The sound of cheering from the televisor became so ear-splitting that Vaine cut the volume, and then stood there, numbly cracking the fingers on his beautiful hands.
The picture on the screen whirled dizzily as the frantic operator panned too swiftly to pick up the image of the crowd, which was going mad with an enthusiasm that hurt them inside until they had to get it out, release it, let off their emotional energy. Women fainted, men wept, and the platform swayed dangerously as the amok crowd climbed over it to shake the hands of a new Messiah.
"I'll be damned," whispered Vaine, trying to comprehend hope, "I'll be completely damned." He cracked his long fingers slowly.
Stanton looked at his sandals as if he had never seen them before, and scowled. Parker ran his hand through his hair absently, forgetting that he no longer had any.
There was a buzzing in the next room.
Parker cursed all visaphones and vanished into the other room. They heard a bellowed, "Pleasure to you, too, and what the hell do you want?" Pause. "Oh." Another pause. Then: "Glad to hear it, Martin. Yes, it's a great thing all right. Huh? ... sure; thanks. Same to you. Glad you changed your mind. Pleasure, Martin."
Parker came back into the room. He tugged absently at his ear lobe. There was a strange look on his face. He noticed the stares of his fellow psychologists, and answered the question in their eyes.
"Remember that old duck, Martin Winter, the one with the registry full of credits he don't know what to do with—who came in here last week?"
He went on without waiting for an acknowledgement of acquaintance from the other two. "The old fool positively refused when he was here last time to have a transference to a robot body because he said he didn't have anything worth living for. But now he's determined to have the transference made, and to get transported to this other system. Wished me a happy trip over."
"Oh," said Vaine softly.