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〃That （bleeped） platform；〃 he said。
Alarm shot through me。 〃It's all right？〃 I begged。
〃Yeah； it's all right。 But it is registering a higher weight value than it should。〃
I went cold。 I had had it built of aluminum and then had them make it look like heavy steel。 I thought that would make it seem the right weight even when filled with gold bars。
At a hundred thousand feet； they sent the line…jumper streaking along on course to Zurich。 I worried that at this speed it might be making a sonic boom that nobody below on the planet would be able to account for。
Then I made a discovery that really stood my hair on end。 In trying to rise enough to look past a pilot's shoulder and see a viewscreen； I didn't feel the customary thump of the control star against my bare chest。
I had forgotten to put it on！
I was sitting here without the basic control device for these bloodthirsty （bleepards）！
Only my few puny weapons were on hand to defend me。
As the shock of it passed； I realized what had happened。 It had been occasioned by a slip of the Freudian unconscious； a deep…seated reaction against lockets in general caused by my recent traumatic experience。 But realizing it didn't ease my sudden surge of roaring anxiety。
Stabb didn't help a bit。 He said； 〃Oh； you're trying to get a glimpse of the screen and see where we are？ We're right over the Sava River in Yugoslavia： if you got dumped into it you wouldn't last five seconds。 Look at that torrent roar！〃
Soundlessly； trying not to move my lips； I began praying to the god of voyagers。
The line…jumper boomed onward through the night； flying at a speed that kept the Earth below shadowed from the sun。 I wished I could open the slit。 I knew what I would get： a blast of setting sun at this altitude and nothing but ink on the ground below。 But I wished I could anyway： it would make me feel less trapped。
Stabb had moved ahead； whispering to the pilots above the roar of engines and rushing air。 Were they plotting against my life？
He came back through the empty seats to where I sat。 By the interior green glowlight； his beady eyes looked like those of a wolf。
〃We're just about to cross the Rhaetian Alps。 Piz Bernina is right below： thirteen thousand feet。 You should see those crevasses！ Dump a man in there and you'd never find him until the end of the world。 And right after we pass the lights of St。 Moritz we'll be over the real deep ones！〃
I held my lips rigid。 I was praying harder； but now I was addressing the god of pirates。 Wasn't there something he could do？ Any favor would be appreciated。
He answered； but not in the right way。 A pilot yelled back above the din。 〃It's time to dump him now！〃
I must have fainted。 Stabb was pushing at my shoulder。 He was doing something with my safety belts。 Trying to get at my guns and disarm me？
He had a hard grip on me； his fingers entwined in the straps。
Then I saw his feet were off the floor。 Was he going to kick me into submission first？
〃Hey； Captain！〃 a pilot yelled back。 〃This must be Kloten Airport。 There's more （bleeped） airplanes down there than I ever seen before in one place！〃
Stabb's feet settled back。 He had simply been lifted up and forward by deceleration and was holding himself with my straps。
He was on his own feet again。 He looked ahead； peering at the screen。
I was able to speak。 〃Be careful；〃 I said。 〃Kloten is the busiest airport in Switzerland； if this is Switzerland。 Don't land me in a runway and get me knocked down by a superjet。〃
〃Turn up the magnification；〃 yelled Stabb into the parative silence of the hovering line…jumper。 I tried to rise so I could see the screen。 Were we really over Zurich's main airport or some crevasse？ Stabb pushed me back。 〃Shift the scanner around；〃 he yelled。 〃Let's see if we can read some of those signs！〃
Glaciers seldom had signs。 I was reassured。
Stabb said； 〃Devils； I can't read a single word of that gobbledegook。〃
〃Put me off a runway and close to their customs shed；〃 I begged。
〃It's a bad scanner；〃 said Stabb。 〃We'll have to improve it。 I can't make out if they are letters or snow splashes； even if I could read their alphabet。 Awful definition for only a hundred thousand feet。〃
I tried to get up again。 Stabb pushed me back。 〃We'll handle it；〃 he said。 He yelled to the pilot； 〃Some of those buildings are hangars； so eliminate them。 One is the main terminal； so eliminate that。 Choose a shed that looks like it could be defended and put us down。〃 He turned to me。 〃We can't hover here all night trying to read languages； even if we could read them。〃
〃Hold on！〃 yelled the pilot。
Stabb gripped my shoulder safety straps again。
SWOOSH！
His feet came off the floor and my stomach stayed at a hundred thousand feet。
We went down twenty miles like a rocket in reverse。
CRUNCH！
Stabb used my body for a cushion to land on。
I didn't know how he kept his breath。 I didn't。 〃Fast now。 Out you go！〃
I grabbed the FIE shotgun。 Stabb unsnapped the seat and shoulder belts。 I was propelled down the ladder。
The engineers were already out。 They were standing on the platform； casting off the safety lines。
My feet connected with the boxes of the fake bars。 I tried to get my balance。
The engineers swarmed up the ladder。 I stared up。 Stabb's pointed head was silhouetted against the green glow of the engine room as he peered down through the hatch at me。
〃Don't leave a single man alive！〃 he yelled。
The hatch clanged shut。
The line…jumper leaped into the air。
It was swallowed instantly in glowing white mist。
I had arrived。
I was amazed to still be in the world of living things！
Chapter 7
I had arrived。 But where？
The only real clue I had that it was Zurich was the fog。 They have a trick wind。 It is called the fцhn。 It es into these cold confines from the south and； being a warm wind； creates fog which lasts for weeks on end。 The airport lights were making it glow so that one felt he was packed in cotton batting。
That's why I didn't see the snowbank at first。 I moved to the edge of the platform and there it was： a wall of snow！ It went up much higher than my head！
Not too concerned at first； I walked all around the platform。
They had landed me in the middle of a deep； deep snowdrift！
I was totally hemmed in！
Either it had been snowing before the fцhn started； or this was the residue of snowplows clearing runways。 But the cold was not the problem。 The fact that I was a prisoner gripped me with icy fingers。
How was I going to get out？
I wondered if the airport came equipped with St。 Bernard dogs； the kind with the kegs under their chins。 Then I remembered reading that the Coca…Cola civilization had wiped them out。 The Coca…Cola pany would not hear of the dogs carrying anything but Coca…Cola and the dogs； with a final pathetic hiccup； had died out。 So there was no hope there。
Even if I started to dig； I did not know which way。 It was one time