As always, the noises were as subdued as the lighting. Theplace seemed to absorb sound and convert it into warmth,to lull the tongue with aromas strong enough to betasted, to hypnotize the ear with the vivid crackle of thetriple hearths.

Render was pleased to see that his favorite table, inthe comer off to the right of the smaller fireplace, hadbeen held for him. He knew the menu from memory,but he studied it with zeal as he sipped a Manhattan andworked up an order to match his appetite. Shaping sessions always left him ravenously hungry.

"Doctor Render ... ?"

"Yes?" He looked up.

"Doctor Shallot would like to speak with you," saidthe waiter.

"I don't know anyone named Shallot," he said. "Areyou sure he doesn't want Bender? He's a surgeon fromMetro who sometimes eats here... ,**

The waiter shook his head,

*'No, sir—'Render'. See here?" He extended a threeby-five card on which Render's full name was typed incapital letters. "Doctor Shallot has dined here nearlyevery night for the past two weeks," he explained, "andon each occasion has asked to be notified if you camein."

"Hm?" mused Render. 'That's odd. Why didn't hejust call me at my office?"

The waiter smiled and made a vague gesture.

"Well, tell him to come on over," he said, gulping hisManhattan, "and bring roe another of these."

"Unfortunately, Doctor Shallot is blind," explained thewaiter. "It would be easier if you—"

"All right, sure." Render stood up, relinquishing hisfavorite table with a strong premonition that he wouldnot be returning to it that evening."Lead on,"

They threaded their way among the diners, heading upto the next level. A familiar face said "hello" from atable set back against the wall, and Render nodded agreeting to a former seminar pupil whose name wasJurgens or Jirkans or something like that.

He moved on, into the smaller dining room whereinonly two tables were occupied. No, three. There was oneset in the comer at the far end of the darkened bar,partly masked by an ancient suit of armor. The waiterwas heading him in that direction.

They stopped before the table and Render stared downinto the darkened glasses that had tilted upward- as theyapproached. Doctor Shallot was a woman, somewhere inthe vicinity of her early thirties. Her low bronze bangsdid not fully conceal the spot of silver which she wore onher forehead like a caste-mark. Render inhaled, and herhead jerked slightly as the tip of his cigarette flared. Sheappeared to be staring straight up into his eyes. It was anuncomfortable feeling, even knowing that all she coulddistinguish of him was that which her minute photoelectric cell transmitted to her visual cortex over the hairfine wire implants attached to that oscillator converter: in short, the glow of his cigarette.

"Doctor Shallot, this is Doctor Render," the waiter wassaying.

"Good evening," said Render.

"Good evening," she said. "My name is Eileen andI've wanted very badly to meet you." He thought hedetected a slight quaver in her voice. "Will you join mefor dinner?"

"My pleasure," he acknowledged, and the waiter drewout the chair.

Render sat down, noting that the woman across fromhim already had a drink. He reminded the waiter of hissecond Manhattan.

"Have you ordered yet?" he inquired.

"No."

"... And two menus—" he started to say, then bit his tongue.

"Only one," she smiled.

"Make it none," he amended, and recited the menu.

They ordered. Then:

"Do you always do that?""What?""Carry menus in your head."

**0nly a few," he said, "for awkward occasions. Whatwas it you wanted to see—talk to me about?"

"You're a neuroparticipant therapist," she stated, "aShaper."

"And you are—?"

**—a resident in psychiatry at State Psych. I have ayear remaining."

"You knew Sam Riscomb then."

"Yes, he helped me get my appointment. He was myadviser."

"He was a very good friend of mine. We studied together at Menninger."

She nodded.

"I'd often heard him speak of you—that's one of thereasons I wanted to meet you. He's responsible for encouraging me to go ahead with my plans, despite myhandicap."

Render stared at her. She was wearing a dark greendress which appeared to be made of velvet About threeinches to the left of the bodice was a pin which mighthave been gold. It displayed a red stone which couldhave been a ruby, around which the outline of a gobletwas cast. Or was it really two profiles that were outlined,staring through the stone at one another? It seemedvaguely familiar to him, but he could not place it at themoment. It glittered expensively in the dim light.

Render accepted his drink from the waiter.

"I want to become a neuroparticipant therapist," shetold him.

And if she had possessed vision Render would havethought she was staring at him, hoping for some responsein his expression. He could not quite calculate what shewanted him to say.

"I commend your choice," he said, "and I respect yourambition." He tried to put his smile into his voice. "It isnot an easy thing, of course, not all of the requirementsbeing academic ones."

"I know," she said, "But then, I have been blind sincebirth and it was not an easy thing to come this far."

"Since birth?" he repeated. "I thought you might havelost your sight recently. You did your undergrad workthen, and went on through med school without eyes....That's—rather impressive."

"Thank you," she said, "but it isn't. Not really. I heardabout the first neuroparticipants—Bartelmetz and the rest—when I was a child, and I decided then that I wantedto be one. My life ever since has been governed by thatdesire."

"What did you do in the labs?" be inquired. "—Notbeing able to see a specimen, look through a microscope ... ? Or all that reading?"

"I hired people to read my assignments to me. I tapedeverything. The school understood that I wanted to gointo psychiatry and they permitted a special arrangementfor labs. I've been guided through the dissection of cadavers by lab assistants, and I've had everything described to me. I can tell things by touch ... and I have amemory like yours with the menu," she smiled. " 'Thequality of psychoparticipation phenomena can only begauged by the therapist himself, at that moment outsideof time and space as we normally know it, whenhe stands in the midst of a world erected from the stuffof another man's dreams, recognizes there the nonEuclidian architecture of aberrance, and then takes hispatient by the hand and tours the landscape. ... If hecan lead him back to the common earth, then his judgments were sound, his actions valid.' "

"From Why No Psychometrics in This Place," reflectedRender.

"—by Charles Render, M.D."

"Our dinner is already moving in this direction,'* henoted, picking up his drink as the speed-cooked mealwas pushed toward them in the kitchen-buoy.

"That's one of the reasons I wanted to meet you," shecontinued, raising her glass as the dishes rattled beforeher. "I want you to help me become a Shaper."

Her shaded eyes, as vacant as a statue's, sought him again.

"Yours is a completely unique situation," he commented. "There has never been a congenitally blind neuroparticipant—for obvious reasons. I'd have to considerall the aspects of the situation before I could advise you.Let's eat now, though. I'm starved."

"All right. But my blindness does not mean that I havenever seen."He did not ask her what she meant by that, becauseprime ribs were standing in front of him now and therewas a bottle of Chambertm at bis elbow- He did pauselong enough to notice though, as she raised her left handfrom beneath the table, that she wore no rings.

"I wonder if it's still snowing," he commented as theydrank their coffee. "It was coming down pretty hardwhen I pulled into the dome."