is
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; creep 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 under foot, firm enough to hold our
shoes, 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. "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, 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 back, and took a step
forward. I touched the bars.

"My name is Fred Davis. Newspaper man from Montreal. I must see Mr.
Rascor."

"You cannot. You may send in your call. The mouthpiece is there--out
there to the left. Bare your face; he talks to no one without the face
image."

* * * * *

The guard had drawn back into his cubby; there was only this extended
hand and the muzzle of his weapon left visible.

I took a step forward. "I don't want to talk by phone. Won't you open
the gate? It's cold out here. We have important business. We'll wait
with you."

Abruptly the gate lattice slid aside.