—In what manner are you allowed to serve?—
The question had been asked several times before, and always his answer had been met with the blank inner silence that told him he had answered incorrectly. This time he carefully considered, eliminating all the answers he had made previously, as well as those that were combinations of extrapolations of the previously incorrect ones.
Finally he answered—As I see fit—
There was a surge of feeling from without, a feeling of approval. Quickly another question followed.
—Where is your allotted place?—
He thought about this, knowing that the obvious answer was likely to be the incorrect one, but still one that needed to be tested. He answered.
—My place is here—
The mind contact was broken, as he suspected it would be. He knew that he was being trained, though the purpose of the training was masked from his mind. Now he could ponder the last question in light of his previous answers and perhaps ascertain the correct response.
That night he dreamed.
A strange man in a brown robe, tied with a whipcord belt, walked along the roadway. The man in brown turned and said, “Hurry up. We don’t have much time, and you can’t fall behind.”
He tried to move faster but found his feet were lead and his arms tied to his sides. The man in brown halted his brisk walk and said, “Very well, then. One thing at a time.”
He tried to speak and found his mouth refused to move. The man in brown stroked his beard thoughtfully, then said, “Consider this: you are the architect of your own imprisonment.”
He looked down and saw that his bare feet were upon a dusty road. He looked up, and the man in brown was again walking briskly away. He tried to follow and again couldn’t move. He awoke in a cold sweat.
Again he had been asked where his place was, and again his answer,— Where I am needed—was unsatisfactory. He toiled over another pointless task, driving nails into a thick sheet of wool, which let them fall through to the floor, where he picked them up and drove them through again.
His reconsideration of the last question he had been asked was interrupted when the door behind him opened, and his guide motioned for him to follow. They moved through long passages, winding their way up to the level where they would eat the scant morning meal.
When they entered the hall, the guide took a place by the door, while others in black robes similarly escorted the white-clad ones into the hall. This was the day that the young man’s guide would stand and watch the boys in white, who, along with the young man, were bound to eat in silence. Each day a different wearer of the black robe filled this function.
The young man ate and considered the last question of the morning. He weighed each possible answer, seeking out possible flaws, and as they were discovered, discarding them. Abruptly one answer came unbidden to his mind, an intuitive leap, as his subconscious provided him with a solution to the question. I am the architect of my own imprisonment. Several times in the past, when particularly knotty problems had stopped his progress, this had occurred, which accounted for his rapid advancement in his lessons. He weighed the possible flaws in this answer, and when he was certain he was correct, he stood. Other eyes regarded him furtively, for this was a violation of the rules.
He went over to stand before his guide, who regarded his approach with a controlled expression, his only sign of curiosity being a slight arching of his brows.
Without preamble the young man in white said, “This is no longer my place.”
The man in black showed no emotion, but placed a hand on the young man’s shoulder and nodded slightly. He reached inside his robe and removed a small bell, which he rang once. Another black-robed individual appeared moments later. Without word the newcomer took the place at the door, as the guide motioned for the young man to follow him.
They walked in silence as they had done many times before, until they came to a room. The man in black turned to the young man and said, “Open the door.”
The young man started to reach for the door, then with a flash of insight pulled his hand away. Knitting his brow in concentration, he opened the door by the power of his mind. Slowly it swung inward. The man in black turned and smiled. “Good,” he said, in a soft, pleasant voice.
They entered a room with many white, grey, and black robes hanging upon hooks. The man in black said, “Change to a grey robe.”