“I am certain that they would have been condemned as unfit for food. So don’t worry about it. Besides, as you say, it was a necessity. You grokked the fullness and acted rightly.”

“I am much comforted,” Mike answered with great relief in his voice. “Only an Old One can always be sure of right action at a cusp . . . and I have much learning to learn and much growing to grow before I may join the Old Ones. Jubal? May I move it? I am tiring.”

“You want to make it go away now? Go ahead.”

“But now I cannot.”

“Eh? Why not?”

“Your head is no longer under it. I do not grok wrongness in its being, where it is.”

“Oh. All right. Move it.” Harshaw continued to watch it, expecting that it would float to the spot now over his head and thus regain a wrongness. Instead the ash tray moved downward at a slow, steady speed, moved sideways until it was close above his desk top, hovered for a moment, then slid to an empty spot and came in to an almost noiseless landing.

“Thank you, Jubal,” said Smith.

“Eh? Thank you, son!” Jubal picked up the ash tray, examined it curiously. It was neither hot nor cold nor did it make his fingers tingle—it was as ugly, over-decorated, commonplace, and dirty as it had been five minutes earlier. “Yes, thank you. For the most amazing experience I’ve had since the day the hired girl took me up into the attic.” He looked up. “Anne, you trained at Rhine.”

“Yes.”

“Have you seen levitation before?”

She hesitated slightly. “I’ve seen what was called telekinesis with dice—but I’m no mathematician and I could not testify that what I saw was telekinesis.”

“Hell’s bells, you wouldn’t testify that the sun had risen if the day was cloudy.”

“How could I? Somebody might be supplying artificial light from above the cloud layer. One of my classmates could apparently levitate objects about the mass of a paper clip—but he had to be just three drinks drunk and sometimes he couldn’t do it at all. I was never able to examine the phenomenon closely enough to be competent to testify about it . . . partly because I usually had three drinks in me by then, too.”

“Then you’ve never seen anything like this?”

“No.”

“Mmm . . . I’m through with you professionally; I’m convinced. But if you want to stay and see what else happens, hang up your robe and drag up a chair.”

“Thanks, I will—both. But, in view of the lecture you gave Jill about mosques and synagogues, I’ll go to my room first. I wouldn’t want to cause a hiatus in the indoctrination.”

“Suit yourself. While you’re out, wake up Duke and tell him I want the cameras serviced again.”

“Yes, Boss. Don’t let anything startling happen until I get back.” Anne headed for the door.

“No promises. Mike, sit down here at my desk. You, too, Jill—gather ’round. Now, Mike, can you pick up that ash tray? Show me.”

“Yes, Jubal.” Smith reached out and took it in his hand.

“No, no!”

“I did wrongly?”

“No, it was my mistake. Mike, put it back down. I want to know if you can lift that ash tray without touching it?”

“Yes, Jubal.”

“Well? Are you too tired?”

“No, Jubal. I am not too tired.”

“Then what’s the matter? Does it have to have a ‘wrongness’ about it?”

“No, Jubal.”

“Jubal,” Jill interrupted, “you haven’t told him to do it—you’ve just asked him if he could.”

“Oh.” Jubal looked as sheepish as he was capable of looking, which was not much. “I should learn. Mike, will you please, without touching it with your hands, lift that ash tray a foot above the desk?”

“Yes, Jubal.” The ash tray raised, floated steadily above the desk. “Will you measure, Jubal?” Mike said anxiously. “If I did wrongly, I will move it up or down.”

“That’s just fine! Can you hold it there? If you get tired, tell me.”

“I can. I will tell.”

“Can you lift something else at the same time? Say this pencil? If you can, then do it.”

“Yes, Jubal.” The pencil ranged itself neatly by the ash tray.

By request, Mike added other small articles from the desk to the layer of floating objects. Anne returned, pulled up a chair and watched the performance without speaking. Duke came in, carrying a step ladder, glanced at the group, then looked a second time, but said nothing and set the ladder in one corner. At last Mike said uncertainly, “I am not sure, Jubal. I—” He stopped and seemed to search for a word. “I am idiot in these things.”