He spun away, wrenching the telescreen off as he did so.
But nothing changed, and he did not die. Somehow, there was no change
at all.
He sat upright, rigid, as though self-hypnotized for what could have
been hours or minutes. And there was no change, no awful, searing wave
of white heat, no last instant of torture before death.
Simply, suddenly, a light jar.
And Cragin wondered sardonically if his small rectangular bit of
enamelite would be at all impressive on the planet the Owners called
home.
* * * * *
Neither Cragin nor the girl ever saw the planet as such. And it was a
planet, Cragin learned, a planet little larger than Earth, honeycombed
with subterranean tubes and chambers as had been the control point; a
labyrinth which contained a civilization of little more than twenty
million members; a headquarters for those who ran and owned the
universe.
They were escorted to the testing place by two creatures of the fourth
grade; bipeds, shorter than men, with hunched backs and splayed
tentacles for arms and hands. Cragin noted that they carried armament
of a sort; simple tube-like objects which were aimed at him while he
was relieved of his Krells.
Then he and Lin Griffin were placed in a bullet-shaped vehicle, one
of the guards operating its controls and the other stationing himself
behind them.
Cragin was not prepared for the girl's sudden outburst and jerked his
hands vainly at the empty holsters at his hips.
"Of course we can escape from these simpletons!" she cried. "We can
easily overpower these dimwitted brutes--"
There was no reaction from their guards; Cragin's hands relaxed slowly.
"What--"
"Don't you understand? They're fourth grade--two less than our
cloaked friend. They are our guards, so of course our superiors in
intelligence, but still not on a high enough plane to interpret the
emanations of pure thought as he was."
"You'll do, I guess. But I've still got a feeling that if either of us
twitches an eyebrow--"
She continued as though he had not spoken. "He took your guns; we're
now held prisoner under weapons. They have to rely on material means of
power. Look, Cragin!"
Highly-polished curved metal walls of an alloy comprised of ores that
he could not begin to identify flashed past at such speed that all
sensation of motion was negated. There was no sound.
"I'm looking."
"It's a safe bet the tests will be something devised by the
Owners themselves. Something that will measure our total thought
potential--something based on an extremely advanced function of
psychometrics."
"You're over my head again."
"If we're acceptable, Cragin, we're established in one grade or
another--and will be constantly under the supervision of creatures of
the next highest grade--that's the way it's been working so far, with
the exception of the little excursion we're taking now."
"In other words--"
"In other words, we've got to think in the simplest patterns possible.
Childish things. Anything that will belie our true intelligence level.
What's your I.Q.?"
"I didn't ask you how old you were, duchess, but I test out at an
embarrassed 158 or so."
"We match within ten points. It'll have to do. Because we've got to
fake--test out at about 115."
"Like I say, you'll do. Testing out at 115, our bosses on the next
level shouldn't be a shred above 130 or so. So--"
"So we've got them by almost a 30-point margin. We'll be in a position
to out-think our immediate guards, and perhaps even those over them.
It's our only hope."
"Mental imposters.... You just forgot one little item, honey."
"Oh of course. They're the masters of all, so there's no possibility
that a mere human--"
"Take it easy. I didn't say it's no go. Just wondering if 115's are
acceptable. If not, you know what happens. We go to the bottom of the
class never to rise again. Maybe even 160's aren't eligible. Remember,
the control points are hidden relative to the mental ability of the
civilizations whose planets they control. Only people who exceed the
Owners' estimate--"
"If they control our system, they control billions of others--we were
told that. Some higher, some certainly lower. And we did discover the
point."
"You and your father. I never would have."
"Look, Cragin. It's the only chance there is. But if I fake and you
don't--"
"Yeah. You think it'll work?"
"I don't know."
"But you'd rather die, that it, than be a knowing slave to another
civilization, even though it is undisputed master of--"
"That's why I'd rather die, Cragin! Because they're false masters!"
He didn't reply. She was confusing him again, and perhaps the basic
reason for the confusion was that he didn't understand why she mixed
him up. If there was anything Earth's culture stood for, it was the
integrity of the fact--maturation and development of the individual
through strict adherence to the known. Only the proven fact was worthy
of belief and acceptable as a basis for thought. Nothing else.
But the girl wasn't behaving that way.
"All right. We gamble that an IQ of 115 is acceptable. Then we gamble
that we can effect a break. In other words we just take a chance on a
chance; make a really long shot out of it."
"Will you, Cragin?"