"Uh, yes, sir."

"Very well, let's have a drill." Dr. Hendrix dug out an old astrogation log and selected a transition-approach problem similar to the one Max had set up earlier. Kelly took the manual, ready to act as his "numbers boy"--but did not call the translations. Max waited for the first one; when it did not come, he read the figures from the page shining in his mind and punched them in.

It continued that way. Kelly said nothing, but wet his lips and checked what Max did each time the doctor offered a bit of the problem. Kovak watched from nearby, his eyes moving from actor to actor.

At last Dr. Hendrix closed the book. "I see," he agreed, as if it were an everyday occurrence. "Jones, that is an extremely interesting talent. I've read of such cases, but you are the first I have met. You've heard of Blind Tom?"

"No, sir."

"Perhaps the ship's library has an account of him." The Astrogator was silent for a moment. "I don't mean to belittle your talent, but you are not to use it during an actual maneuver. You understand why?"

"Yes, sir. I guess I do."

"Better say that you are not to use it unless you think an error has been made--in which case you will speak up at once. But the printed tables remain the final authority."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Good. See me, please, in my room when you come off watch."

It was "day time" by the ship's clocks when he went off watch. He went to the passageway outside Dr. Hendrix's room and waited; there Ellie came across him. "Max!"

"Oh. Hello, Ellie." He realized uncomfortably that he had not seen her since his tentative promotion.

"Hello he says!" She planted herself in front of him. "You're a pretty sight--with your bloodshot eyes matching the piping on your shirt. Where have you been? Too good for your old friends? You haven't even been to see Chipsie."

He had been, once, although he had not run into Ellie. He had not repeated the visit because the shipmate who had replaced him had not liked being assigned as chambermaid to cows, sheep, llamas, _et al._; he had seemed to feel that it was Max's fault. "I'm sorry," Max said humbly, "but I haven't had time."

"A feeble excuse. Know what you are going to do now? You're going straight to the lounge and I am going to trim your ears--I've figured out a way to box your favorite gambit that will leave you gasping."

Max opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "No."

"Speak louder. You used a word I don't understand."

"Look, Ellie, be reasonable. I'm waiting for Dr. Hendrix and as soon as he lets me go I've got to get some sleep. I'm about ten hours minus."

"You can sleep any time."

"Not when you're standing four hours on and four off. You nap anytime you get a chance."

She looked perplexed. "You don't mean you work every other watch? Why, that's criminal."

"Maybe so but that's how it is."

"But--I'll fix that! I'll speak to the Captain."

"Ellie! Don't you dare!"

"Why not? Captain Blaine is old sugar pie. Never you mind, I'll fix it."

Max took a deep breath, then spoke carefully. "Ellie, don't say anything to the Captain, not anything. It's a big opportunity for me and I don't mind. If you go tampering with things you don't understand, you'll ruin my chances. I'll be sent back to the stables."

"Oh, he wouldn't do that."

"You don't understand. He may be an 'old sugar pie' to you; to me he is the Captain. So don't."

She pouted. "I was just trying to help."

"I appreciate it. But don't. And anyhow, I can't come to the lounge, ever. It's off limits for me."

"But I thought--I think you're just trying to avoid me. You run around up here now and you dress in pretty clothes. Why not?"

They were interrupted by Dr. Hendrix returning to his room. "Morning, Jones. Good morning, Miss Coburn." He went on in.

Max said desperately, "Look, Ellie, I've got to go." He turned and knocked on the Astrogator's door.

Dr. Hendrix ignored having seen him with Ellie. "Sit down, Jones. That was a very interesting exhibition you put on." The Astrogator went on, "I'm curious to know how far your talent extends. Is it just to figures?"

"Why, I guess not, sir."

"Do you have to study hard to do it?"

"No, sir."

"Hmm ... We'll try something. Have you read--let me see--any of the plays of Shakespeare?"

"Uh, we had _Hamlet_ and _As You Like It_ in school, and I read _A Winter's Tale_. But I didn't like it," he answered honestly.

"In that case I don't suppose you reread it. Remember any of it?"

"Oh, certainly, sir."

"Hmm--" Dr. Hendrix got down a limp volume.

"Let me see. Act two, scene three; Leontes says, 'Nor night nor day nor rest: it is but weakness ...'"

Max picked it up. "... it is but weakness to bear the matter thus; mere weakness. If the cause were not in being ..." He continued until stopped.

"That's enough. I don't care much for that play myself. Even the immortal Will had his off days. But how did you happen to have read that book of tables? Shakespeare at his dullest isn't that dull. I've never read them, not what one would call 'reading.'"

"Well, sir, Uncle Chet had his astrogation manuals at home after he retired and he used to talk with me a lot. So I read them."

"Do I understand that you have memorized the entire professional library of an astrogator?"

Max took a deep breath. "Well, sir, I've read them."

Dr. Hendrix took from his shelves his own tools of his profession. He did not bother with the binary tables, that being the one Max had shown that he knew. He leafed through them, asked Max questions, finally identifying what he wanted only by page number. He closed the last of them. "Whew!" he commented, and blinked. "While I am aware that there are numerous cases of your talent in the history of psychology, I must admit it is disconcerting to encounter one." He smiled. "I wonder what Brother Witherspoon would think of this."

"Sir?"

"Our High Secretary. I'm afraid he would be shocked; he has conservative notions about protecting the 'secrets' of our profession."

Max said uncomfortably, "Am I likely to get into trouble, sir? I didn't know it was wrong to read Uncle's books."

"What? Nonsense. There are no 'secrets' to astrogation. You use these books on watch, so does every member of the 'Worry' gang. The passengers can read them, for all I care. Astrogation isn't secret; it is merely difficult. Few people are so endowed as to be able to follow accurately the mathematical reasoning necessary to plan a--oh, a transition, let us say. But it suits those who bother with guild politics to make it appear an arcane art--prestige, you know." Dr. Hendrix paused and tapped on his chair arm. "Jones, I want you to understand me. Kelly thinks you may shape up."

"Uh, that's good, sir."

"But don't assume that you know more than he does just because you have memorized the books."

"Oh, no, sir!"

"Actually, your talent isn't necessary in the control room. The virtues needed are those Kelly has-- unflagging attention to duty, thorough knowledge of his tools, meticulous care for details, deep loyalty to his job and his crew and his ship and to those placed over him professionally. Kelly doesn't need eidetic memory, ordinary good memory combined with intelligence and integrity are what the job takes--and that's what I want in my control room."

"Yes, sir."

The Astrogator hesitated. "I don't wish to be offensive but I want to add this. Strange talents are sometimes associated with ordinary, or even inferior, mentality--often enough so that the psychologists use the term '_idiot savant_.' Sorry. You obviously aren't an idiot, but you are not necessarily a genius, even if you can memorize the Imperial Encyclopedia. My point is: I am more interested in your horse sense and your attention to duty than I am in your phenomenal memory."