out of
getting Hilton into the vehicle undamaged.

Hilton's plan had been beautifully simple. All the teams were to meet at
the Hall of Records. The linguists and their Omans would study the
records and pass them out. Specialty after specialty would be unveiled
and teams would work on them. He and Sandy would sit in the office and
analyze and synthesize and correlate. It was a very nice plan.

It was a very nice office, too. It contained every item of equipment
that either Sandra or Hilton had ever worked with--it was a big
office--and a great many that neither of them had ever heard of. It had
a full staff of Omans, all eager to work.

Hilton and Sandra sat in that magnificent office for three hours, and no
reports came in. Nothing happened at all.

"This gives me the howling howpers!" Hilton growled. "Why haven't I got
brains enough to be on one of those teams?"

"I could shed a tear for you, you big dope, but I won't," Sandra
retorted. "What do you want to be, besides the brain and the kingpin and
the balance-wheel and the spark-plug of the outfit? Do you want to do
_everything_ yourself?"

"Well, I _don't_ want to go completely nuts, and that's all I'm doing at
the moment!" The argument might have become acrimonious, but it was
interrupted by a call from Karns.

"Can you come out here, Jarve? We've struck a knot."

"'Smatter? Trouble with the Omans?" Hilton snapped.

"Not exactly. Just non-cooperation--squared. We can't even get started.
I'd like to have you two come out here and see if you can do anything.
I'm not trying rough stuff, because I know it wouldn't work."

"Coming up, Bill," and Hilton and Sandra, followed by Laro and Sora,
dashed out to their cars.

* * * * *

The Hall of Records was a long, wide, low, windowless, very massive
structure, built of a metal that looked like stainless steel. Kept
highly polished, the vast expanse of seamless and jointless metal was
mirror-bright. The one great door was open, and just inside it were the
scientists and their Omans.

"Brief me, Bill," Hilton said.

"No lights. They won't turn 'em on and we can't. Can't find either
lights or any possible kind of switches."

"Turn on the lights, Laro," Hilton said.

"You know that I cannot do that, Master. It is forbidden for any Oman to
have anything to do with the illumination of this solemn and revered
place."

"Then show me how to do it."

"That would be just as bad, M