"We've done all we can. Those Sadrians need something that a
preliminary expedition like ours can't give them. Right now they are
willing victims of a rigid religious code that makes it impossible for
any one of them to express his wants, hopes, ideals or misfortunes to
another. Exchanging confidences, to them, is the ultimate sacrilege."
"Then they _are_ crazy. They'd have to be, with no more opportunity for
emotional catharsis than that!"
"They're not insane, they're--adapted. Those robot images you found
are everything to this culture: arbiters, commercial agents, monitors
and confessors all in one. They not only relay physical needs from one
native to another; they listen to all problems and give solutions.
They're _Counselors_, remember? Man's gregariousness stems largely from
his need to unload his troubles on someone else. The Hymenops came up
with an efficient substitute here, and the natives accepted it as the
norm."
Farrell winced with sudden understanding. "No wonder the poor devils
cracked up right and left. With their Ringwave dead, they might as well
have been struck blind and dumb! They couldn't even get together among
themselves to figure a way out."
"There you have it," Stryker said. "They knew we were responsible for
their catastrophe, but they couldn't bring themselves to ask us for
help because we were human beings like themselves. So they went mad one
by one and committed the ultimate blasphemy of shouting their misery in
public, and their fellows had to kill them or countenance sacrilege.
But they'll quiet down now. They should be easy enough to handle by the
time the Reorientation lads arrive."
He began to chuckle. "We left their Counselors running, but we
disconnected the hypnosis-renewal circuits. They'll get only what
they need from now on, which is an outlet for shifting their personal
burdens. And with the post-hypnotic compulsion gone, they'll turn to
closer association with each other. Human gregariousness will reassert
itself. After a couple of generations, the Reorientation boys can write
them off as Terran Normal and move on to the next planetary madhouse
we've dug up for them."
Farrell said wonderingly, "I never thought of the need to exchange
confidences as being so important. But it is; everyone does it. You and
I often talk over personal concerns, and Gib--"
He broke off to study the intent pair at the chessboard, comparing
Gibson's calm selfsufficiency to the mechanical's bland competence.
"There's an exception for your theory, Lee. Iron Man Gibson never gave
out with a confidence in his life!"
Stryker laughed. "You may be right. How about it, Gib? Do you ever feel
the need of a wailing wall?"
Gibson looked up briefly from his game, his square face unsurprised.
"Well, sure. Why not? I tell my troubles to Xavier."
When they looked at each other blankly, he added, with the nearest
approach to humor that either Farrell or Stryker had ever seen in him:
"It's a reciprocal arrangement. Xav confides his to me."