The Tenth Planet by Edmund Cooper

reacting in total isolation, we could not have subjective verification, at least for some time. It could be argued—and was argued—that an isolated brain might be suffering terrible torments of which we could have no knowledge. There were social considerations, too. Our community, as you are aware, is very small by the standards of your era. Everyone has many relations who are naturally concerned about their welfare. The experimental use of a Minervan brain would have brought too many complications. But, thanks to the progress you have made, immortality is within our grasp.”
    “So now you know that a brain can survive the terrors ofisolation without entirely losing its sanity. Bully for you. And now all decent law-abiding Minervans can look forward to the prospect of immortality. Bully for them. I, on the other hand, am not feeling unreservedly happy about my own condition … Also, I want to see my children, and their teacher.”
    Manfrius de Skun raised an eyebrow. “
Your
children, Captain Hamilton?”
    “Yes,
my
children. I am of Earth, they are of Earth. They were in my charge. They are my children. You may have restored them to life; but that does not give you any right to determine their future.”
    “You believe that you have a stronger claim?”
    “I believe that, since I am of their culture, born on the planet they were born on, I have not a claim but a duty. So let us stop swapping abstract nouns. I want to see the children. Don’t think that because I am just a brain in a tank that I have no bargaining position. I can wreck your immortality project any time I want.”
    “And how do you propose to do that?”
    Idris laughed. “Simple. By demonstrating that I am insane.”
    Manfrius de Skun sighed. “You are more intelligent than we anticipated, Captain Hamilton. I am both delighted and alarmed. However, as the monitors have revealed, your stress factor is abnormally high. It is my decision that you should rest once more while we consider all the implications of your present condition.”
    “I’m doing fine, Dr. de Skun. I don’t need to rest. All I want is—”
    Abruptly sound and vision faded; and Idris was left alone momentarily with unexpressed thoughts. Then they, too, were engulfed by darkness. And there was nothing—not even dreams.

13
    H E WOKE UP in his bunk. The cabin light was on. He looked at his hands. They were sweating, shaking.
    There had been dreams. He remembered them. He remembered them vividly. Dreams! Such dreams!
    Apprehensively, he felt his head. No scars, no wounds, no bandages. A normal head.
    But in the dreams …
    He did not want to think about them. He willed himself not to think about them.
    Something was wrong. He did not want to think about that, either. But he had to think about it. The implications were enormous.
    He should have been in a field of zero G.
    He wasn’t.
    He moved carefully. All his limbs ached, felt strange, felt as they might feel if he had been drinking too much yet remained illusively sober. They felt abnormally heavy, heavier than they should feel on either Mars or Earth. Perhaps he had been ill.
    That could be it.
    He remembered that he had been near to breakdown before lift-off from Earth. He remembered his conversation with Orlando, the written authorisation that would enable Orlando to place him under restraint if, in Orlando’s opinion, the captain had flipped.
    Carefully, he got out of the bunk. The cabin seemed wrong. Something seemed wrong. But then probably something or everything would seem wrong if he really had fallen off his trolley.
    His limbs ached abominably. Jesus Christ, why? Slowly, agonisingly, he made his way to the door. It was locked.
    All very right and proper. It figured. If you have a mad captain on your hands, lock him up and throw away the key before he does something stupid, like wrecking the vessel. Especially if said captain had the wit to give you the necessary authority before he started picking daisies …
    The