"And now," he said suddenly, "I want you to tell me just who you
are."
"I--"
"Not James Carson," he said. "And not from Ancarta. Not even from
Wohlen."
"How do you know?" I said.
"Nobody on this planet," he said, "would do this job in just this way.
I'm familiar enough with the top men to be sure of that. You're from
the Comity."
"That's right," I said.
"But ... who are you? What force? What army?"
"No army," I said. "You might call me a teacher; my corps is made up
of teachers. We give lessons--where lessons are needed."
"A teacher," he said quietly. A long time passed. "Well," he asked,
"do I pass the course?"
"You pass," I told him. "You pass--with high marks, General."
* * * * *
I was off-planet within twenty-four hours. Not that Santa Claus didn't
want me to stay longer, when I told him what had happened. Hell, he
wanted to throw a banquet and sixteen speeches in my honor. I was a
holy Idol all over again. I was superhuman.
I was glad to get away. What makes them think a man's special, just
because he uses his brain once in a while?