He flipped a few "pages" past. "It's the same with all of them, you see? And the middle word is always the same--four curly letters. You know what that middle word is?" "No, Adam." "It's 'stands for' or 'means.'" He stared at her. "Get it?" She thought an instant. "Of course. Adam, that's very clever of you." She wasn't scared yet. She hadn't seen the implication. "'Stands for'?" Calvin repeated. "A stands for Apple," explained Mrs. Full. "Or A stands for Airship, or whatever it might be. It's an alphabet book, dear." She still hadn't caught it. "Remember when Mr. Full built the cubbyhole here," Adam said, "and the giant knocked it down? Why was he angry?" "I suppose they want to observe us without any hindrance." "No, ma'am," he said with conviction. "That was simple frustration. They want to see everything, whether it's interesting to them or not. They aren't scientifically disappointed if they can't, they're just frustrated. Think of the punishment we get, slaps, the dunce stool." "As though we were children," she said. "Exactly. Now, here are these books. An alphabet book, and these others. What age would you figure them for? You taught kindergarten, you said. This is something I wouldn't know." "I'd say they're for fairly bright children about five or six years old." "Or for us," said her husband, "when they start to teach us their language." "They are children's books, though, with short sentences and the gaudy pictures our own children love." Mrs. Full stared at Adam. Her brown eyes widened. "Adam," she said, "you've guessed something." "You guess it too," he pleaded. She had to corroborate his own idea. "Think of all the things about them we haven't been able to make out." "Nursery books...." she said slowly. "Instability to the point of insanity, if you found it in adult humans. Sloppiness and inefficiency, when these machines point to a high degree of neatness of mind. Wandering attention, inability to concentrate for long periods. Positive tantrums over nothing. Cruelty and affection mixed without rhyme or reason." She took him by the arm, her fingers strong with fear and urgency. "Tell me, Adam." * * * * * His breath hissed. He was filled with panic. Where there had been only anxiety for his own life and his world, there was now a fearful knowledge that he could scarcely bear without shrieking. She had it too, but she didn't dare say it. It was a horrible thing. "These machines," he said, "aren't scientific testers at all." "Yes?" "They're toys." "Yes?" "We aren't guinea pigs. We're--we're pets. They've had other animals, from Earth and from God knows where, and now they have people." "Yes. Go on, say it." She thrust her face fiercely up to his.