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the Gray Man had accused her of having a psychological block? That was nothing
more than his own trouble with the catalyst in different form. The catalyst
was a psychological prop an emotional prop, for that matter in his case.
The thought of the catalyst as nothing more than a prop brought a sense of
relief to him. It was as if, somewhere inside him, a barrier had gone down.
But before he had time to examine the feeling of relief, Waka came back.
"That was Communications Central, running what they said was a routine spot
check," Waka said. "When you called here, were you using somebody else's
credit card?"
"That's right," said Chaz.
"Get rid of it then, before they catch you with it on you. Will you?" Waka was
not obviously sweating, but he passed a hand across his forehead as if to wipe
away perspiration. "Do you realize records will show that particular card made
a call to my number? If they connect the card with you, it'll be
known you called me."
"What difference would that make?" Chaz asked, looking at the examiner
closely. "It's natural I'd make one last try to get accepted for the Mass.
And, once accepted, the authorities can't do anything about it to me or you."
"You don't understand," said Waka, shortly. He turned away to sit down at a
small table a real table, not one extruded from floor or wall. He opened a
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drawer and took out a pair of achromatic goggles and a tube of mixed colors.
"Sit down. Just get rid of it, I tell you."
Chaz seated himself.
"Who are you worried about, except the authorities?" he asked. He looked
thoughtfully at Waka. "You don't happen to have anything to do with the
Citadel, yourself?"
"Put on the glasses," said Waka, shoving them across the tabletop. "What color
do you want to try to separate from the rest?"
"Wait a minute." Chaz let the glasses lie. "The only people you could be
worried about would have to be from the Citadel.
But if you belong to them, why are you giving me this test?
From what I've seen so far, for some reason the last place the
Citadel wants me is on the Mass. How is it you're giving me a chance to go
there?"
"Because I'm a goddam fool!" burst out Waka. "Stop asking questions! Put on
the glasses."
Chaz picked them up, but he did not immediately put them on.
"Tell me something else first," he said, "just one more thing; and then I'll
put them on and we can get into the test.
Did you ever know anybody you thought ought to qualify for work on the Mass,
but who didn't seem to be able to pass the test because of some psychological
block?"
"Yes, yes of course! I told you they were always self-convinced if they did
it! Now, if you don't start taking this test right away, I'm not going to give
it to you. Choose a color."
"Right," said Chaz.
He spoke absentmindedly. A strange thing was happening inside him. it was as
if his inner world of personal knowledge was being turned upside down so that
what had been west was now east and north had become south. If Waka was
telling the truth, and his own inner feelings were correct, then a catalyst
had never been necessary to anyone. How had the idea of such a thing gotten
started, then? And yet, though it did not jar him to give up the idea of the
catalyst, his conviction about the figure of the crystal growing in the
nutrient solution was stronger than ever, Suddenly, he felt perfectly sure and
certain inside about his ability to pass the test, with or without a catalyst.
He put the glasses on: and everything in the room around him went gray.
"Choose." said Waka.
Chaz looked and saw the rice grains spread out on the tabletop before him.
"Red." he answered.
He stared at the grains. They were all one identical color:
but when he looked for those that might be colored red they appeared to stand
out to his eye as if they had been individually equipped with flags. Something
shouted "red" at him although his eye refused to see any color difference
whatsoever.
This time he did not bother to take the grains one at a time and line them up
so that later he would he able to tell where he had gone wrong. There was
simply no way he could go wrong. He merely brushed away all grains of the
wrong color
and corralled those he was after in a small pile.
Then he took off the glasses. He had not failed. The red-colored grains were
all together in the pile he had made.
Waka sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. All at once the tension he had
shown earlier was drained out of him.
"Well, that's it, then," Waka said. "It's done now."
He reached over and pressed the buttons on his phone.
There was a second's hesitation, then a single musical note sounded briefly
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from the speaker.
"Pritcher Mass Central," said a voice. "Recording your report. Examiner
Alexander Waka."
"I've just examined and found qualified a volunteer for work on the Mass."
Waka said. "His name is Charles Roumi
Sant. Citizen Number " he looked at Chaz. raising his eyebrows.
"418657991B," Chaz supplied.
"41865799lB,"Waka repeated to the phone. "He'll want to leave for the Mass as
soon as possible. Meanwhile, he may need immunity from Earth's legal
procedure."
The phone said nothing for a moment. Then the voice at the other end spoke
again.
"We check the name Charles Roumi Sant with the records earlier supplied us by
you, on a volunteer tested five times previously without success. We have
already signalled Police
Central that this man is signed for work on the Mass and no interference with
his departure for the Mass must be permitted. Charles Roumi Sant may place
himself directly under Mass protection at our Central Headquarters Chicago
office, or he may have free time for nine hours until 2000
hours this evening; at which time he will report to the office, ready for
departure to the Mass."
"He'll come immediately " [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]