2.

“Your ambition?” Prefect Stiles raised an eyebrow.

She had not expected such a question. “To, uh, translate. To explore, to learn.”

It sounded lame even to her ears, and his disdainful scowl showed that he had expected some such rattled response. He was tall and bald, his Asian features expressive. Very well then, be more assertive. Use her idea.

“Particularly, if I may, from the Sagittarius Architecture.”

This took the Prefect’s angular face by surprise, though he quickly covered by pursing his leathery mouth. “That is an ancient problem. It was transmitted over a millennium ago, received half a century ago. Inscrutable, though sentient. Surely you do not expect that a Trainee could make headway in such a classically difficult challenge.”

“I might,” she shot back crisply. “Precisely because it’s so well documented.”

“Decades of well-marshaled inquiry have told us very little of the Sagittarius Architecture. It is a specimen from the highest order of Sentient Information, and will not reward mere poking around.”

“Still, I’d like a crack at it.”

“A neophyte—”

“May bring a fresh perspective.”

They both knew that by tradition at the Library, incoming candidate Trainees could pick their first topic, though few did. Most deferred to the reigning conventional wisdom and took up a small Message, something from a Type I Civilization just coming onto the galactic stage. Something resembling what Earth had sent out in its first efforts—to which it got few replies. To tackle a really big problem was foolhardy.

But some smug note in the Prefect’s arrogant gaze had kindled an old desire in her. She felt it simmering.

He sniffed. “To merely review previous thinking would take a great deal of time.”

She leaned forward in her chair. “I have studied the Sagittarius for years. It became something of a preoccupation of mine.”

“Ummm.” The Prefect was strangely austere in his unreadable face, the even tones of his neutral sentences.

She had little experience with people like this. Deciphering him seemed to require the same sort of skills she had fashioned through years of training—riddling out the alien, yes. But at the moment she felt only a yawning sense of her inexperience, amplified by the stretching silence in this office. The Prefect could be right, after all. She started to phrase a gracious way to back down. He eyed her for a long moment.

“I have found that we here often have an experience that is deeply enlightening, one not granted to everyone. It is the experience of finding that you have been wrong about something. The world has been greatly damaged by political and religious leaders who were sure they knew the truth. We learn to profit from error.”

Rachel saw that this man was balanced at a turning point. He could go either way. An idea occurred. She knew the next seconds would decide the issue, so she used it.

“About the Sagittarius. There is an ancient story about the composer Mozart.” The Prefect frowned, interested. She rushed ahead. “A man approached Mozart and said, ‘I am thinking of writing symphonies. Can you give me any suggestions as to how to get started?’ Mozart said, ‘A symphony is a very complex musical form. Perhaps you should begin with something simpler. A song, perhaps.’ His admirer said, ‘But, Herr Mozart, you were writing symphonies when you were eight years old.’ Mozart said, ‘Yes, but I never asked anybody how.’ ”