Blackened bits floated upward and away. And even as they floated over the edge of the table the rapid click of the typewriter began again. "Hello!" Lin said in good natured greeting. The head didn't turn. The clack of the typewriter continued without pause. Lin hesitated a moment, then approached the man slowly, debating whether he should speak to him again or wait until he paused to rest. The man must not be doing so well with his writing, to toss a finished page into the fire so casually. Lin's lips quirked into a smile. He would sneak up and glance over the man's shoulder and read what he was typing. As he stole forward he studied what he could see of the man. Instead of conventional attire he was wearing what seemed to be a heavy gray robe. If he had any hair it was concealed under the black skull cap he was wearing. The back of his neck was deeply wrinkled like that of a man well past the prime of life. His ears were well formed, but stuck out a trifle too much. And from the speed at which he was typing he was probably completely unaware of his surroundings. Lin paused above him and admired the typewriter. It was the most beautiful machine he had ever seen, and electric, he decided as the man's fingers touched a key and the carriage swung back to starting position on a new line. * * * * * The type on the paper wasn't standard. In fact, some of it didn't even seem to be ordinary letters, but some strange type of symbols. Others were almost ordinary. Lin leaned forward cautiously in order to make out what was already typed. He saw only two words that were recognizable. One was _force_ in the middle of the second line. The other was _late_ in the line that had just been written. It was a foreign language. Lin decided. But the two words he could recognize gave no clue to what language it might be. The page was finished. The man's hand seized it and jerked it from the machine, dropping it into the flame in the wire wastebasket. And from some automatic feed a new sheet came into view on the platen, and the man continued his typing, his fingers moving with great rapidity and without letup. Lin straightened and stepped back a bit so as not to startle the man. He coughed loudly and said, "Hello, there." The rhythm of the man's typing didn't vary. He gave no indication of having heard. Slightly annoyed, Lin reached out and tapped him firmly on the shoulder. Still no result. "Hey there!" Lin shouted, clamping fingers over the man's shoulders and starling to shake him. "Hey!" he started to say again, then his voice died away. The shoulder under his fingers was unyielding. Too unyielding. His lips took on a stubborn line. He applied force. The shoulder was immovable. He released it and stared down, mystified. The fingers continued their typing without pause, a blur of movement over the keys.