“I want to become a Citizen of the Federation,” he said in quiet desperation.

But he was all too aware of his palm on the sensor plate saying, not in words but in the electrochemical changes in his skin and the equally tiny variations in muscle tensions and pulse-rate, something different. Unlike his voice, those psychophysiological reactions were saying that all this was too good to be true, that there had to be a catch in it somewhere, and that there was something the minds behind the robot examiners were not telling him.

The words PASS THROUGH ON THE RIGHT AND USE THE UNMARKED DOOR appeared on the screen suddenly.

The door opened into a room in another building. Outside the window there was a vista of pine trees poking tike green spearheads through a blanket of sunlit, melting snow. He felt irritated because they still felt the need to impress him with their instantaneous transport system-had they never heard of the law of diminishing returns? But as he placed his hand on yet another sensor plate and looked beyond it his irritation changed abruptly to bitter disappointment.

Behind the examiner there was only one door, and it was unmarked.

This time the word shone white on a field of icy blue, giving it an aura of cool, clinical detachment. But Martin did not feel anything at all like that.

“Am I being refused citizenship?” he asked angrily. “Am I an Undesirable? Am I wasting my time here?”

“What the blazes is the difference?”