The great illusion

By MANLY BANNISTER
illustrated by KELLY FREAS
There was something phony about the whole set-up on that planet. Their culture was counterfeit. But why did they go to so much trouble to put on their act?
Cliff Rowley's lean jowls beaded with sweat in the stagnant warmth of the tent. He tapped a bony finger on the camp table and glared at the communicator.
Clear out in a week! Why?
Commander Waldo Spliid's tired voice trickled from the communicator grid. Rowley would have appreciated video hook-up now. He wondered how Spliid's features portrayed his thoughts.
Here's final classification on Hume, Cliff. Category two X sub one.
Closed world! Rowley groaned. We've only been here three months!
Eleven men in the field, Cliff. You're the odd ball. Everybody else is satisfied. Hume is only a step above savagery in culture. Top rating is satisfied. I don't like the conflicting picture of it, myself, but....
Nor I, Rowley stabbed. The look in his hazel eyes hardened.
You wouldn't, Spliid said calmly, even without seeing the reports. You're a percie, Cliff—our only psi-sensitive on Hume. But you've got to do a lot more than you've done yet to impress top rating. They're keener on the things you can't do than the things you can.
A few more months, Commander....