong with +you. You are suffering from distorted perception—illusions and +hallucinations, disorientation. You are also becoming an exhibitionist +and are developing a persecution complex. I thought, when you first came +in, that you had improved. But if you don't pull yourself together and +try to get well, you'll be in here a long time."</p> + +<p>Potts's chair overturned as he thrust himself up. He placed his thin +hands on the desk and said, "You psychiatrists can't see an inch in +front of your nose! All you can do is quote a textbook. If anybody +mentions mental telepathy, or predicting the future, or a sense of +perception, you classify them as insane. You think you've reduced the +mind to a set of rules, but you're still in kindergarten! I'll prove +every word I said! I'll vanish into the future! I can't change the past, +but the future hasn't happened yet! I can imagine my own!"</p> + +<p>Joe grabbed the fist that Potts shook under the doctor's nose and pinned +the patient's arms behind his back.</p> + +<p>"Take him upstairs to Ward K, Joe," Dr. Bean said. "To the pack room. +That should calm him."</p> + +<p>"So long, moron!" Potts called.</p> + +<p>"Let's go, Orville Potts," Joe said. "We're going to fix you up just +like an ice cream soda."</p> + +<p>"You won't pack me in ice," Potts promised. His thin body twisted in +pain.</p> + +<p>He closed his eyes tight and concentrated.</p> + +<p>Joe's great hands clamped into fists when Potts disappeared.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Potts opened his eyes. He lay face down on a padded acceleration couch +with broad straps across his brawny back and legs. Before his face, a +second hand swept around a clock toward a red zero. Potts twisted his +head slightly in the harness and looked at the beautiful young woman +strapped to the couch on his right. A shrieking warning siren blared +through the spaceship.</p> + +<p>The woman smiled.</p> + +<p>"Hia, ked," she said in strange new accents. "Secure your dentures. Next +stop, Alpha Centaurus!"</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Thought For Tomorrow, by Robert E. 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Gilbert + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Thought For Tomorrow + +Author: Robert E. Gilbert + +Illustrator: David Stone + +Release Date: May 3, 2010 [EBook #32238] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A THOUGHT FOR TOMORROW *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + A Thought for Tomorrow + + By ROBERT E. GILBERT + + Illustrated by DAVID STONE + +[Transcriber Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction +November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the +U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +[Sidenote: _Any intolerable problem has a way out--the more impossible, +the likelier it is sometimes!_] + +Lord Potts frowned at the rusty guard of his saber, and the metal +immediately became gold-plated. Potts reined his capricious black +stallion closer to the first sergeant. + +"Report!" the first sergeant bellowed. + +"Fourth Hussars, all present!" + +"Eighth Hussars, all present!" + +"Eleventh Hussars, all present!" + +"Thirteenth Hussars, all present!" + +"Seventeenth Lancers, all present!" + +The first sergeant's arm flashed in a vibrating salute. "Sir," he said, +"the brigade is formed." + +Potts concentrated on the sergeant; but, aside from blue eyes, a black +mustache, and luminous chevrons, the man's appearance remained vague. +His uniform had no definite color, except for moments when it blushed a +brilliant red, and his headgear expanded and contracted so rapidly that +Potts could not be certain whether he wore a shako or a tam. + +"Take your post," Potts said. "Men!" he shouted. "We're going to charge +at those guns!" + +"Oh, Oi say!" wailed a small private with scarcely any features but a +mouth. "Them Russians'll murder us!" + +"Yours not to reason why," Potts said. "Draw sabers! Charge!" + +The ground quaked under the beat of twenty-four hundred hoofs. As the +first puffs of smoke billowed from the entrenchments half a league away, +Potts remembered that he had forgotten to give orders to the lancers. +Should he tell them to couch lances, or lower lances, or aim lances, +or-- + + * * * * * + +"P. T. boys, let's go. Out to the door," a bored voice called. + +Potts opened his eyes. He sighed. Again he had failed. The dayroom had +hardly changed. The chairs were all pushed together in the center of the +floor, and two patients with brooms swept little ridges of dirt and +cigarette butts toward the door. Potts sat slouched in one of the chairs +and raised his feet as the sweepers passed. + +"Orville Potts, out to the door," the bored voice said. + +Potts gave Wilhart a killing look when the big attendant, immaculate in +white duck trousers and short-sleeved linen shirt, passed through to the +porch. Potts wondered why so many of the attendants resembled +clean-shaven gorillas. + +He arose leisurely from the chair, shuffled around the sweepers, and +entered the hall. A pair of huge, gray, faded cotton pants draped his +spindling legs in wrinkled folds, and an equally faded khaki shirt hung +from his stooped shoulders. Potts had not combed his hair in three days. +He pushed the tangled brown mass out of his eyes and threaded between +the groups of men that jammed the hall, smoking and waiting to go to the +shoe shop, or the paint detail, or psychodrama, or merely waiting. + +At the locked door to the stairs, Potts stopped and glared at the six +patients already assembled. + +"Hello, Orville Potts," said another long-armed, barrel-chested +attendant. This one wore a black necktie, and, so far as Potts knew, had +no name but Joe. Potts ignored Joe. + +The attendant pulled a ring of keys attached to a long heavy chain from +his pocket and unlocked the door, when Wilhart brought the rest of the +P. T. boys. + +"Downstairs, when I call your name," Joe said, and read from the charts +attached to his clip-board. + +When his name was called, Potts stepped through to the landing and +descended the top stairs. Joe locked the door. + +Potts looked up at Danny Harris, who stood motionless on the landing. +While Joe weaved down the crowded steps, Wilhart took Harris by the arm +and pushed him. + +"Let's go," he said. "Here, Orville Potts, take Danny Harris downstairs +with you." + +Potts said, "Do your own dragging." + +"Well!" Wilhart gasped. "Hear that, Joe? Orville Potts is talking this +morning!" + +Joe turned up a red, grim face. "He'll talk a lot before I'm through +with him," he promised. + +The sixteen patients from Ward J descended the stairs, were counted +through another door, and formed a ragged column of twos on the concrete +walk outside. With Joe leading and Wilhart guarding the rear, the little +formation moved across the great grassy quadrangle enclosed by the +buildings and connecting roofed corridors of the hospital. + +Potts tried to close his ears to Wilhart's incessant urging of Danny +Harris. Harris would do little of his own volition, but Potts was tired +of acting as his escort. + +The blue morning sky supported but a few brilliant clouds. Potts wished +he were up there, or anywhere except going to P. T. He hated P. T. It +terrified him. Potts closed his eyes. + + * * * * * + +Major Orville Potts stood in the soft grass and rested a gloved hand on +the upper wing of his flying machine. + +"Sir," he said, "with my invention, the Confederacy will soon put the +Yankees to rout." + +The general stroked his gray goatee and pursed his lips. Potts felt +pleased that every detail of the general's uniform stood out in bold +clarity. The slouch hat, gray coat, red sash, and black jackboots were +more real than life. Of course the surrounding landscape was a green +blur, but increased concentration would clear that. + +The general said, "Ah'm doubtful, Majah. Balloons, Ah undahstand. Hot +aiah natuahlly rises, but this contraption seems too heavy to fly." + +"No heavier, in proportion, than a kite, sir," Potts explained. + +The crude mountaineer captain, standing slightly behind the general, +snickered. + +"Hit won't work nohow," he predicted. "Jist like that there Williams +repeatin' cannon at Seven Pines. Ain't even got no steam engine fur as I +kin see." + +Potts said, "This is a new type engine. It operates on a formula of my +own, which I have named gasoline. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, +I shall proceed with the demonstration." + +Potts climbed into the cockpit. A touch of the starter set the 1,000 +h.p. radial engine roaring. He waved to the gaping officers and opened +the throttle. The bi-plane whisked down the field and rocketed into the +blue morning sky. + +Too late, Potts saw the buzzard soaring dead ahead. He shoved the stick +forward, but the black bird rushed toward his face in frightening +magnification. + + * * * * * + +Potts opened his eyes. He had walked into a wall. + +"What's the matter, Orville Potts?" Joe asked. "You sleep-walking? Get +in there! I'll wake you up." + +Joe shoved Potts through the door marked PHYSICAL THERAPY and into the +dressing room. With sixteen patients in the process of disrobing, the +small room presented a scene of wild, indecent activity. Potts squirmed +through the thrashing tangle to a bench against the wall. He sat down +and removed a shoe. + +Potts almost felt the currents surging through the neurons of his brain +and sensed a throbbing on the inside of his skull. Twice this morning, +he had tried to break through the physical barrier and had failed. Even +with a minimum of thought, the reasons for failure became obvious. + +Lack of intimate detail seemed the principle cause. In his attempt to +reach the Crimean War and lead the Charge of the Light Brigade, he had +been hampered by his ignorance of correct uniforms and commands. He did +not know at what time of day the charge had taken place, the weather +conditions, the appearance of the terrain, or even the exact date. He +believed it was about 1855, but he wouldn't risk a dime bet on his +guess. Perhaps an attempt to return to the past was certain to fail. +Surely the past had happened, was settled, inviolate. Someone named Lord +Cardigan, not Orville, Lord Potts, had led the charge. + +Inventing an airplane during the Civil War also had no chance of +success. No such thing actually happened, and, if it had, the plane +would have been more crude than the Wright brothers' machine. +Furthermore, Potts was no aviator. Success, if any, lay in the future. +The future was yet to come, and Potts could mold events to his liking. +Or perhaps he could move his body in space, instead of time. He could +think himself out of the hospital. + +"Orville Potts, get those clothes off!" Wilhart ordered. Potts slowly +removed his faded garments. He took his place at the end of the line of +naked men leading to the needle shower. + +Joe stood in all his glory at what Potts called the P. T. machine. The +apparatus was a marble box with rows of knobs and gauges and a pair of +rubber hoses on the top. Potts felt sure that Joe took a sadistic +delight in his work. As the line moved forward, he glanced at the +attendant's florid face, tight smiling lips and squinted eyes. Potts +shuddered. + +No member of the hospital staff had ever condescended to explain to +Potts the exact purpose of the P. T. bath, other than that it would make +him feel good. It only frightened Potts. The correct procedure was that +the patient stepped between the pipes of the needle shower and washed +himself. Then the attendant turned off the shower and sluiced the +patient with powerful streams of water from the hoses. + +The routine seemed senseless and innocent enough, but Potts had heard +whispered conversations in the night that filled him with horror. The P. +T. machine, rumor said, was actually an instrument of torture and death. +The water pressure could be increased to two thousand pounds, enough to +push out a man's eyes or break his bones. Instead of water, the hoses +could spit fire like a flamethrower. Acid could spray from the shower. +Potts had even heard that Joe had killed seven men in the P. T. bath. +How much of this was true, Potts did not know. When he saw bodies turn +suddenly red under a rain of hot water, or writhe and tremble as if +being whipped, he could believe all of it. + +The line advanced slowly, like a gang of criminals going to the gas +chamber. Potts grimly determined to think himself out of the hospital at +once, for who knew when fire instead of water would spout from the +hoses? If he recalled some place outside, in exact detail, Potts knew he +could become all mind and project himself there. He must recall +everything, scents, temperature, the ground beneath his feet, precise +colors. Potts concentrated. + +He tried to remember the home he had not seen for three months. He +received a dim impression of a tiny crowded apartment and a wife growing +increasingly indifferent. He could not even remember the color of her +eyes, or whether the living room contained one easy chair or two. He +would have to project himself to another place, one that did not seem +like a vague dream. + +Potts saw that his bath would come next. Danny Harris stood in the spray +and stared stupidly at the tile floor. Potts looked at Joe. A wide smile +that revealed two gold teeth creased the burly attendant's face. Hairy +hands turned off the needle shower, twisted two more knobs, and picked +up the twin hoses. Joe stood like the villain in a Western movie, +blazing away with two guns, and shot thin powerful streams of water +against Harris's spine. Harris shrieked, though he rarely uttered a +sound outside the P. T. bath. As the icy water raked him from head to +heels, he yelled and danced. + +"Turn around," Joe commanded. + +Harris pivoted and wailed, and Joe basted him on all sides with water. +Potts watched fascinated as the thin body turned alternately blue with +cold and red under the stinging water. He would not endure that again +this morning. He knew now one place he could sense and visualize in +complete detail. + +"All right," said Joe, laying down his hoses. "Let's go, Orville Potts!" + +Harris reeled, like a man rescued from drowning, into the dressing room, +and Potts took his place between the four vertical pipes of the needle +shower. From innumerable holes in the pipes, powerful jets of water +spouted against his body. He stood with his back turned to the machine +and made no attempt to wash. He never did--he saw no point in bathing +without soap. + +Potts thought of the Ward J dayroom, the room in which he had spent much +of his time for the past three months. He visualized the maroon chairs +with metal arms and legs, the green cretonne curtains, the cream walls, +the black-and-red inlaid linoleum floor glinting with spots of old wax. +He sensed a stale odor of tobacco smoke, furniture polish, and +perspiration. He heard the talk of patients engaged in perpetual games +of rook. He felt his thighs, hips, and back pressing against one of the +chairs, and his feet on the smooth floor. + +"Now, Orville Potts," Joe jeered, "let's hear you sing like Danny +Harris!" + +But Potts wasn't there. + + * * * * * + +Potts opened his eyes. He had always wondered how it would feel, but he +had felt nothing. In the same instant, he stood tensed, waiting for the +water, and he sat in a chair in the Ward J dayroom. Directly in front of +him, a nurse played rook with three of the patients grouped around a +square table. Not many patients were in the room at this hour, and no +attendant stood guard. The nurse turned her head slightly. She gasped, +shoved back her chair and ran to the porch. Nasen, the ward attendant, +charged through the door she had used. + +[Illustration] + +"Orville Potts!" he cried. "Where's your clothes?" + +Potts then noticed that he was completely naked and wet. + +Nasen dragged Potts from the chair, applied a light hammerlock, and +marched his captive from the room. "Did you come over here from P. T. +like that?" he asked. "How'd you get out?" + +Potts went along willingly enough, but without answering. + +Nasen unlocked the door to the shower room and thrust Potts within. +"Stay right there," he said. As he was locked in, Potts heard the +attendant call, "Frank, go tell Dr. Bean that Orville Potts slipped out +of P. T. with no clothes on. I don't know how. He must have stolen a +key." + +Potts took a towel from the shelf, sat on the bench, and rubbed his hair +with the towel. He hoped they all went batty trying to learn how he had +escaped. He thought most of the attendants should be patients anyhow. + +Clutching a pile of clothing and a pair of slippers, Nasen returned. +"Put these on," he said. "Orville Potts, you're in trouble now. What did +you do with the key?" + +Potts struggled into a tight blue shirt minus most of the buttons. "I +didn't have a key." + +"You're _talking_?" + +"I can talk when I want to," Potts admitted. "I just never want to." + +Nasen said, "That's more words than I've heard from you all at one time. +Why did you come back stark naked like that?" + +"I thought my way out," Potts explained, pulling on the trousers that +had evidently been tailored for a giant. + +"Oh, you thought your way out. Put those slippers on." + +Joe and Wilhart, flushed and panting, charged into the shower room. + +"There he is! Grab him!" Joe yelled. He seized Potts' arms and pulled +them behind in a brutal double hammerlock. + +"He's not giving any trouble," Nasen said. "What happened, Joe?" + +"Damn if I know. He was in the shower, and I turned my head for a +second. Next thing I knew, he was gone. What'd you find on him--a key or +a lock-pick or something like that?" + +Nasen grinned. "He didn't have even that much on when I first saw him. +He came into the day room and sat down, and Miss Davis like to threw a +fit." + +Wilhart tossed a bundle on the floor. "There's nothing in his own +clothes but a pack of cigarettes." + +"Where's the key, Orville Potts?" Joe grated, squeezing Potts's arms. +"You know what's going to happen to you? You'll get the pack room, or +maybe Ward D. How would you like Ward D, Orville Potts?" + +Nasen said, "If he had a key, he--" + +"You better run along, Nasen," Joe said. "I think Dr. Bean wants to talk +to you." + +"Well, I--uh--" Looking worried, Nasen left the shower room. + +Wilhart handed Joe a towel. + +"Leave me alone!" Potts yelled. + +Joe wrapped the towel around Potts's neck. "Where's the key, Orville +Potts?" + +"Help!" Potts cried. The towel tightened. + +With rapidly dimming vision, he saw Wilhart assume a stance. A huge fist +thudded against his shrunken stomach. He tried to scream, but the towel +cut off all air and sound. Again and again, the fist struck. + +Potts found himself sitting on the floor, gulping air into starved +lungs. For a moment, he hoped he had managed another transportation, but +the two white-clad human gorillas leering down at him proved he had not +left the shower room. + +"Get up," Joe said. + +They dragged Potts to his feet. Nasen opened the door, clamped his +teeth, and then opened his mouth to say, "Dr. Bean wants Orville Potts. +I'll--" + +"I'll take him," Joe said. + +Potts winced as spatulate fingers almost met through his biceps. His +feet barely touched the floor of the corridor when Joe marched him to +the office of Dr. Lawrence D. Bean. + + * * * * * + +Dr. Bean, a thin bald man, sat behind a maple desk and peered at Potts +over spectacles attached to a black ribbon. Joe shut the door and leaned +against it. + +"I've been hearing things about you, Orville," Dr. Bean said. "We'll +have a little examination. Now, hold your right arm out straight, close +your eyes, and touch the end of your nose with your index finger." + +"Can't we do without the foolishness?" Potts asked. He sank into the +chair beside the doctor's desk and gently rubbed his bruised arm. + +The doctor looked slightly startled, but said, "I'm pleased to hear you +speaking again, Orville. If you continue to talk to people, take an +interest in your surroundings, write home, you'll be out of here very +shortly." + +"He choked me," Potts said, pointing a thumb at Joe. "He choked me with +a towel, and the other one, that Wilhart, hit me in the stomach." + +Dr. Bean's spectacles jumped from his nose and dangled by the ribbon. He +focused a pair of bleary eyes on Potts and said, "You know they didn't, +Orville. The attendants are here for your benefit. They would never +subject a patient to physical violence." + +Potts laughed for the first time since he was hospitalized. He said, +"Why don't you ask me what I did with the key?" + +"What did you do with the key, Orville?" + +"Talk about monomaniacs!" Potts snickered. "You all have one-track +minds. You can't think of any way I could have escaped without stealing +a key. Is any key actually missing? Did anyone see me crossing the grass +or coming through the halls? I'll tell you how I did it. Exactly how. +You already think I'm nuts, so it won't matter." + +Again, Potts pointed at Joe. "Laughing boy here can bear me out. He was +about to whip me with his ice water, and I vanished. I vanished from the +shower and materialized in the dayroom." + +Dr. Bean replaced his glasses and grabbed a pad and pencil. + +"That's right, Doc," Potts approved. "Write it down. I'm giving you a +better break than you ever gave me. I've been in this hospital four +times, and no doctor ever sat down and explained what was wrong with me, +or tried to learn why. There was something about combat fatigue, +whatever that is, over in Italy. Otherwise, I don't know anything. If I +so much as raise my voice or break a dish at home, my wife has me +shipped back here as dangerously psychotic, or psycho-neurotic, or +something. Which makes it nice for her. + +"And what do you do when I come back? You give me electric shock +treatments and have your sadists whip me with P. T. baths, as if torture +could cure a sick mind! Maybe there's nothing wrong with my brain. Maybe +it's just different from yours, or this jerk's, if he has a brain." + +"Never mind, Joe," Dr. Bean cautioned in a theatrical aside. "Just stand +by." + +Potts smiled and said, "Take it all down. Then you can check your notes +and decide if it's schizophrenia, or catatonia, or psychasthenia, or +what not. I know a little about mental diseases from reading, and I'll +explain my theory the best I can." + + * * * * * + +Potts tapped his forehead with a forefinger and asked, "What is a brain? +You'll say it's an organ occupying the skull and forming the center of +the nervous system, and the seat of intellect, or some such thing. I +don't think so. It generates electricity. You know that. A nerve impulse +is a wave of electricity started and conducted by a nerve cell. You can +test it. You've made brain-wave patterns of some of the boys in the +ward. + +"The brain transforms energy into thought, or thought into energy. I'm +sitting here thinking and not moving my body at all. My brain is +transforming electric energy into thought. You're writing, and your +thoughts guide the movement of your hand. Thought into energy." + +Dr. Bean turned a page and continued to scribble rapidly. Potts heard +Joe move and felt the big attendant's presence behind his chair. + +Potts said, "The ability to think improves with use, like a muscle +growing stronger with use. The first time you memorize a poem, it's a +hard job. If you keep on memorizing, it becomes easier, until you read a +poem a couple of times and you have it. The same goes for remembering. +I'll bet you can't even remember how your breakfast tasted and smelled +this morning. Probably not even what you ate. + +"I practice remembering with all the senses. How things look and taste +and smell. Exact colors, shadows, size, impressions. Think of an +airplane, and you probably think of a little silver thing in the sky. +Actually, an airplane is much bigger than that, so your mental picture +of an airplane is all wrong. An airplane gives me a certain impression. +I have it only when looking at one. Maybe it's an unrecognized sense. I +have an entirely different impression when I'm looking at a horse." + +Dr. Bean threw down his pencil, caught his falling glasses, drew a +handkerchief from his breast pocket, and polished them. + +"Too deep for you, Doc?" Potts inquired. "Well, just assume that my +brain is a more powerful generator and transformer than any you ever +saw. I've developed it by memorizing, remembering, visualizing, working +problems in my head, and so on. I've been trying to make my brain take +complete control of my body. The body is composed of atoms, and the +atoms are electrical charges, protons and electrons. Therefore, you're +nothing but electricity in the shape of a man. + +"By changing myself to pure thought, or pure electricity, I believed +that I could escape to the past. Get away from this age where a man is +suspected of insanity if he so much as mislays his checkbook or kicks +his dog. People didn't used to be crazy unless they went around hacking +their relatives with an ax. + +"I tried to meet Columbus when he rowed ashore from the _Santa Maria_. I +tried to watch the Battle of Bunker Hill. I tried to lead the Charge of +the Light Brigade. I tried to invent an airplane during the Civil War. I +always failed, because I didn't have enough sensory knowledge of the +period, and I couldn't change the past. + +"I succeeded in P. T. because I transported myself through space instead +of time. I knew every detail of the day room, so it worked. My brain +reduced my body to its elemental charges in the P. T. bath and +reassembled it in the dayroom. Something like radio, with the brain +acting as sending set and receiver. Maybe we should call it philosophy, +Doc. What is reality? If I sit here in your office but imagine I'm +sitting in the dayroom, until the chair in the dayroom becomes more real +than this, where am I actually sitting?" + +Dr. Bean stood up, adjusted his glasses, and said, "Orville, I am going +to do as you asked. I am going to tell you exactly what is wrong with +you. You are suffering from distorted perception--illusions and +hallucinations, disorientation. You are also becoming an exhibitionist +and are developing a persecution complex. I thought, when you first came +in, that you had improved. But if you don't pull yourself together and +try to get well, you'll be in here a long time." + +Potts's chair overturned as he thrust himself up. He placed his thin +hands on the desk and said, "You psychiatrists can't see an inch in +front of your nose! All you can do is quote a textbook. If anybody +mentions mental telepathy, or predicting the future, or a sense of +perception, you classify them as insane. You think you've reduced the +mind to a set of rules, but you're still in kindergarten! I'll prove +every word I said! I'll vanish into the future! I can't change the past, +but the future hasn't happened yet! I can imagine my own!" + +Joe grabbed the fist that Potts shook under the doctor's nose and pinned +the patient's arms behind his back. + +"Take him upstairs to Ward K, Joe," Dr. Bean said. "To the pack room. +That should calm him." + +"So long, moron!" Potts called. + +"Let's go, Orville Potts," Joe said. "We're going to fix you up just +like an ice cream soda." + +"You won't pack me in ice," Potts promised. His thin body twisted in +pain. + +He closed his eyes tight and concentrated. + +Joe's great hands clamped into fists when Potts disappeared. + + * * * * * + +Potts opened his eyes. He lay face down on a padded acceleration couch +with broad straps across his brawny back and legs. Before his face, a +second hand swept around a clock toward a red zero. Potts twisted his +head slightly in the harness and looked at the beautiful young woman +strapped to the couch on his right. A shrieking warning siren blared +through the spaceship. + +The woman smiled. + +"Hia, ked," she said in strange new accents. "Secure your dentures. Next +stop, Alpha Centaurus!" + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Thought For Tomorrow, by Robert E. 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