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Diomedes." He paused, then went on, "You are relieved from duty until 0800 hours tomorrow morning, at which time you are to report to the spaceport." He turned to Diomedes. "He's all yours, Diomedes."

    "Thank you, Lycurgus. You may accompany me. Brasidus."

    They left the office. Diomedes asked, "And when is your friend Achron on duty again, young man?"

    "He has the midnight to 0600 shift for the rest of this week, sir."

    "Good. Then I propose that you spend the rest of the day at leisure; after all, this was supposed to be your free time, wasn't it? Get some sleep this evening before midnight—you might visit Achron again then. Of course, you will report to me at the spaceport tomorrow morning. I have no doubt that I shall be able to persuade the Council to accede to Lieutenant Commander Grimes' requests, so you will be required for escort duties."

    "And when I visit Achron, sir? Am I to carry out any investigations?"

    "Yes. But cautiously, cautiously. Find out what you can without sticking your neck out. But I must leave you now. I have to report to my lords and masters." His sardonic intonation left no doubt in Brasidus' mind as to who was the real lord and master.

    Brasidus went to the mess hall for a late and solitary luncheon of bread, lukewarm stew and beer. Then, conscious of his new (but secret) rank and his new responsibilities, he decided to visit the library. There were books, of course, in the recreation hall of the barracks, but these were mainly works of fiction, including the imaginative thrillers that were his favorite reading. (But none of the writers had imagined monsters so fantastic as these Arcadians—fantastic because of similarities to as well as differences from normal humankind.) He was in uniform still, but that did not matter. However, there was his belt, with its holstered pistols. He went to the desk sergeant to turn it in.

    "Keep it, Brasidus," he was told. "Captain Lycurgus said that you were on instant call as long as the spaceship's in port."

    It made sense—just as the regulation forbidding the carrying of firearms when not on duty made sense; they might be used in a drunken brawl at one of the Clubs. However, Brasidus always felt happier when armed and so did not inquire further. He went out into the street, his iron-tipped sandals ringing on the cobbles. He stood on the sidewalk to watch a troop of armored cavalry pass, the tracks of the chariots striking sparks from the paving, the gay pennons whipping from the slender radio masts, the charioteers in their plumed helmets standing tall and proud in their turrets.

    Cavalry in the city. The Council must be apprehensive.

    Brasidus continued his walk when the chariots had gone by. He strode confidently up the wide stone steps to the white-pillared library entrance, but inside the cool building diffidence assailed him. An elderly man behind a big desk surveyed him disapprovingly, his gaze lingering on the weapons. "Yes, Sergeant? " he demanded coldly.

    "I . . . I want to do some reading."

    "Unless you've come here to make an arrest, that's obvious. What sort of reading? We do have a thriller section." He made "thriller" sound like a dirty word.

    "No, not thrillers. We've plenty of those in our own recreation hall. History."

    The bushy white eyebrows lifted. "Oh. Historical thrillers."

    "No. Not thrillers." Brasidus was finding it hard to keep his temper. "History."

    The old man did not get up from, his seat, but turned and pointed. "Through there, Sergeant. That door. If you want to take a book out, you'll have to sign for it and pay a deposit, but there are tables and benches if you want to read on the premises."

    "Thank you," said Brasidus.

    He went through the door, noted the sign "HISTORICAL SECTION" above it. He stared at the book-lined walls, not knowing where to begin. He walked to the nearer shelves, just inside the doorway, the clatter of his uniform sandals on the marble floor drawing disapproving glares from