"Thanks," Winthrop said, and walked to the tree. He sat down, and opened the book again. He thumbed through it repeatedly, the pictures creating a sickness in him. "Hello," a little girl's voice said. * * * * * Winthrop looked up. Six? Seven? He could only be sure that she was blond and blue-eyed, and had apparently come from the direction of the botanical gardens. She clutched roller skates in her arms. "Hello," Winthrop said. "Where are _you_ going?" "To the skating rinks." "Oh, you can't. They're closed." Her face grew solemn. "But Mommy and Daddy said I could." She was about to cry. He felt a bachelor's inadequacy. "Where are they?" he asked. "Over in the bot--bot--" She struggled valiantly and then said, "the flower gardens!" She eyed the book eagerly. "May I see the comics?" Comics? Oh, the book! He handed it to her wordlessly, saw her eyes show immediate, outright horror. He stared aghast as she threw it down and ran wildly away, her skates forgotten on the grass, her broken sobs and screams echoing back. He called after her uselessly. Stunned, he watched the little scurrying figure vanish along the broken road toward the botanical gardens, wishing that he could follow her and solace her, cursing himself for ever having thought of showing her the book. III Lunch was over and General Hill had taken the floor. "Gentlemen, while we're awaiting the occupants' awakening or until we decide we've waited long enough, we must learn all we can. If they awake and decide to leave, we'll at least have obtained specific knowledge of how _one_ spaceship works! "We've only a vague suspicion of how the propulsion mechanism operates. But fortunately we've found equipment very similar to ours. Simpler in some respects. Probably worked _from_ transistors instead of _to_ them. "The electronics men may have a free hand except for the bulkhead instrument. We'd better not tinker there until we're reasonably sure we know what we're doing. It may spell life or death to the crew. Some may prefer to study the books which we found," he added thoughtfully. "If so, speak up!" "I would," Winthrop cut in. "I'd like Rabin and Norris to join me." "An electronics engineer should round out the group," General Hill said. "Okay, Lizio. Now, gentlemen, shall we go?" Rabin was a practicing psychologist with a strong background in semantics, linguistics, astronomy and a half-dozen other curiously diversified sciences. Yet, as Winthrop looked at him again, there was doubt--not as to Rabin's capability, but as to his _dependability_? Was it some sense of inward nervousness, something contained in himself which he could not tolerate in others? Rabin was studying the horribly graphic pictures as though each were a major work of art. Winthrop saw in the man's dark eyes something that had been in the little girl's eyes. He looked away.