did not like his tone. "None of your--"

"Quiet, Jac," Georg warned.

"Jac Hallen," I amended.

"Yes. Division 8, Manhattan," he read from my cap. "Well, when the first
Director calls--from the Pole perhaps--you will tell him we are
Inter-Allied Officials. He will see us here--I do not believe, the way
we are sitting, that he will think anything is wrong. He will see us of
Venus. There are Venus men employed by the Inter-Allied. Is it not so?"

I had to admit that it was. He nodded. "You will fool the Directors, Jac
Hallen. You understand? You will get the reports on weather today down
the 67th Meridian West. And ask if we can have power to the Equator and
below." His eyes flashed. "And if you attempt any trickery--you will
die. You understand?"

I did, indeed. And I knew that his plans were well laid--that I would be
helpless to give us over without paying for it with my life--with the
lives of Elza and Georg as well.

From up here in the 18th lane, the Polar ocean lay a glittering white
and purple expanse beneath us. Then, again, a fog rolled out down there
like a blanket. We passed the Pole, a hundred miles or more to one side,
and headed Southward. No challenge. Under us, occasional local cars
swept by; but up here we were clear of traffic.

Elza prepared our lunch, in the little electric galley forward of the
observation pit. The Great London-East Indies Mail Flyer crossed us,
coming along this same level. It was headed toward the Pole from the
British Isles. Its pilot challenged us before it had come up over the
horizon. A crusty fellow. His face in the mirror glared at me as I
accepted connection. He ordered me down, Inter-Allied or no.

Argo was at my elbow. His pencil-ray dug into my ribs. Had I made a
false move it would have drilled me clean with its tiny burning light. I
told the pilot we would descend. It placated him; but he saw Argo's
face, mumbled something about damned foreigners--general orders probably
coming tomorrow to clean out Venia--damned well rid of the traitors.
Then he disconnected. Venia, Georg and I were sure, was where Argo was
now taking us. But the rest of his comments I did not clearly understand
until later.

We descended, and the flyer came up over the horizon and passed us
overhead. We were pointing southward now, had picked up the 67th West
Meridian and were following it down. The Hays station[8] challenged us;
but they were satisfied with my explanation. Argo had us up i