"I don't believe it. I doubt that there's a thinking being of our equal anywhere that isn't human or humanoid. Take your own comments about the machinery. And what about the books?" "_Books?_" Winthrop followed the general's gaze. Protruding from beneath the bomb's afterbody was a thick, finely-bound volume lying upon a thinner, very tattered one. Picking both books up with trepidation, he examined the larger volume first. Its hard covers were marked with alien characters similar to those on the bulkhead instrument. He skimmed the pages, finding sections of either printed language or mathematics, still others of detailed schematics and precise drawings. "The electronics engineers and linguists can work on this," he said. "Association of the schematics with the equipment, and the equipment's physical measurements and functionings with the printing may allow us to crack both math and language!" The other volume was more puzzling. "No cover," the general said. "Pages missing. Bert, it looks like a _comic book_!" They thumbed through that second book, sickened by the abysmal thought that somewhere some alien artist had perverted an obviously great talent to please and amuse the immature. Their hasty perusal revealed an obviously imaginative tale of a pastoral world's invasion by the rapacious, plundering vanguard of a humanoid race with many-digited, strangely-jointed hands. "The psych boys can have this," Winthrop said, apprehensively searching the shadows about them. They looked at the bulkhead door, then simultaneously at each other. "Do you think there may be something alive in there?" the general asked. "Perhaps. It's pointless to try to open the door now, though. The occupants may be in suspended animation. It might be tricky to bring them out of it without harming them. We've thought of suspended animation as one solution to survival in the big jump once we've found a means of propulsion plus suspended animation." "The propulsion's arrived, George. Maybe we'll find the other. We'll let the electronics men in here now. They should be able to shed some light on this equipment." As General Hill assembled the electronics men, Winthrop walked away. Associates addressed him curiously, but he merely nodded in absent-minded fashion. He was several yards from the ship when he suddenly became aware that someone was challenging him--the lieutenant he had met the night before. "Just walking," Winthrop explained. He saw a gnarled, forlorn apple tree just beyond the perimeter of the guard posts. Almost pleadingly he said, "I'd like to go over there if you don't mind." "Hell, I don't mind," the lieutenant said, "but don't go any farther!" Winthrop still clutched the picture book. _A warning?_ A chill swept him. Was the ship indeed a coffin for the corpses of the survivors of a pastoral race who had sought to escape, but whose knowledge of time and space had not been adequate? The lieutenant was surveying him quizzically.