"Who wants to go to Mars?" he said. "Earth is such a fascinating place—why leave it? After all, only here, upon this exquisitely green, clean sphere of ours can the full richness of man's endeavors be enjoyed. And you would have me abandon it all!"

"I was only thinking aloud," Stephen said.

The smile withered. "Mind your altitude," the young man said. "And try no tricks."

Twenty seconds had passed. Thirty-five....

"Now."

Tight-lipped, Stephen nodded, leveled off, and energized the plates with their full, formidable power. They shot past the police stationary, and into the great, azure curve of the horizon at a pace which would have left Stephen breathless at any other time. There came a splutter of ether-borne voices.

The henna-haired young man turned off the receiver.

In an instant there were skimmers in hot pursuit, but the cloud bank loomed close, towering and opaque. Now the wisps of white were about them, and a curious, acrid smell filtered in through the aerating system. The odor of ozone. The skimmer began to shudder violently, tossing them about in their seats.

"I have never experienced such turbulence," Stephen exclaimed. "I believe this is no ordinary cloud!"

"You are right," the henna-haired young man said. "This is sanctuary."

"Who are you?" Stephen said. "Why are you running from the police?"

"Apparently you don't read the newspapers."

"I keep abreast of the advances in technology and philosophy."

"I meant the tabloid news. There is such a page, you know, in the back of every newspaper. No, no; I perceive that you never would allow yourself to become interested in such plebeian goings-on. Therefore, let me introduce myself. I am called Turpan."

"The Bedchamber Assassin! I knew that I'd seen your face somewhere."

"So you do sneak and read the scandals, like most of your mechanics' caste. Tch, tch! To think that you secretly admire us, who live upon the brink and savor life while it 

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