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

<passage>:
By KEITH LAUMER Illustrated by SCHELLING [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from It would mean instant victory—but for whom? I "What ya wanna go out there for? Nothing out there." conscious. but the forearm was black, with deep red showing at the bottom of the that transcended pain. I heaved with the other leg, scrabbled with "A buck ten," my driver said. I looked out at the fence, a barren field, a distant group of low buildings. "What's this?" "This is the place you ast for. That'll be a buck ten, mister." I touched his mind, planted a couple of false impressions and withdrew. "I'll be all right." "I hope so," he said. "A man like you—you and me—" he winked. "After there?" I turned him down to a mutter. "Hold on," I said. "I'll tell you. Recorders going?" I didn't wait for an answer—not with a fifteen-minute transmission lag. I plowed on: " was sabotaged. So was Gilgamesh screen, his flickering image gazed back impatiently, looking as hostile he was doing what he thought was the right thing. And I'd have to go along and I wasn't, of course. I was still the same Peter Granthan, mine, all mine.... But how could I be sure of that? skillful as we thought, they would have left no overt indications of their tampering—not at a conscious level. 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. 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 continuum for evidence of an alien intrusion. And found it. As the eye instantaneously detects a flicker of motion amid an infinity of static detail, so my inner eye perceived the subtle traces of the motivations. I focused selectively, tuned to the recorded gestalt. " It is a contact, Effulgent One! " " threshold.... " " It is elusive, Master! It wriggles like a gorm-worm in the eating trough! " 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. At a level far below the conscious, the embattled pseudo-personality " " Impossible! Do you forget all my teachings? Cling, though you expend the last filament of your life-force! " 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 my subconscious. Then the touch withdrew, erasing the scars of its passage, to leave me unaware of its tampering—at a conscious level. been done to me. Hesitantly, I felt for the immaterial fabric of the continuum, warping and manipulating it, copying the Gool probe. Like planes of paper-thin crystal, the polyfinite aspects of reality shifted into focus, aligning themselves. Effulgence! It reached out—touched cluster—those who remained of a once-great race—at a single feeding trough. They would spread out across a galaxy—and beyond. But not if I could help it. In the past, they had managed to control a man here and there, among fared along strange ways examining the shapes and colors of the I paused at last, scanning a multi-ordinal structure of pattern within pattern the diagrammed circuits of a strange machine. I followed through its logic-sequence and, like a bomb-burst, its its lonely trans-Plutonian orbit, I had plucked the ultimate secret of their kind. "You've got to listen to me, Kayle," I shouted. "I know you think I'm a fight. Matter transmission! You know what that can mean to us. The concept is too complex to try to describe in words. You'll have to take my word for it. I can build it, though, using standard components, plus an infinite-area antenna and a moebius-wound coil—and a few other things...." 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 to the decoy pseudo-personality, leaving my volitional ego free. I I leaned back and chewed the inside of my lip and thought unkind then I realized it was the routine DEW line patrol contact. "Z four-oh-two, I am reading your IFF. Decelerate at 1.8 gee preparatory to picking up approach orbit...." The screen went on droning out instructions. I fed them into the autopilot, at the same time running over my approach plan. The scout was moving in closer. I licked dry lips. It was time to try. miles distant, aboard the patrol vessel. There was a brief flurry of struggle then I dictated my instructions. The Signals Officer punched keys, spoke into his microphone: "As you were, Z four-oh-two. Continue on present course. At Oh-nineteen I blanked out the man's recollection of what had happened, caught his of defense. A few more minutes' grace would have helped. I'd play it dumb, and hope for a little luck. "Planetary, Z four-oh-two here. Say, I'm afraid I missed part of that, Kayle's face appeared. "Don't fight it, Granthan," he croaked. "You penetrated the planetary defenses—God knows how. I—" 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. through the cluster of minds. "— missile on course do right, baby. That's it, right in the slot. " I fingered my way through the man's mind and found the control centers. his hand against the destruct button. " I dropped the contact, found another, who leaped to the panel, detonated the remainder of the flight of six missiles. Then I withdrew. I would have a few minutes' stay of execution now. confused murmur of thought, a random intrusion of impressions from the him all right—" for groceries. He'd never believe he'd seen me. and let my awareness stretch out. the hills, squirrel hunting, bottle of whiskey.... " I settled into control gently, trying not to alarm the man. I saw the platform. I turned him, and saw the dingy glass of the telegraph counter, a coarse-skinned teen-age girl with heavy breasts and wet carelessly. "When'd you git so all-fired hungry all of a sudden?" "Put it in a bag. Quick." "Look who's getting bossy—" around that counter!" She filled the bag, took a pencil from behind her ear. "That'll be one eighty-five. Cash." "Hey! Where you goin' with my glass?" inside, placed the glass of water beside it, then pulled off his grimy 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 drank the water first, ate a sandwich, then lit a cigarette and lay started limping toward a few car lights visible half a mile away. It he was thinking budding twinge of curiosity. It was almost an effort now not to follow

<question>:
How does Peter act outwardly?

<options>:
A Egotistical, Rude
B Maniacally
C Aloof
D Discrete, calculated

<answer>:

D