"There was—more than once—?"
"Yes, of course. There were experiments. I was de-conditioned and then conditioned again four times. Each time, they'd send me out for a few weeks' service, see how I reacted. This is my fifth round. I've gotten to where I hate the very thought of being pushed back down to pattern level. It's flat, all of it—flat and grey and ugly—"
I stopped short, rigid.
Only now Celeste clutched at me, shaking. "Mark, Mark! Don't you see—?"
My hands began to tremble. Then my shoulders. Then my whole body.
And Celeste: "Mark, there's a thing they call—displacement. A way people have of switching headaches. Maybe a man hates his wife. But he's always been taught that he should love her, and the teaching runs so deep he can't hit her.
"Then, by accident, he runs into some other trouble—a little thing, maybe; someone's poor work, or a joke, or bad manners.
"Do you know what he does then, Mark? Can you guess?"
I said thickly, "Nothing. Not if he's been properly conditioned."