Trobwell_ had been handing him papers and
asking him questions of that sort. And, since he was the ranking Exec,
he was expected to give some sort of answer.

This one seemed even more complex than the others, and none of them had
been simple. He forced his eyes to read the print, forced his mind to
absorb the facts.

These were not clear-cut problems of the kind he had been dealing with
all his life. Computing an orbit mentally was utterly simple compared
with these fantastic problems.

It was a question of a choice of three different types of cargoes, to be
carried to three different destinations. Which would be the best choice?
The most profitable from an energy standpoint, as far as the ship was
concerned, considering the relative values of the cargoes? What about
relative spoilage rates as compared with fluctuating markets?

The figures were all there, right before him in plain type. But they
meant nothing. Often, he had been unable to see how there was any
difference between one alternative and another.

Once, he had been handed the transcripts of a trial on ship, during
which two conflicting stories of an incident had been told by witnesses,
and a third by the defendant. How could one judge on something like
that? And yet he had been asked to.

He bit his lower lip in nervousness, and then stopped immediately as he
realized that this was no time to display nerves.

"I should say that Plan B was the best choice," he said at last. It was
a wild stab at nothing, he realized, and yet he could do no better. Had
he made a mistake?

The captain nodded gravely. "Thank you, great sir. You've been most
helpful. The making of decisions is too important to permit of its being
considered lightly."

The Guesser could take it no longer. "It was a pleasure to be of
assistance," he said as he stood up, "but there are certain of my own
papers to be gone over before we reach D'Graski's Planet. I trust I
shall be able to finish them."

The captain stood up quickly. "Oh, certainly, great sir. I hope I
haven't troubled you with my rather minor problems. I shan't disturb you
again during the remainder of the trip."

The Guesser thanked him and headed for his cabin. He lay on his bed for
hours with a splitting headache. If it weren't for the fact that he had
been forced to go about it this way, he would never have tried to
impersonate an Executive. Never!

He wasn't even sure he could carry it off for the rest of the trip