But in the morning, all was as if he’d dreamt it. The shops along the way opened as usual, albeit a little late. He set off groggily. Then, once at the office, he had trouble concentrating on the work at hand. He decided to try the Temple again. The more complicated University installation was nearly complete. It was time to coordinate the Temple archives hook-up.

This time, Barthes entered the Zone without incident. He parked at the back of the Temple, near the delivery bays, and knocked on a side door marked “Service Entrance.” As a non-member, the main sanctuary was closed to him; in any case, he’d come for a working meeting, not a Temple tour.

He was in luck. The clerk who answered nodded, gestured follow me, and led him directly to the Archivist’s office. Not only was she in; she was delighted. “Delighted!” she said, pumping his long, graceful hand with both of her tiny ones, “What an honor! Never did I think to meet so august a colleague in our remote little corner!”

“You’ve heard of the Imperial Library, then?”

“Heard of! How could I claim to be a professional, and not dream of going there one day!”

She was grateful he’d come.

She was grateful for this tacit recognition of her archive as a library of merit.

She was grateful for his offer of the Imperial Pre-accession Package.

She was grateful for any assistance in re-establishing the trunk connection to the Zion University Library.

She expressed no interest whatsoever in eventual live LM linkage to the Imperial Newscast Networks. “Oh no,” she said, “I don’t think the Bishop would approve that. We’re not backward, you know. It’s not that.”

He remained impassive.

“It’s just that we take seriously our responsibility to avoid confusion among our flock.”

Colchis briefly nodded.

“So we prefer to preview recorded cubes before distribution.”

Colchis patiently explained Imperial policies regarding non-interference with local science and technology. Explained that the feed would be filtered in any event, depending upon how New Utah was classified.

She marveled at this.

Suspecting that her personal technological expertise might not be up to this discussion, he asked if he might speak with her technical operations manager. They spent a pleasant few minutes chatting about Temple collections while they waited.

“My guide at Zion said that you back up many of their collections?”

“Oh yes,” she nodded. “To our great pride, this makes relevant work accessible to our flock directly from the main reading room.”

“Relevant work?”

“Research results and technical innovations that further the True Church’s Mission on New Utah.”

“So you do not duplicate everything.”

“Oh no.” She looked appalled. “We wouldn’t back up work that was confusing.”

Barthes paused a moment, sipping his tea. She seemed clear on her views, but open enough to discussion. It was worth a try.

“I toured the Zion Library,” he said evenly, “what was left of it.”

Her brow furrowed. Her lips pursed. “Terrible thing, that. Terrible.” She set down her cup with a little clink; looked at him earnestly; clasped her hands to her chest, leaned forward. “I mean, of course, there was much there that was confusing. Which is why we create a safe collection here. But to burn a Library!”

“Is that what happened? I didn’t know.” Nor did I ask, he thought, not at the time.

“Oh yes!” Here eyes went wide. “Some of our youth—they are very sincere. But misguided. Some boys firebombed the Zion Library.” She made a weak imitation of throwing. “It was unfortunate. And completely wrong. Of course, they will be punished. If they find them.” Her hands collapsed to her lap. She picked up the teacup.

“It that what the fighting was? Last night? Something like that?”

Her face widened, an open book, as she sipped her tea. “Fighting? What fighting?”

“Perhaps I was mistaken.”

There was a longer pause. The technician still had not arrived. Barthes grasped for a subject.

“Would you be so kind?” he asked, fishing the burned paper from a burnished portfolio. “It is just a matter of curiosity. I found this in the rubble. It’s of no importance, really, but it seems to be all that survived. It makes reference to earlier research, done during “Foundation” times. Is this something you’d have copies of?”

He passed it over. She merely glanced at the title, then smiled broadly and jumped to her feet, handing it back. “Come!” she gestured, “Please, come! Where were my manners! I can’t take you inside the Sanctuary, of course, but please, let me show you the reading rooms! Those are public!”

She scooted through the maze of corridors so quickly, black skirts swishing about her, that Colchis nearly had to jog to keep stride. They made a final turning to a nondescript door with a cipher lock. She punched in a code, and waved him inside.

Colchis gasped. The vaulted hall rose before him, suffused with perfect, even, milky light. The dome seemed to have been carved apiece, filtering the sun’s natural rays through silky, translucent stone. Reader’s desks with nano jacks ringed the room, the tabletops and benches forming staggered, concentric rings with a librarian’s desk at the center.

“We call this our Temple of Light!” she beamed. “You can see why!”

“It’s beautiful.” His answer was simple, honest. He was awed.

“But come!” she said, towing him by one hand through the maze. “Lily, can we borrow the glass?”

The librarian nodded, fished below the counter, and handed over a small monocular even as they arrived at her station.

The archivist handed it to Colchis, pointing across the room and upward. “Look at the frieze.” He raised the implement to one eye; fumbled. “Twist it to focus,” she bubbled, “and look at the rim along the bottom of the dome. It’s a carved frieze. Carved in Founder times.”

He did as directed, while she chattered on. “You see, that’s what I mean. About not being backward. About avoiding confusion. The early settlers, they were really very superstitious. They called it being devout, but it was really just ignorance. They thought those were angels. Imagine! They really believed that those were angels. And that’s why they were carved.”

Fumbling, twisting, finally changing eyes, Colchis struggled with the monocular, finally walking it slowly up the wall until he found the frieze itself. He gave a final twist and nearly dropped the thing as an alien, smiling face suddenly filled his eye. He literally choked. Then ran the glass to and fro along the frieze in panicked disbelief.

Misunderstanding his reaction, the archivist laughed, and chattered on. “Ugly, aren’t they?”

His patrician composure shattered, Barthes stammered his reply. “What—what—are—they!”

“Why, Swenson’s Apes, of course. The earliest settlers found them here when they arrived. And being superstitious, thought they were Angels. That’s why they called it Heaven—Heaven and all His Angels. But they aren’t of course. They’re just animals.”

But Barthes barely heard this. His mind was racing. Because, from his perspective, it was an unchanging, enigmatic, lopsided Motie smile that greeted his terrified eye. Heart pounding, he slowly lowered the glass. Spoke carefully. “Madam Archivist, you have seen Imperial news cubes from the past three decades, have you not? I realize officially no, but I presume—”

She laughed. “Of course!”

“So, have you not remarked the amazing resemblance of these—Swenson’s Apes—to Moties?

She laughed again. “Of course! That’s how we knew it was all a lie!”

Barthes was confused. “A lie? What lie is that, Madam?’