Guerlan gazed at the exquisite face before him, and said laconically, "On the contrary." He was too confused for words just now.
"My name is Perlac," the girl scientist said without preamble. "Listen carefully. This conveyor happens to be the only one that leads to the aero-dome. All the rest have no exit, for although you do not know it, every rest period you are directed to exit-conveyors by magnetic coordinators that act on impulses sent by Selectors. These selectors are attuned to the mental wave-length of the individual. No scientist, analyst or technician may leave a plastic center without being tested and their fitness for even limited temporary freedom established ... not even to rest! That is why the direction of the conveyors is changed for every allotment period and no one is permitted to know which is the exit conveyor! Had you remained in City of the Sphere and joined the Inner Circle, you would have learned all this."
Guerlan stared at Perlac in incredulity. "But ... where are the Selectors? I've never seen them!"
"Is that strange? They're in the walls, imbedded in the flooring beneath your feet ... oh, in a thousand places! But we've no time for involved explanations just now. We're nearing the Aero-dome. Prepare for the worst; but if we can get to my plane, we'll be beyond capture."
"In a slow, propulsion type craft?" Guerlan asked unbelievingly. "We'll be captured in minutes, if not blasted out of the Second Level by Robot-Proctors!"
Perlac turned and gazed into the young analyst's eyes; a gentle, slow smile illumined her features like a tardy dawn.
Suddenly they were at the vast platform that exited into the Aero-dome, but where the great section of wall should have slid aside, it remained blank and hermetically closed. It was a definite dead end.
Far below them a greenish opalescence began to rise in tenuous, billowing clouds, and the faint odor of new-mown hay came almost imperceptibly to their nostrils. From the bowels of the gigantic plant, robot-proctors began to debouch onto the blue conveyor in serried ranks, impervious to death. Guerlan gazed curiously at the girl scientist. "Looks like your plan has failed, Perlac. What I can't understand is why you've thrown your lot in with me. I'm condemned ... first it was to Level II, then for six failures to the living death of Level III, and now that I have rebelled, I have no end but death. You must have known there were six failures!"
"Yes, I knew ... that's why I'm here." The unearthly voice was barely a whisper. "Ever since the night you were at the Feast of the Jewels and you were appalled at the debauchery of the Inner Circle, you have been chosen. And my plan has not failed!" There was a world of conviction in the exquisite voice, yet she said it softly, very softly indeed.