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somewhat wrinkled pea in a bloated pod. She looked up and half rose.
    Terens said quickly, “I’m a Townman. Special privileges. I am responsible for this native.” He had his papers ready and marched them before him.
    The librarian seated herself and looked stern. She plucked a metal sliver from a slot and thrust it at Terens. The Townman placed his right thumb firmly upon it. The librarian took the sliver and put it in another slot where a dim violet light shone briefly.
    She said, “Room 242.”
    “Thank you.”
     
    The cubicles on the second floor had that icy lack of personality that any link in an endless chain would have. Some were filled, their glassite doors frosted and opaque. Most were not.
    “Two forty-two,” said Rik. His voice was squeaky.
    “What’s the matter, Rik?”
    “I don’t know. I feel very excited.”
    “Ever been in a library before?”
    “I don’t know.”
    Terens put his thumb on the round aluminum disk which, five minutes before, had been sensitized to his thumbprint. The clear glass door swung open and, as they stepped within, it closed silently and, as though a blind had been drawn, became opaque.
    The room was six feet in each direction, without window or adornment. It was lit by the diffuse ceiling glow and ventilated by a forced-air draft. The only contents were a desk that stretched from wall to wall and an upholstered backless bench between it and the door. On the desk were three “readers.” Their frosted-glass fronts slanted backward at an angle of thirty degrees. Before each were the various control-dials.
    “Do you know what this is?” Terens sat down and placed his soft plump hand upon one of the readers.
    Rik sat down too.
    “Books?” he asked eagerly.
    “Well.” Terens seemed uncertain. “This is a library, so your guess doesn’t mean much. Do you know how to work the reader?”
    “No. I don’t think so, Townman.”
    “You’re sure? Think about it a little.”
    Rik tried valiantly. “I’m sorry, Townman.”
    “Then I’ll show you. Look! First, you see, there’s this knob, labeled ‘Catalog’ with the alphabet printed about it. Since we want the encyclopedia first, we’ll turn the knob to E and press downward.”
    He did so and several things happened at once. The frosted glass flared into life and printing appeared upon it. It stood out black on yellow as the ceiling light dimmed. Three smooth panels moved out like so many tongues, one before each reader, and each was centered by a tight light-beam.
    Terens snapped a toggle switch and the panels moved back into their recesses.
    He said, “We won’t be taking notes.”
    Then he went on, “Now we can go down the list of E’s by turning this knob.”
    The long line of alphabetized materials, titles, authors, catalog numbers flipped upward, then stopped at the packed column listing the numerous volumes of the encyclopedia.
    Rik said suddenly, “You press the numbers and letters after the book you want on these little buttons and it shows on the screen.”
    Terens turned on him. “How do you know? Do you remember that?”
    “Maybe I do. I’m not sure. It just seems the right thing.”
    “Well, call it an intelligent guess.”
    He punched a letter-number combination. The light on the glass faded, then brightened again. It said: “Encyclopedia of Sark, Volume 54, Sol—Spec.”
    Terens said, “Now look, Rik, I don’t want to put any ideas in your head, so I won’t tell you what’s in my mind. I just want you to look through this volume and stop at anything that seems familiar. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Now take your time.”
    The minutes passed. Suddenly Rik gasped and sent the dials spinning backward.
    When he stopped, Terens read the heading and looked pleased. “You remember now? This isn’t a guess? You remember?”
    Rik nodded vigorously. “It came to me, Townman. Very suddenly.”
    It was the article on Spatio-analysis.
    “I know what it says,” Rik said.