"Not any different than usual," she said, laughing. "You continued to
hold the controls, but you stared vacantly and tensed quite a bit. Well,
we have the complete recording on your reactions if you want to check.
Naturally, you pulled off course, ended up over Mexico, gaining about
fifty miles in altitude."
The others, thought Grant, rode until their oxygen gave out or dived
through the atmosphere without skin-cooling, or came out of it too late
and found-- He decided not to think about it.
"But I don't think I'm hypnotic," Grant protested.
"Everyone is hypnotic to a degree. Some are a great deal more than
others, and these are the ones that are apparent. Impose the right
conditions and a quasi-hypnotic condition could be affected on most
anyone."
"But why hasn't this happened elsewhere?"
Bridget took a quick bite of fish before he could stop her. "It has.
First documentation I found was in the South Pacific air war in the
'40s. One-man escorting fighter planes in several cases slipped out of
bomber formations they were following at night and splashed. One of the
explanations at their hearings, but never investigated thoroughly, was
hypnosis from the single red taillight of the bombers. In one outfit,
the losses stopped when the fighters flew up front."
"Not only sharp, but good-looking, too," Grant admired, and began
chewing on the other half of his French bread. Then he ceased
masticating and mouthed anxiously, "You've told the general this?"