But he didn't have time to think, to plan a solution of the problem, for already the outpouring technicians were sweeping him onward in a desperate exodus toward the multiple conveyors that reached every section and floor of the titanic structure that was known as Plastic No. 15. Once as he was being pushed forward by the press of horrified analysts, synthetizers, selectors, graders and all the technical complement of the Second Order who actually transformed all foods, materials, minerals and in fact everything produced in Neptune, he glimpsed the calm features of the scientist he had first seen at the Feast of the Jewels in the City of the Sphere, and it seemed to him there was a hint of pity in the violet eyes.
Guerlan's face was white as Jadite as he roared orders in an effort to stem the maddened flood of men. He exhorted them to don their masks of crysto-plast and try to hold back the expected explosion, but no one paid any attention; it was doubtful if they even understood him in their growing horror of the dread, corrosive acid that converted organic matter into a secret formula that none but the Scientists of the Inner Circle were permitted to know anything about. They never saw the final product under the penalty of death.
At last they debouched into the conveyors, and Guerlan, among a group of others, was taken to the Dispersors—platforms where the ultra-sensitive dispersal machines sensitized to the vibrations of their individual plastic wrist-band of rank, unerringly sent them to their proper levels.
Guerlan's generous mouth was compressed into a pale scimitar. His odd, slanting green eyes with long dark lashes, were almost black with rebellious fury. Suddenly he was shunted into a special conveyor and a platform where the conveyors to the inner corridors revolved.
"They already know!" He exclaimed bitterly. And he was not wrong. For presently a plastic arm the color and texture of aluminum, but incredibly stronger gathered him in and gently pushed him into an alcove that immediately became hermetically sealed the very moment he had entered. Guerlan saw that he was in an Efficiency Cubicle where technicians were periodically tested. Before him stood a towering Neuro-graph entirely fashioned of several types of plastics including crystallite, as transparent as its namesake. It was an invention so complicated that it resembled nothing so much as a multiplication of tesseracts. Presently it became activated by Guerlan's mental frequency, and one of its slender rods moved forward silently.
A magnetic current went through the analyst and held him rigid, while another rod clamped a plastic helmet over the young man's head. For several seconds the almost inaudible sighing of the complex machinery was the only thing that disturbed the silence. Then, in precise, clipped tones an uncannily human voice began in sonorous tones to summarize his mental and physical coordinates:
"Efficiency totally neutralized by intense mental stress. Subject suffering from psycho-atavistic retrogression. Paranoiac tendencies with delusions of persecution. Immediate fear of death ... intense."
There was a pause in which Guerlan had time to remember how many times he had attended councils with other Scientists of the First Order, when the readings of the Master Neuro-graph on the First Level from which he'd been ejected, had been tabulated from the readings of the various neuro-graphs in the Plastic Centers and transmitted to the Council of the Inner Circle in the City of the Sphere. Guerlan, his eyes flaming, his face mutinous, awaited for the recommendation. It was not long in coming.