She stared at her own sketch thoughtfully, calling up the memory image of the Galactic as she did so. Squat, about five feet ten inches in height, with the short bowed legs of a swimmer. Rippling muscles sent corded lines under the black leotards. The arms were articulated like a human's, but they were more graceful in movement. The skin was pale green, the neck thick and short. The wide mouth was almost lipless, the nose a mere blunt horn. The eyes were large and spaced wide with nictating lids. No hair, but a high crowned ridge from the center of the forehead swept back across the head. "I knew a Hawaiian distance swimmer once who looked much like these Galactics," said Ohashi. He wet his lips with his tongue. "You know, today we had a Buddhist monk from Java at our meeting with Kobai." "I fail to see the association between a distance swimmer and a monk," said Goré. "You told us you drew a blank today," said Zakheim. "The monk tried no conversing," said Ohashi. "He refused because that would be a form of Earthly striving unthinkable for a Buddhist. He merely came and observed." Francine leaned forward. "Yes?" She found an odd excitement in the way Ohashi was forcing himself to casualness. "The monk's reaction was curious," said Ohashi. "He refused to speak for several hours afterward. Then he said that these Galactics must be very holy people." "Holy!" Zakheim's voice was edged with bitter irony. "We are approaching this the wrong way," said Francine. She felt let down, spoke with a conscious effort. "Our access to these Galactics is limited by the space they've opened to us within their vessel." "What is in the rest of the ship?" asked Zakheim. "Rewards, perhaps," said Goré. "Or weapons to demolish us!" snapped Zakheim. "The pattern of the sessions is wrong, too," said Francine. Ohashi nodded. "Twelve hours a day is not enough," he said. "We should have them under constant observation." "I didn't mean that," said Francine. "They probably need rest just as we do. No. I meant the absolute control our team leaders--unimaginative men like Langsmith--have over the way we use our time in those rooms. For instance, what would happen if we tried to break down the force wall or whatever it is that keeps us from actually touching these creatures? What would happen if we brought in dogs to check how _animals_ would react to them?" She reached in her briefcase, brought out a small flat recorder, and adjusted it for playback. "Listen to this." * * * * * There was a fluid burst of sound: "Pau'timónsh'uego' ikloprépre 'sauta' urusa'a'a ..." and a long pause followed by: "tu'kimóomo 'urulig 'lurulil 'oog 'shuquetoé ..." pause "sum 'a 'suma 'a 'uru 't 'shóap!'" Francine stopped the playback. "Did you record that today?" asked Ohashi. "Yes. It was using that odd illustration board with the moving pictures--weird flowers and weirder animals." "We've seen them," muttered Zakheim.