I strolled through a door leading to another room. It was small, functional, dimly lit. The middle of the room was occupied by a large and elaborate divan with a cap-shaped fitting at one end. Other curious accoutrements were ranked along the walls. There wasn't much in them to thrill me. But bone-wise I had hit the jackpot. Two skeletons lay near the door, in the final slump of death. Another lay beside the fancy couch. There was a long-bladed dagger beside it. I squatted beside the two near the door and examined them closely. As far as I could tell, they were as human as I was. I wondered what kind of men they had been, what kind of world they had come from, that could build a ship like this and stock it as it was stocked. The dagger that lay near the other bones was interesting: it seemed to be made of a transparent orange metal, and its hilt was stamped in a repeated pattern of the Two Worlds motif. It was the first clue as to what had taken place among these men when they last lived: not a complete clue, but a start. I took a closer look at an apparatus like a dentist's chair parked against the wall. There were spidery-looking metal arms mounted above it, and a series of colored glass lenses. A row of dull silver cylinders was racked against the wall. Another projected from a socket at the side of the machine. I took it out and looked at it. It was of plain pewter-colored plastic, heavy and smooth. I felt pretty sure it was a close cousin to the chop sticks stored in the library. I wondered what brand of information was recorded in it as I dropped it in my pocket. I lit a cigarette and went back out to where Foster lay. He was still in the same position as when I had left him. I sat down on the floor beside the couch to wait. * * * * * It was an hour before he stirred. He reached up, pulled off the plastic head-piece, dropped it on the floor. "Are you okay?" I asked. Foster looked at me, his eyes travelling up to my uncombed hair and down to my scuffed shoes. His eyes narrowed in a faint frown. Then he said something--in a language that seemed to be all Z's and Q's. "Enough surprises, Foster," I said hoarsely. "Talk American." He stared into my eyes, then glanced around the room. "This is a ship's library," he said. I heaved a sigh of relief. Foster was watching my face. "What was it all about?" I said. "What have you found out?" "I know you," said Foster slowly. "Your name is Legion." I nodded. I could feel myself getting tense again. "Sure, you know me." I put a hand on his shoulder. "You remember: we were--" He shook my hand off. "That is not the custom in Vallon," he said coldly. "Vallon?" I echoed. "What kind of routine is this, Foster?" "Where are the others?" "There's a couple of 'others' in the next room," I snapped. "But they've lost a lot of weight. Outside of them there's only me--"