Assam—vegetarian culture—grain husks unused for plastics because of blight-weakness following second A-war—could serve as fifth-depth foundation for second-run non-moving byways.... Patagonia first-line producer of non-weakened grain husks—transportation limited by seasonal deep-frost—atomic heat considered uneconomical for this problem—transportation limited to third-class surface vehicles—
Ray checked the stream of information selected by Janet. Seek possibility of using synthetic mesh on temporary laydown basis.... Ray was team coordinator, who assembled the facts selected by Janet, put them in shape toward solution of the problem.
Then it was Lynne's turn. In a way, save that all three of them were vital to team-success, she was top-dog. It was up to her to listen to Janet's stream of information, to follow Ray's assembly job, to say, "This will work," or, "This will not work," or perhaps, "This will work if we do such-and-such, rather than thus-and-so."
There weren't many who could fill this job of synthesizer without too-wide variance from the judgments of the machine itself. Consequently there weren't very many teams actually at work—perhaps a score, give or take a few, at any one time. Such synthesization demanded a quality almost akin to intuition—but intuition disciplined and controlled to give results as often as needed.
She concentrated now, though her head was troubling her again, keying her whole being to Janet, then to Ray. And to her horror she began to get a picture—not of the problem of using waste matter to abet highway construction in Assam without disrupting the climate-limited transportation of Patagonia, but of the thoughts and feelings of Janet Downes.
It was frightening to realize that she was reading everything Janet kept carefully concealed behind the sardonic mask of her personality. It was disturbing to discover how much she herself was resented and hated and feared by Janet. It was horrifying to learn how hungry was Janet, how she thirsted to smash Lynne's attachment to Ray, how she planned to use the problem of the headache to discredit Lynne, not only with Mother Weedon and the Mind-Authority but with Ray himself.
I must be going crazy, Lynne thought and became sickeningly aware that she had missed a query from Ray. She turned her attention toward him, found herself enmeshed in a confused jumble of thoughts in which Janet figured with shocking carnality, while she herself was fully clothed and placed on a pedestal resembling a huge and grotesquely ugly frog. Why, she thought, Ray fears me—almost hates me!
Once again she had lost the thread. Desperately she strove to catch up, found herself issuing an answer. Suggest employment of sea-transport to solve problem.
Where had that one come from? Lynne wondered. The ocean lanes had not been used for two-thirds of a century, save for fishing and excursions. But hundreds of the old double-hulled cataliners of the pre-atomic air-age were still in their huge cocoon-capsules in various nautical undertakers' parlors.
She watched the large indicator breathlessly, wondering what the machine would answer. Almost certainly a 1.3 variation—which would mean the problem would be shunted to another team. An 0.2 variation was considered normal. Lynne's decisions, over the eleven months of her assignment, had averaged 0.13. Her best mark had been an 0.08.