"We have some spirit-sogum," the taller of the two Uditi men informed him. "Want to join Us? Even if you're not part of the brotherhood, you can celebrate with us."
He could not turn such an offer down. "Fine," he said. It had been years since he had imbibed any spirit-sogum; roughly, it resembled the old-time alcoholic mixtures sold at liquor stores and in bars--this took him back years, to before the Hobart Phase.
Presently they had all squeezed into a parked aircar and were passing the flask with its long pipe back and forth. The atmosphere became increasingly genial.
"What are you doing out so late?" the Udi girl asked him. "Hunting for a woman?"
"Yes," Sebastian said. The spirit-sogum had relaxed his tongue; he felt himself among friends. And probably he was.
"Well, if that's what you want, we can go--"
"No," Sebastian said, interrupting her. "It's not what you think. I'm looking for my wife. And I know where she is, only I can't get her out."
"We'll get her out," the shorter of the Uditi men said happily. "Where is she?"
"At the People's Topical Library," Sebastian said.
"Feood," all three Uditi said in enthusiastic union, "let's go." One of them, at the wheel, started the motor of the car.
"It's closed right now," Sebastian pointed out.
That--temporarily---dimmed their enthusiasm. The three of them conferred and at last their spokesman presented their joint idea for his inspection. "The Library has an all-night slot, for books past their erad date. One of those no-questions-asked slots. Couldn't you squeeze in through there?"
"Too small," Sebastian said.
That, too, dampened their ever-renewing enthusiasm. "You gotta wait until tomorrow," the girl informed him. "Unless you want to call the police. But feood; I understand they have a hands-off policy as regards the Library. A sort of live and let live."
"Except," Sebastian said, "the Library killed a Los Angeles patrolman earlier tonight." But he couldn't prove it had been the Library; he had already heard the TV blame it on "religious fanatics."
"Maybe you could get Ray Roberts to include your wife in one of his prayers," the Udi girl said at last. Hopefully.
"I still think," the taller of the two men said, "the four of us ought to go somewhere and have an orgy."
He thanked them, got out of the car, and wandered on.
The car, however, followed after him. When it came abreast with him, one of the Uditi rolled down the window, leaned out and yelled to him, "If you want to bust in, we'll give you a hand. We're not scared of the People's Topical Library."
"You're goddam right we're not," the Udi girl chimed in warmly.
"No," Sebastian decided. He had to do this alone; the three Uditi, good-intentioned as they were, couldn't really help him.
"Go on home, fella," their spokesman now implored him. "You can't do nothing tonight; give it another try tomorrow."
They were right; he nodded. "Okay," he said. He felt overwhelming fatigue, now, as soon as he recognized that fact: as soon as his mind gave up, his body readily followed suit. He waved hello--or rather salve--to the three of them, and roamed on toward a lighted intersection ahead, searching for a cab.
He had never felt as dejected before in all his life.
15
God's knowledge also surpassing all motions of time, rernaineth in the simplicity of His presence.
--Boethius
When he returned to his conapt, half an hour later, he found it mercifully deserted; Giacometti and the robot Carl Junior had at last departed. Full-length cigarets filled every ashtray; he wandered about, stuffing them into packages, then gave up in numb despair and got into bed. At least the air in the room smelled clean and fresh; the desmoking of so many cigarets had accomplished that.
The next he knew, someone was rapping on the door. He rose from the bed groggily, found himself fully dressed, stumbled to the door. No one there; it had taken him too long. But there, at the door, a brilliant blue, carefully wrapped package. The spurious thesis of Lance Arbuthnot.
Jesus, he said to himself in pain; his head ached and he felt ill in every part of his body. Nine o'clock, the clock told him, from its place on the kitchen wall. Morning. The Library was already open.
Shakily, he seated himself in the living room, unwrapped the parcel. Hundreds of typescript pages, with painstaking pen annotations; an utterly convincing job... it impressed him, this handiwork of the Uditi. Wherever he dipped into it he found it making a sort of sense; it had its own outré logic--such anyhow as was required by the situation. Clearly it would pass Library inspection.
Without having ingested any sogum or put on his morning pat of whiskers, he phoned the Library and asked for Douglas Appleford.
The features of a pompous, dim little functionary formed. "This is Mr. Appleford." He eyed Sebastian.
"My name," Sebastian said, "is Lance Arbuthnot. Miss McFadden talked to you about me."
"Oh yes." Appleford nodded distastefully. "I've been expecting you to call. The meteor-deaths man."
Holding the typescript manuscript up before the screen Sebastian said, "May I bring my thesis over sometime this morning?"
"I could squeeze you in--briefly--around ten o'clock."
"I'll see you then," Sebastian said, and rang off. I now possess access up through all the sections with the exception of the topfloor A Section, he realized. The Uditi are experienced operators... it made a difference, having them on his side.
The vidphone rang; he answered it and found himself confronted by His Mightiness Ray Roberts. "Goodbye, Mr. Hermes," Roberts said sententiously. "In view of the importance of your activity vis-à-vis the Library, I believe I should consult directly with you. To be certain there is no misunderstanding. You received the manuscript of Arbuthnot's thesis."
"Yes," Sebastian said. "And it looks good."
"You will be in the Library, as far as they are concerned, only a matter of minutes; Douglas Appleford will receive the manuscript, thank you, and file it away. Ten minutes in all, perhaps. That will not be enough, of course; what you must do is become lost in the confusing maze of offices and reading rooms and stacks for a good part of the day. To do that you will need a pretext."
"I can tell them--" Sebastian began, but His Mightiness mterrupted him.
"Listen, Mr. Hermes. Your excuse has been carefully prepared far, far in advance. This is a long-term plan. While you are sitting in Mr. Appleford's office, with the manuscript still in your possession, you will glance through it and inadvertently notice page 173. You will thereon see an error of major magnitude, and you will ask Appleford for use of a restricted-area reading room in which you can make pen-andink alterations. After you have corrected the copy, you will tell him, it will be turned over to him; you compute the time required for the changes to lie between fifteen and forty-five minutes."
"I see," Sebastian said.
"The restricted-area reading rooms are not patrolled," Ray Roberts said, "because there is nothing in them except long hardwood tables. So no one will see you leave the reading room. If they do intercept you, say you got lost trying to find your way back to Mr. Appleford's office. It is essential, now, for us to speculate on the probable location of the Anarch. Our analysis of the Library puts his location, tentatively, on the top floor, or in any case the top two floors. So it will be on those higher floors that you will search... and those, of course, will be the most difficult to gain entrée to. An armband with a special dye, which gives back correct responses to a minified radar scope, is worn by Library employees on those floors. It is a luminous, spectacular blue--the utility being that a Library guard, at long distance, can tell at a glance who is wearing one and who is not. The paper which the manuscript came wrapped in: it is made from this specially treated blue material. You will cut yourself an armband from the wrapper, following the dotted lines which we made on it; you will carry it in your pocket and after you have left Appleford you will put it around your left arm."