Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
THE SPICY SOUND OF SUCCESS By JIM HARMON Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS At first sight of the spacer in the distance, transphasia left me with only a chocolate-tasting pink after-image on my retina. It was now showing bare skeleton from cannibalization for tractor parts, but it looked good to me, like home. The wailing call sounded through the amber twilight. I realized that I was actually hearing it for the first time. "Transphasia, that's what it is," Ordinary Spaceman Quade stated with haven't—it's your first trip. This always means transphasia—cortex you like, it's still transphasia." "I know what transphasia is," I said moderately. "It means an a grab. The creature rose into the air with a screaming vibration of his tail and landed on top of him, flattening him instantly. "Too obvious. This time it might not be a familiar condition of many to him. I went along cheerfully myself, until an enormous rump struck me violently in the face. My leaded boots were driven down into fertile soil, and my helmet was ringing like a bell. I got a jerky picture of a lapidary and I learned the value of deliberation. But I never got too cataleptic to tap a million-dollar gem, which is more than my spacemen are experienced with transphasia. You don't have to worry. In got out, they seemed to realize our own people could help us easier than they could." "I am not quite convinced that those babies just meant to help us all the time." "But they did! First, that call of theirs—it wasn't to lead us into danger, but to warn us of the cliff, the freezing wind. They saw we were trying to find out things about their world, so they even offered "I don't understand it," Quade admitted. "Transphasia hits you a foul "But why should they want to help us?" Quade demanded suspiciously. "I think it's like Nagurski's dog. The dog came to him when it wanted "Don't sound smug, Captain. It's pitty-pattying behind you too." The keening call across the surface of consciousness postponed my reply. The wail was ominously forlorn, defiant of description. I turned my head around slowly inside my helmet, not even sure that I had heard it. But what else can you do with a wail but hear it? what you said about transphasia. It must be something else." "It couldn't be anything else. I know what to expect. You don't. You may begin smelling sensations, tasting sounds, hearing sights, seeing tastes, touching odors—or any other combination. Don't let it bother you." "Of course not. I'll soothe my nerves by counting little shocks of "Then you can have it. I'm going to try keeping my eyes open and staying alive." There was no reply. you feel shocking pink inside. The most beautiful vista I had ever tasted, it couldn't be dulled even by the sensation of beef broth under my skin. "Is this transphasia?" I asked in awe. words about this being something an old hand wouldn't recognize, Captain?" "I'm swallowing no words until I find out precisely how they taste here." "Not a bad taste. They're pretty. Or haven't you noticed?" smell them for the first time. Quade was as conversational as ever, though. "I can't see and deflates to a tired joke." Before I could agree with one of his theories for once, a streak of spice shot past us. It bounced back tangily and made a bitter rip between the two of us. There was no time to judge its size, if it had size, or its decibel range, or its caloric count, before a small, sharp pain dug in and dwindled down to nothing in one long second. The new odor pattern in my head told me Quade was saying something I couldn't quite make out. Quade then pulled me in the direction of the nasty little pain. Sweetness building up to a stab of pure salt—those were the blips. Beside me, there was a thin thread of violet. Quade had whistled. He known for an instant as a streak of spice. "There's one free-fall," I said, "where you wouldn't live long enough Transphasia?" "No, thanks. I was wondering why you did." me home one night in Chicago Port. The dog or the man who picks his own master is the most content." they will pick you themselves." "There's only one way to wade through transphasia with any smell or hear that rope anchoring you to home, you aren't lost." "Three miles isn't good enough. We don't have enough fuel to change transphasia. Is that it?" experienced man we have. He knows transphasia. Trust him." back of your eyeball so it can read your amber corpuscles and feed you your oxygen in the right amounts you're a bottle-fed baby. If transphasia gets you seeing limburger, turn on the radar and you're air-conditioned as an igloo. Nothing short of a cosmic blast can dent "You are right," I said, "only transphasia comes right through these sound." "What do you think he's going to hear out there, Captain? We'd like to find one of those beautiful sirens on some planet, believe me, but—" "I have the idea, but not the word for it. Tonal compensation, I suppose. If you can't shut out the noise, we'll have to drown it out." and Asleep in the Cradle of the Deep can compensate for high-pitched take this up later. I want you to run it through the synthesizer to get some light wine...." "Light wine?" Farley looked in pain. "Not whiskey, brandy, beer?" "Light wine. Then ration it out to some of the men." "Ration it to the men!" "That's an accurate interpretation of my orders." the middle of a mission. It's not done. What reason can you have?" "To sharpen their taste and olfactory senses. We can turn up or block out sound. We can use radar to extend our sight, but the Space Service hasn't yet developed anything to make spacemen taste or smell better." "They are going to smell like a herd of winos," Farley said. "I don't like to think how they would taste." "It's an entirely practical idea. Tea-tasters used to drink almond-and-barley water to sharpen their senses. I've observed that wine helps you appreciate culinary art more. Considering the mixed-up sensory data under transphasia, wine may help us to see where we are going." "Yes, sir," Farley said obediently. "I'll give spacemen a few quarts of syrup, caramel, peanuts and maple syrup, eaten while you smoked an old, mellow Havana. The footsteps were faint traces of whipped cream across the dark, rich taste of the planet. I splashed some wine from my drinking tube against the roof of my mouth to sharpen my taste. It brought out the footsteps sharper. It also made the landscape more of a teen-ager's caloric nightmare. so, things wavered for me during a wisp of time. We stumbled over the ridge, feeling out the territory. It was a sticky job crawling over a melting, chunk-style Hershey bar. I was thankful for the invigorating Sousa march blasting inside my helmet. Before the tape had cut in, kicked on by the decibel gauge, I had heard or felt girlish shriek. A sliver of ice. This was the call Quade and I had first heard as we were about to troop over a cliff. I dug in my heels. "Take a good look around, boys," I said. "What do you see?"

<question>:
Which of the following could not be caused by transphasia?

<options>:
A Feeling an earthquake
B Smelling the color red
C Hearing the sunlight
D Tasting a cry for help

<answer>:

A