Nathan MacKinnie breathed deeply, stared at the old man, and thought for a moment before beginning. “All right. As you surmised, we are from a newly discovered planet which will be a colony world when they get around to classifying us. They won’t do that until we have a working planetary government, and King David’s advisors are managing to delay that. They won’t be able to hold up too much longer. We want to build a spaceship before they make us a colony world.”

“A spaceship! Just how advanced are you? What makes you think … no, how does this affect me?”

“Father, I came here to get copies of every technical work I can find in that library. Our people think we can do it if we know how. I’m a soldier, not a scientist, and I don’t know if they can do it or not, but we’ve got to try!”

The Archbishop nodded. “You would try. Tell me, Colonel MacKinnie, are you typical of the people of your planet?”

“I don’t know. In some ways, yes. Why?”

“Because, and I say it reverently, God help the colonists they sent to your world if you are. You don’t know when to give up. Yes, I’ll help you.” He thought for a few moments, then laughed. “And we’ll stay within the letter of the regulations. Although I doubt that would impress a Navy court martial if they found you smuggling copies of technical books. Makassar was classified before they discovered the library, and so far they haven’t updated it. The classification is ‘primitive.’ Therefore, any art or craft found here can be taken to any other part of the Empire.

“So, yes, we’ll help you and gladly. Think what a splendid joke on the Imperial Traders Association this will make!” He struck a small gong on the desk and told the servant who entered in response, “Go to the holy relics and bring Brother LeMoyne, if you please.”

LeMoyne was a small man with sandy hair and flashing blue eyes. He knelt perfunctorily before Casteliano, kissed his ring, and said, “And what may I do for His Ultimate Holiness other than refrain from letting New Rome know his present title?”

The Archbishop laughed. “You can see why he will never be a bishop. Tell me, can you make the holy relics speak yet?”

“The library is in amazingly good condition, Your Reverence. The Navy technicians fixed much of the equipment when they made copies of the tapes. The Old Empire used nearly indestructible plastics, and everything has been preserved with holy zeal. It only needs a power source to make it work.”

“What kind of power?” MacKinnie asked.

“Oh, any good source of current. It doesn’t take a lot. Very efficient people, the Old Imperials. They powered the whole palace from a small direct conversion unit taking heat from natural hot springs. That’s still working, but the regulators aren’t. The unit is putting out so little power now that it won’t run much of the system — but wecan get a few watts from it, after more than three hundred years! They built better than they knew in those days.”

Casteliano nodded sadly. “Their equipment was splendid. But it didn’t save them.”

“No. Anyway, in addition to the old power unit, we have a hand-powered generator the Navy left. We’ve got part of the reader working off that, and it won’t take long to get everything else in order. Uh, it would be no great trick to build a powered generator, but we couldn’t let the natives see it operate.”

“I think not for the moment,” Casteliano said. “The Church has sometimes evaded the technology transfer restrictions, but that is a serious matter, not to be done without much thought. We need the Navy’s cooperation.” He paused thoughtfully. “Trader MacKinnie would like to inspect the library if that is convenient.”

“Certainly. Now?” LeMoyne asked.

“Yes,” MacKinnie said. “And if you could send for one of my people, Kleinst—”

“Oh, he’s been down there helping me all morning,” LeMoyne said. “Does His Ultimate Holiness care to accompany us?”

Casteliano looked in dismay at the litter of parchment on his desk. “I would be delighted, but this work must be done.” He sighed. “Get thee behind me, Satan-”

LeMoyne shrugged and led MacKinnie out of the office. They went down winding stone stairways until they reached massive doorways guarded by four pikemen and a crimson-uniformed Temple officer. The pikemen snapped to attention as MacKinnie approached.

The officer looked doubtful. “He is a layman. Only the consecrated may enter—”

“Who’ll stop the colonel?” one of the pikemen asked.

“He has been sent by His Ultimate Holiness,” LeMoyne said. “Man, do you not know that if it had not been for the colonel, the maris would have the relics?”

“True,” the Temple officer said. He took torches from the wall and handed them to MacKinnie and LeMoyne, then stood aside. He did not look pleased.

There were two more guardrooms, but these were empty. Then they went down a broader stairway of marble.

“This is almost certainly Old Empire,” LeMoyne said. “After the wars, the survivors built most of the Temple structure over it. Here we are, just beyond that doorway.”

They went through. At last, MacKinnie thought. I’ve come a long way to see this—

The room was not large. It stank of fish oil from the lamps. The walls had been scrubbed unnumerable times to remove lampblack, and there was only a tiny suggestion of design or color to them.

There was not much else to see. A small box with crank handles and a seat stood in the middle of the room. Wires ran from that to a small table set against one wall. Above the table was what looked like a dark windowpane. Kleinst, wearing a dark monk’s hood, sat in front of the desk. He stood when MacKinnie entered.

Nathan looked around the room in confusion. “Where is this fabulous machinery?” he asked.

LeMoyne chuckled. “Your friend there asked the same question.” He pointed at the table. “There it is.”

“No more than that?”

LeMoyne nodded. “No more than that. You could put all the knowledge of the human race in four units like that.”

MacKinnie did not believe him, but there was no point in arguing. He turned to Kleinst. “Have you made any progress?”

The scholar’s eyes gleamed. “Yes! Would you like to see?”

“Of course-”

“The sound units?” Kleinst asked, looking to LeMoyne. When LeMoyne nodded, Kleinst sat again at the console and touched small squares on it.

A tiny voice came from the walls. MacKinnie looked around in amazement.

“And except those days be shortened, there should not be any living creature survive,” the voice said.

“Matthew,” LeMoyne said. “Whoever was last down here loaded in that. The Temple priests have been listening to it ever since. They don’t know how to change record units. The audio unit discharges the accumulators in less than an hour and the power system is so weak that it takes days to charge up again.”

MacKinnie shook his head. “Do you understand this?” he asked Kleinst.

“Yes! Or almost. It is a new concept, yet not in principle different from photographic and recording equipment we use at home. Although more compact. And I don’t understand everything about it. I don’t know if we could read the tapes and cubes if we had them back at the University.”

“And if we can’t?” MacKinnie demanded.

“Then I must learn what we need,” Kleinst said. “I have a photographic memory. It is one reason I was selected for this journey.”

“There are many blanks in storage,” LeMoyne said. “It will not be difficult to copy them. But I fear your friend is correct. The equipment needed to read these records is very complex.” He went to a small, ornately carved cabinet near the table and laughed. “They made this into a tabernacle,” he said. He opened it and took out a small block. “We could put most of what you need in two or three of these, if only you had means to read it.”

“Copying them is simple!” Kleinst exclaimed. “Once we have more electrical power we can copy — and there is everything here! Textbooks for children which tell of physical laws no one at home has understood for hundreds of years. Handbooks, maintenance manuals for equipment I can’t describe — look! Sit down there.” He pointed to the box with handles. “Sit there, and turn that crank, and I will show you marvels—”