"It was not so simple," said Gowru. "No, my ability became stronger than ever." He meditated briefly. "Picture me, the master dyeman who alone colors all the material that passes through the plant. So skillful am I, so beautiful the colors that the poorest cloth becomes transfigured and commands premium prices. "I arrive at work one morning and I am sick. I go into my secret mixing room and lose my breakfast there. My head throbs. I raise it and look at the chart. So much green, so much red and yellow, so much everything. "The chemicals are there and I put them into the suitcase which the management graciously allows me to take in and out of the factory. The pipes which fill the various vats flow through this room. As I have always done, I concentrate on the wanted colors, associating them with the proper vats. But my head hurts, you understand. Alternately, it grows large and small in defiance of the laws of physics." Gowru Chandit paused to shake his head sorrowfully in remembrance of that day. "I concentrate until all the vats are filled and then, as usual, go to sleep. All day the automatic machinery hums. Yards pass through the vats, bolt after bolt is dyed, dried and wound, and nobody looks because this operation is automatic. "Then, the manager comes to inspect production and rub his hands at the profits that will accrue to him. He unwinds a sample, looks at it and screams." Gowru stared mournfully at Rains. "Retroactive to that scream I am fired." "But why?" Gowru loosened a fold of his turban and spread it out so the pattern was visible. "I was projecting. Did you ever see such a headache reproduced in full color? Not merely a headache, but also a hangover." Rains moved the drink hastily away. He wanted to speak, but it might be dangerous to open his mouth. The crisis passed. "Put it away!" But Gowru had already refolded it so that the pattern was no longer discernible. The cloth was an unpleasant souvenir. * * * * * Egan Rains was silent, studying the Hindu. The man was honest and loyal, that much he could tell. But though he spoke English well, he didn't think extensively in it and most of his thoughts were hidden in a language Rains couldn't translate, mentally or otherwise. "Can you teleport?" he asked. "A mind carrier?" said Gowru. "No, I'm only a dyeman. I can do nothing else." He expected that; there weren't many who had multiple powers. "Do you know anyone who can?" "I have a friend who plays ping pong with it." That was telekinetics, not teleportation, but it might be what he was after. So far as the Rhine Institute knew, people with either ability existed only in India. "How good is your friend?" he asked. "At ping pong, very good. At tennis, poor. The ball is too heavy; he can't move it fast enough."