"Is there a library in Behrl?" he asked the Martian suddenly.
"Yes," replied Koal in surprise. "A very fine one in fact, but no one uses it."
Norman's next question seemed irrelevant.
"Would the humans revolt if they thought there might be a slim chance of success?"
"Who would be a slave by choice?" grunted Koal angrily. "They'd rise as one man at the faintest sort of a chance and at no chance at all." For a moment, he glared straight down the street, then relaxed, glanced at Norman seriously.
"Look," he said in a quiet voice that was somehow more impressive. "Do you realize how hungry I am for the dry chill air of Mars. How hungry all these exiles are for their home planets? You don't think we've submitted meekly to the Dohlmites, do you? There have been mutinies and rebellions a dozen times since I've been here. And everytime the rebels have dropped dead on the streets, at their guns, in their beds. All of them. I tell you its impossible."
"Nevertheless," said Norman, "you've told me what I wanted to know."
The shops were behind them, many storied apartment dwellings having taken their place. With a grunt; the Martian swung the car down an incline leading to the basement under one of the buildings.
"This is F Twelve," he said, halted the car just inside the gate while a guard inspected their papers, waved them on.
"For our own protection." Koal nodded toward the guard as he parked the car. "No one but members of our clan and their households can enter this apartment building."