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She took a better look at him and the local equivalent of a bright smile shone on her face. “May I help you, til?” she asked in a softer, sweeter voice.

“I am Balt, til,” he said. “I am the new librarian.”

She came out from behind the desk to offer the ceremonial toe touch. “I’m Embelsira, the head librarian, and I am very glad to see you!” Her tone was warm; she really seemed to mean it. “Everything’s in such a mess,” she went on. “I’ve needed help so very badly, so very long.” She looked up at him, for she was a good deal shorter than he. “So glad,” she murmured, “so very, very glad to see you, really.”

“Well, now you have help,” he said with quiet strength. “Where are the files?”

They were written instead of punched, of alien design, in an alien language, arranged according to alien patterns, but he understood them at a glance. “These will need to be re-organized from top to bottom,” he said.

“Yes, Til Balt,” she said demurely. “Whatever you say.”

Once every six months, Clarey went for a long weekend to visit his “Aunt Askidush” in Barshwat. Barshwat was the largest city on Damorlan; it was the capital of Vintnor—the greatest nation. Earthmen, Clarey thought, as he traveled there in the comparative luxury of a first-class compartment—as a rich nephew, he saw no real reason to travel third-class—were disgustingly obvious.