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And the physical sciences were deciphered only slowly, by a process of cut-and-try and cut-and-try again.

The investigations would take time. There were only a relatively small handful of men working on the problems that the City posed. Not because there weren’t plenty of men who would have sacrificed their time and efforts to further the work, but because the planet, being hostile to Man, simply would not support very many investigators. It was not economically feasible to pour more men and material into the project after the point of diminishing returns had been reached. Theoretically, it would have been possible to re-seal the City’s dome and pump in an atmosphere that human beings could live with, but, aside from every other consideration, it was likely that such an atmosphere would ruin many of the artifacts within the City.

Besides, the work in the City was heady stuff. Investigation of the City took a particular type of high-level mind, and that kind of mind did not occur in vast numbers.

It was not, Turnbull thought, his particular dish of tea. The physical sciences were not his realm, and the work of translating the alien writings could be done on Earth, from ‘stat copies, if he’d cared to do that kind of work.

* * * * *

Sirius VI was a busy planet–a planet that was as Earthlike as a planet could be without being Earth itself. It had a single moon, smaller than Earth’s and somewhat nearer to the planet itself. The Oriona landed there, and Dave Turnbull took a shuttle ship to Sirius VI, dropping down at the spaceport near Noiberlin, the capital.

It took less than an hour to find that Scholar Duckworth had gone no farther on his journey to Mendez than Sirius VI. He hadn’t cashed in his ticket; if he had, they’d have known about it on Earth. But he certainly hadn’t taken a ship toward the Central Stars, either.

Turnbull got himself a hotel room and began checking through the Noiberlin city directory. There it was, big as life and fifteen times as significant. Rawlings Scientific Corporation.

Turnbull decided he might as well tackle them right off the bat; there was nothing to be gained by pussyfooting around.

He used the phone, and, after browbeating several of the employees and pulling his position on a couple of executives, he managed to get an appointment with the Assistant Director, Lawrence Drawford. The Director, Scholar Jason Rawlings, was not on Sirius VI at the time.

The appointment was scheduled for oh nine hundred the following morning, and Turnbull showed up promptly. He entered through the big main door and walked to the reception desk.

“Yes?” said the girl at the desk.

“How do you do,” Turnbull said. “My name is Turnbull; I think I’m expected.”

“Just a moment.” She checked with the information panel on her desk, then said: “Go right on up, Dr. Turnbull. Take Number Four Lift Chute to the eighteenth floor and turn left. Dr. Drawford’s office is at the end of the hall.”

Turnbull followed directions.

Drawford was a heavy-set, florid-faced man with an easy smile and a rather too hearty voice.

“Come in, Dr. Turnbull; it’s a pleasure to meet you. What can I do for you?” He waved Turnbull to a chair and sat down behind his desk.

Turnbull said carefully: “I’d just like to get a little information, Dr. Drawford.”

Drawford selected a cigar from the humidor on his desk and offered one to Turnbull. “Cigar? No? Well, if I can be of any help to you, I’ll certainly do the best I can.” But there was a puzzled look on his face as he lit his cigar.

“First,” said Turnbull, “am I correct in saying that Rawlings Scientific is in charge of the research program at Centaurus City?”

Drawford exhaled a cloud of blue-gray smoke. “Not precisely. We work as a liaison between the Advanced Study Board and the Centaurus group, and we supply the equipment that’s needed for the work there. We build instruments to order–that sort of thing. Scholar Rawlings is a member of the Board, of course, which admits of a somewhat closer liaison than might otherwise be possible.