official.
And myself—but no! I adhere to my resolution, and I’ll say
nothing of my past life. Modesty? I wish I could claim as much!”
“End!”
Sklar Hast drew a deep breath and stepped back from the machine. He
did not look toward Zander Rohan; it would have been an act of
malignant gloating to have done so. For he had driven the machine as
fast as its mechanism permitted. No man alive could have winked
faster, with a more powerful driving rhythm. Ixon Myrex examined the
clock. “Time: one hundred seventy-two seconds,” he said
reluctantly. “Norm … This seems incorrect. Two hundred
eight?”
“Two hundred
eight is correct,” said Rubal Gallager dryly. “There were
no mistakes.”
Ixon Myrex and Semm
Voiderveg chewed their lips glumly. Freeheart Noe calculated the
score: 36/208, or a remarkable 17.3 minus!
Zander Rohan
stepped forward bravely enough and poised himself before the machine.
“Wink!” cried Ixon Myrex in a voice that cracked from
tension. And Zander Rohan’s once precise fingers stiffened with his
own fears and tension, and his careful rhythm faltered. All in the
room stood stiff and embarrassed.
Finally he called:
“End!”
Ixon Myrex read the
clock. “Two hundred and one seconds.”
“There were
two mistakes,” said Semm Voiderveg.
Rubal Gallager
started to speak, then held his tongue.
He had noted at
least five instances which an exacting observer—such as
Zander Rohan himself—might have characterized as error. But
the contest was clearly one-sided. Two hundred and one seconds, plus
six penalty seconds gave Zander Rohan a score of 1/208 or 0.48 minus.
The fourth exercise
was from the Memorium of Hedwig Swin, who, like Wilson Snyder,
maintained reserve in regard to her caste.
Ixon Myrex set the
clock with unwilling lingers, called out the starting signal. Sklar
Hast winked easily, without effort, and the configurations spilled
forth in a swift flow:
“A soft,
beautiful world! A world of matchless climate, indescribable beauty,
a world of water and sky, with, to the best of my knowledge, not one
square inch of solid ground. Along the equator where the sea-plants
grow, the ocean must be comparatively shallow, though no one has
plumbed the bottom. Quite certainly this world will never be scarred
and soiled by an industrial civilization, which, of course, is all
very well Still, speaking for myself, I would have welcomed a jut of
land or two: a good honest mountain, with rocks and trees with roots
gripping the soil, a stretch of beach, a few meadows, fields, and
orchards. But beggars can’t be choosers, and compared with our
original destination this world is heaven.”
“End!”
Ixon Myrex spoke
tersely. “Time: one hundred forty-one. Norm: one hundred sixty.”
All was lost for
Zander Rohan. To win he would have to wink for a score of twenty-five
or thirty, or perhaps even higher. He knew he could not achieve this
score and winked without hope and without tension and achieved his
highest score of the test: a strong 12.05 minus. Nonetheless he had
lost, and now, by the guild custom., he must resign his post and give
way to Sklar Hast. He could not bring himself to speak the words.
Meril turned on her
heel, departed the building.
Zander Rohan
finally turned to Sklar Hast. He had started to croak a formal
admission of defeat when Semm Voiderveg stepped quickly forward, took
Zander Rohan’s arm, pulled him aside.
He spoke in urgent
tones while Sklar Hast looked on with a sardonic grin. Iron Myrex
joined the conversation and pulled his chin doubtfully. Zander Rohan
stood less erect than usual, his fine bush of white hair limp and his
beard twisted askew. From time to time he shook his head in forlorn
but unemphatic objection to Semm Voiderveg’s urgings.
But Semm Voiderveg
had his way and turned toward Sklar Hast. “A serious defect in
the test has come to light. I fear it cannot be validated.” ‘
“Indeed?”
asked Sklar Hast. “And how is this?”
“It