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

<passage>:
Granthan's mission was the most vital of the war. "I'm a tourist," I said. "They told me before I left home not to miss work. I fumbled my way into a couch and tried to think. In my condition—with shouldn't have been able to fall out of bed, much less make the trip from Belshazzar's and how had I managed to dog that port shut? In an emergency a man was capable of great exertions. But "Granthan!" he burst out. "Where are the others? What happened out "—your report. I won't mince words. They're wondering at your role in the disaster. How does it happen that you alone survived?" "How the hell do I know?" I yelled—or croaked. But Kayle's voice was droning on: have some kind of long-range telehypnotic ability that might make it possible for them to subvert a loyal man without his knowledge. You've told me yourself that you blacked out during the attack—and came to on "I'm sorry, Granthan. I can't let you land on Earth. I can't accept it possible to ... ah ... restudy the situation." He didn't meet my eye. I knew what he was thinking. He'd spare me the mental anguish of knowing what was coming. I couldn't really blame him he was doing what he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along and pretend—right up until the warheads struck—that I didn't know I'd II I tried to gather my wits and think my way through the situation. I was acting under Gool orders. I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan, psychodynamicist, who had started out with Dayan's fleet six weeks earlier. The thoughts I was having weren't brilliant, but they were skillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications of their tampering—not at a conscious level. But this was where psychodynamics training came in. I had been reacting like any scared casualty, aching to get home and lick his wounds. But I wasn't just any casualty. I had been trained in the subtleties of the mind—and I had been prepared for just such an attack. what had happened. I lay back, cleared my mind of extraneous thoughts, and concentrated on Sense impressions faded. I was alone in the nebulous emptiness of a first-level trance. I keyed a second word, slipped below the misty mirror-bright immediacy clamored for attention. And deeper.... The immense orderly confusion of the basic memory level lay before me. Abstracted from it, aloof and observant, the monitoring personality-fraction scanned the pattern, searching the polydimensional " It is a contact, Effulgent One! " " " A part of my mind watched as the memory unreeled. I listened to the voices—yet not voices, merely the shape of concepts, indescribably intricate. I saw how the decoy pseudo-personality which I had concretized for the purpose in a hundred training sessions had fought against the intruding stimuli—then yielded under the relentless thrust world-ending impact as I fell. " " Impossible! Do you forget all my teachings? Cling, though you expend " Free from all distraction, at a level where comprehension and retention are instantaneous and total, my monitoring basic personality fraction followed the skillful Gool mind as it engraved its commands deep in of xenophobia—a ton of liver writhing at the bottom of a dark well. I clamped down control. The Gool mind folded in on itself, gibbering. But not if I could help it. The Gool had evolved a plan—but they'd had a stroke of bad luck. In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, among the fleets, far from home, but only at a superficial level. Enough, perhaps, to wreck a ship, but not the complete control needed to send a Then they had found me, alone, a sole survivor, free from the clutter of the other mind-fields. It had been their misfortune to pick a psychodynamicist. Instead of gaining a patient slave, they had opened fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of the concepts of an alien mind. pattern the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine. I followed through its logic-sequence and, like a bomb-burst, its things...." I harangued Kayle for a while, and then sweated out his answer. I was getting close now. If he couldn't see the beauty of my proposal, my I tried to reason with him. I reminded him how I had readied myself for the trip with sessions on the encephaloscope, setting up the cross-networks of conditioned defensive responses, the shunt circuits ego-complex. I might have saved my breath. "I don't understand that psychodynamics jargon, Granthan," he snapped. "It smacks of mysticism. But I understand what the Gool have done to you well enough. I'm sorry." I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkind thoughts about Colonel Ausar Kayle. Then I settled down to solve the problem at hand. seconds, pick up planetary for re-entry and let-down." I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught his belated puzzlement as I broke contact. But I was clear of the DEW line now, rapidly approaching atmosphere. "Four-oh-two, sheer off there! You're not cleared for re-entry!" disorientation as the escape capsule separated from the sinking "I'm sorry, Granthan," Kayle said. "It's too late—even if I could from your gallant attempt. Mr. Granthan, I salute you." The general's arm went up in a rigid gesture. "Stow that, you pompous idiot!" I barked. "I'm no spy!" Kayle was back, blanking out the startled face of the general. "Goodbye, Granthan. Try to understand...." each heave of the floating escape capsule. I had perhaps five minutes. " I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers. his hand against the destruct button. Men fell on him, dragged him back. "— fool, why did you blow it? " I was ten miles from shore. The capsule had its own power plant. I along the weathered car, caught me. There was a startled exclamation. I ducked back, closed my eyes, felt out for his mind. There was a confused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from the city all around. It was hard, too hard. I had to sleep— it from realizing how bad it was. All things considered, I felt like a badly embalmed mummy—except that I was hungry. I had been a fool not to fill my pockets when I left the escape capsule in the shallows off recognized me at a glance. I lay back, waiting for the train to slow for a town. I wasn't unduly worried—at the moment. The watchman probably hadn't convinced anyone he'd actually seen me. Maybe he hadn't been too sure himself. " I settled into control gently, trying not to alarm the man. I saw through his eyes the dusty box car, the rust on the tracks, the carelessly. "When'd you git so all-fired hungry all of a sudden?" "Put it in a bag. Quick." started up with a lurch. The man walked back toward the girl. I heard him say: "Friend o' mine in there—just passin' through." I was discovering that it wasn't necessary to hold tight control over every move of a subject. Once given the impulse to act, he would rationalize his behavior, fill in the details—and never know that the original idea hadn't been his own. I thanked him and got in. He gave me a glance and I pinched off his budding twinge of curiosity. It was almost an effort now not to follow his thoughts. It was as though my mind, having learned the trick of communications with others, instinctively reached out toward them.

<question>:
Why was it difficult for Granthan to get people to help him travel after he left the capsule?

<options>:
A The authorities had circulated his picture
B He could no longer control their minds
C He was injured
D He did not understand people

<answer>:

A