decision. "I've got to do what I can," he said.
"I must take the chance. The uncertainty will torment me all my life if
I don't."

Dr. Winters shook his head. "I still wish I could persuade you against
it. You will find only disappointment."

"My mind is made up. Will you help me or not?"

"What can I do?"

"I can't go into space unless I can find some way of lifting, even
temporarily, this phobia that nearly drives me crazy at the thought of
going out there. Isn't there a drug, a hypnotic method, or something to
help a thing like this?"

"This isn't my field," said Dr. Winters. "But I suspect that the cause
of your trouble cannot be suppressed. It will have to be lifted.
Psycho-recovery is the only way to accomplish that. I can recommend a
number of good men. This, too, is very expensive."

"I should have done it for Alice--long ago," said Mel.

* * * * *

Dr. Martin, the psychiatrist, was deeply interested in Mel's problem.
"It sounds as if it is based on some early trauma, which has long since
been wiped from your conscious memory. Recovery may be easy or
difficult, depending on how much suppression of the original event has
taken place."

"I don't even care what the original event was," said Mel, "if you rid
me of this overwhelming fear of space. Dr. Winters said he thought
recovery would be required."

"He is right. No matter how much overlay you pile on top of such a
phobia to suppress it, it will continue to haunt you. We can make a
trial run to analyze the situation, and then we can better predict the
chance of ultimate success."

As a reporter, Mel Hastings had had vague encounters with the subject of
psycho-recovery, but he knew little of the details about it. He knew it
involved some kind of a machine that could tap the very depths of the
human mind and drag out the hidden debris accumulated in mental
basements and attics. But such things had always given him the willies.
He steered clear of them.

When Dr. Martin first introduced him into the psycho-recovery room his
resolution almost vanished. It looked more like a complex electronic
laboratory than anything else. A half dozen operators and assistants in
nurses' uniforms stood by.

"If you will recline here--," Dr. Martin was saying.

Mel felt as if he were being prepared for some inhuman biological
experiment. A cage of terminals was fitted to his head and a thousand
small electrodes adjusted to contact wit