ending plane doubtless
would have been discovered. But the mile-wide inner area was dark in
many places. Spots of light were at the little wall-gates. There was a
glow all along the top of the wall. Lights were on in Polter's house;
they slanted out in yellow shafts to the nearby white ground. But for
the rest, the whole place was dark, save a dim glow from under the dome.

I shook my head at Alan's suggestion that we land inside the walls. We
had circled back and were a mile or so off toward the river. "The
trees--and you saw guards down there. But that low stretch outside the
gate on this side...."

A plan was coming to me. Heaven knows it was desperate enough, but we
had no alternative. We would land and accost one of the gate guards.
Force our way in. Once inside the wall, on foot in the darkness of this
blizzard, we could hide; slip up to that dome. Beyond that my
imagination could not go.

We landed in the snow a quarter of a mile from one of the gates. We left
the plane and plunged into the darkness.

It was a steady upward slope. A packed snowfield was underfoot, firm
enough to hold our weight, with a foot or so of loose, soft snow on its
top. The falling flakes whirled around us. The darkness was solid. Our
helmeted leather-furred flying suits were soon shapeless with a
gathering white shroud. We carried our Essens in our gloved hands. The
night was cold, around zero I imagine, though with that biting wind it
felt far colder.

From the gloom a tiny spot of light loomed up.

"There it is, Alan. Easy now! Let me go first." The wind tore away my
words. We could see the narrow rectangle of bars at the gate, with a
glow of light behind them.

"Hide your gun, Alan." I gripped him. "Do you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Let me go first. I'll do the talking. When he opens the gate, let me
handle him. You--if there are two of them--you take the other."

We emerged from the darkness, into the glow of light by the gate. I had
the horrible feeling that a shot would greet us. A challenge came, at
first in French and then in English.

"Stop! What do you want?"

"To see Mr. Rascor."

We were up to the bars now, shapeless hooded bundles of snow and frost.
A man stood in the doorway of a lighted little cubby behind the bars. A
black muzzle in his hand was leveled at us.

"He sees no one. Who are you?"

Alan was pressing at me from behind. I shoved him back, and took a step
forward. I touched the bars.

"My name is Fr