She looked up, startled from a daydreaming speculation about the Galactic language and dancing. "Me? Good heavens, why?" "I have been short-tempered today," said Zakheim. He glanced at his wristwatch. "I'm very sorry. I've been worried about another appointment." He heaved his bulk out of the chair, took up his briefcase. "And it is time for me to be leaving. You forgive me?" "Of course, Zak." His wide face split into a grin. "Good!" Goré got to his feet. "I will walk a little way with you, Zak." * * * * * Francine and Ohashi sat on for a moment after the others had gone. "What good are we doing with these meetings?" she asked. "Who knows how the important pieces of this puzzle will be fitted together?" asked Ohashi. "The point is: we are doing something different." She sighed. "I guess so." Ohashi took off his glasses, and it made him appear suddenly defenseless. "Did you know that Zak was recording our meeting?" he asked. He replaced the glasses. Francine stared at him. "How do you know?" Ohashi tapped his briefcase. "I have a device in here that reveals such things." She swallowed a brief surge of anger. "Well, is it really important, Hiko?" "Perhaps not." Ohashi took a deep, evenly controlled breath. "I did not tell you one other thing about the Buddhist monk." "Oh. What did you omit?" "He predicts that we will fail--that the human race will be destroyed. He is very old and very cynical for a monk. He thinks it is a good thing that all human striving must eventually come to an end." Anger and a sudden resolve flamed in her. "I don't care! I don't care what anyone else thinks! I know that...." She allowed her voice to trail off, put her hands to her eyes. "You have been very distracted today," said Ohashi. "Did the talk about your late husband disturb you?" "I know. I'm...." She swallowed, whispered: "I had a dream about Bob last night. We were dancing, and he was trying to tell me something about this problem, only I couldn't hear him. Each time he started to speak the music got louder and drowned him out." Silence fell over the room. Presently, Ohashi said: "The unconscious mind takes strange ways sometimes to tell us the right answers. Perhaps we should investigate this idea of dancing." "Oh, Hiko! Would you help me?" "I should consider it an honor to help you," he said. * * * * * It was quiet in the semi-darkness of the projection room. Francine leaned her head against the back rest of her chair, looked across at the stand light where Ohashi had been working. He had gone for the films on Oriental ritual dances that had just arrived from Los Angeles by plane. His coat was still draped across the back of his chair, his pipe still smouldered in the ashtray on the work-table. All around their two chairs were stacked the residue of four days' almost continuous research: notebooks, film cans, boxes of photographs, reference books.