George said tensely, “Don’t think this is a joke. Tapes are actually bad. They teach too much; they’re too painless. A man who learns that way doesn’t know how to learn any other way. He’s frozen into whatever position he’s been taped. Now if a person weren’t given tapes but were forced to learn by hand, so to speak, from the start; why, then he’d get the habit of learning, and continue to learn. Isn’t that reasonable? Once he has the habit well developed he can be given just a small amount of tape-knowledge, perhaps, to fill in gaps or fix details. Then he can make further progress on his own. You can make Beeman Metallurgists out of your own Hensler Metallurgists in that way and not have to come to Earth for new models.”

The Novian nodded and sipped at his drink. “And where does everyone get knowledge without tapes? From interstellar vacuum?”

“From books. By studying the instruments themselves. By thinking.”

“Books? How does one understand books without Education?”

“Books are in words. Words can be understood for the most part. Specialized words can be explained by the technicians you already have.”

“What about reading? Will you allow reading tapes?”

“Reading tapes are all right, I suppose, but there’s no reason you can’t learn to read the old way, too. At least in part.”

The Novian said, “So that you can develop good habits from the start?”

“Yes, yes,” George said gleefully. The man was beginning to understand.

“And what about mathematics?”

“That’s the easiest of all, sir—Honorable. Mathematics is different from other technical subjects. It starts with certain simple principles and proceeds by steps. You can start with nothing and learn. It’s practically designed for that Then, once you know the proper types of mathematics, other technical books become quite understandable. Especially if you start with easy ones.”

“Are there easy books?”

“Definitely. Even if there weren’t, the technicians you now have can try to write easy books. Some of them might be able to put some of their knowledge into words and symbols.”

“Good Lord,” said the Novian to the men clustered about him. “The young devil has an answer for everything.”

“I have. I have,” shouted George. “Ask me.”

“Have you tried learning from books yourself? Or is this just theory with you?”

George turned to look quickly at Ingenescu, but the Historian was passive. There was no sign of anything but gentle interest in his face.

George said, “I have.”

“And do you find it works?”

“Yes, Honorable,” said George eagerly. “Take me with you to Novia. I can set up a program and direct—”

“Wait, I have a few more questions. How long would it take, do you suppose, for you to become a Metallurgist capable of handling a Beeman machine, supposing you started from nothing and did not use Educational tapes?”

George hesitated. “Well—years, perhaps.”

“Two years? Five? Ten?”

“I can’t say, Honorable.”

“Well, there’s a vital question to which you have no answer, have you? Shall we say five years? Does that sound reasonable to you?”

“I suppose so.”

“All right. We have a technician studying metallurgy according to this method of yours for five years. He’s no good to us during that time, you’ll admit, but he must be fed and housed and paid all that time.”

“But—”

“Let me finish. Then when he’s done and can use the Beeman, five years have passed. Don’t you suppose we’ll have modified Beemans then which he won’t be able to use?”

“But by then hell be expert on learning. He could learn the new details necessary in a matter of days.”

“So you say. And suppose this friend of yours, for instance, had studied up on Beemans on his own and managed to learn it; would he be as expert in its use as a competitor who had learned it off the tapes?”

“Maybe not—” began George.

“Ah,” said the Novian.

“Wait, let me finish. Even if he doesn’t know something as well, it’s the ability to learn further that’s important. He may be able to think up things, new things that no tape-Educated man would. You’ll have a reservoir of original thinkers—”

“In your studying,” said the Novian, “have you thought up any new things?”

“No, but I’m just one man and I haven’t studied long—»

“Yes.—Well, ladies, gentlemen, have we been sufficiently amused?”

“Wait,” cried George, in sudden panic. “I want to arrange a personal interview. There are things I can’t explain over the visiphone. There are details—”

The Novian looked past George. “Ingenescu! I think I have done you your favor. Now, really, I have a heavy schedule tomorrow. Be well!”

The screen went blank.

George’s hands shot out toward the screen, as though in a wild impulse to shake life back into it. He cried out, “He didn’t believe me. He didn’t believe me.”

Ingenescu said, “No, George. Did you really think he would?”

George scarcely heard him. “But why not? It’s all true. It’s all so much to his advantage. No risk. I and a few men to work with—A dozen men training for years would cost less than one technician.—He was drunk! Drunk! He didn’t understand.”

George looked about breathlessly. “How do I get to him? I’ve got to. This was wrong. Shouldn’t have used the visiphone. I need time. Face to face. How do I—”

Ingenescu said, “He won’t see you, George. And if he did, he wouldn’t believe you.”

“He will, I tell you. When he isn’t drinking. He—”

George turned squarely toward the Historian and his eyes widened. “Why do you call me George?”

“Isn’t that your name? George Platen?”

“You know me?”

“All about you.”

George was motionless except for the breath pumping his chest wall up and down.

Ingenescu said, “I want to help you, George. I told you that. I’ve been studying you and I want to help you.”

George screamed, “I don’t need help. I’m not feebleminded. The whole world is, but I’m not.” He whirled and dashed madly for the door.

He flung it open and two policemen roused themselves suddenly from their guard duty and seized him.

For all George’s straining, he could feel the hypo-spray at the fleshy point just under the corner of his jaw, and that was it. The last thing he remembered was the face of Ingenescu, watching with gentle concern.

George opened his eyes to the whiteness of a ceiling. He remembered what had happened. He remembered it distantly as though it had happened to somebody else. He stared at the ceiling till the whiteness filled his eyes and washed his brain clean, leaving room, it seemed, for new thought and new ways of thinking.

He didn’t know how long he lay there so, listening to the drift of his own thinking.

There was a voice in his ear. “Are you awake?”

And George heard his own moaning for the first tune. Had he been moaning? He tried to turn his head.

The voice said, “Are you in pain, George?”

George whispered, “Funny. I was so anxious to leave Earth. I didn’t understand.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“Back in the—the House.” George managed to turn. The voice belonged to Omani.

George said, “It’s funny I didn’t understand.”

Omani smiled gently, “Sleep again—”

And woke again. His mind was clear.

Omani sat at the bedside reading, but he put down the book as George’s eyes opened.

George struggled to a sitting position. He said, “Hello.”

“Are you hungry?”

“You bet.” He stared at Omani curiously. “I was followed when I left, wasn’t I?”

Omani nodded. “You were under observation at all times. We were going to maneuver you to Antonelli and let you discharge your aggressions. We felt that to be the only way you could make progress. Your emotions were clogging your advance.”

George said, with a trace of embarrassment, “I was all wrong about him.”

“It doesn’t matter now. When you stopped to stare at the Metallurgy notice board at the airport, one of our agents reported back the list of names. You and I had talked about your past sufficiently so that I caught the significance of Trevelyan’s name there. You asked for directions to the Olympics; there was the possibility that this might result in the kind of crisis we were hoping for; we sent Ladislas Ingenescu to the hall to meet you and take over.”