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SIGMUND IN SPACE by Barry N. MalzbergFreud walks the anterior corridors of the Whipperly VI meditating on thesituation. The captain is a manic-depressive. The navigator has a severe oedipalblock which is gradually destroying him he is unable to attain orgasm eventhough the mechanicals are skilled and devoted. The hydroponics expert a grimwoman in her nineties is manifesting advanced symptoms of dementia praecoxand at least half the crew by all standards of early-twentieth-century Viennawhich must of necessity be his touchstone is neurotic to the point ofdysfunction: depressive reactions conversion hysteria bizarre sexual urges andthe like. Clearly the administrators must have been desperate to place him on thisvessel. Freud hardly knows where to begin. What can he do Whatpsychotherapeutic techniques which by definition require patience can possiblyprevail in this emergency If Freud were not so wondrously confident of hisabilities so protectively despairing he would be most undone. The rhythm of his pacing increases. Freud risks greedy little glances at thehuge screens glinting around him looking at the disorder of a constellation asmudge of stars. Here in the late twenty-fifth century space exploration is notroutine the Whipperly VI is on a dangerous mission to the hitherto-unprobedVegans. The view of the universe from a distance of so many light-years fromVienna is astonishing. Freud would not have dreamed that such things werepossible. Furthermore he would not have dreamed that as technology advancedthe common neuroses would prevail. Of course that was foolish. The pain theschism the older ironies would prevail. Freud shrugs. He reaches inside his vest pocket for a cigar and match lightsthe cigar with a flourish watches smoke whisk into the ventilators
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