_Mars_, thought Temple, back in his room with Arkalion. _Mars._ He did not think of Stephanie, except as a man who knows he must spend the rest of his life in prison might think of a lush green field, or the cool swish of skis over fresh, powdery snow, or the sound of yardarms creaking against the wind on a small sailing schooner, or the tang of wieners roasting over an open fire with the crisp air of fall against your back, or the scent of good French brandy, or a woman. Deceleration began promptly. Before his face was distorted and his eyes forced shut by a pressure of four gravities, Temple had time to see the look of complete unconcern on Arkalion's face. Arkalion, in fact, was sleeping. He seemed as completely relaxed as he did that morning Temple thought he was dead. CHAPTER IV "Petrovitch, S. A.!" called the Comrade standing abreast of the head of the line, a thin, nervous man half a head shorter than the girl herself. Sophia Androvna Petrovitch strode forward, took a pair of trim white shorts from the neat stack at his left. "Is that all?" she said, looking at him. "Yes, Comrade. Well, a woman. Well." Without embarrassment, Sophia had seen the men ahead of her in line strip and climb into the white shorts before they disappeared through a portal ahead of the line, depositing their clothing in a growing pile on the floor. But now it was Sophia's turn, after almost a two hour wait. Not that it was chilly, but.... "Is that all?" she repeated. "Certainly. Strip and move along, Comrade." The nervous little man appraised her lecherously, she thought. "Then I must keep some of my own clothing," she told him. "Impossible. I have my orders." "I am a woman." "You are a volunteer for the Stalintrek. You will take no personal property--no clothing--with you. Strip and advance, please." Sophia flushed slightly, while the men behind her began to call and taunt. "I like this Stalintrek." "Oh, yes." "We are waiting, Comrade." Quickly and with an objective detachment which surprised her, Sophia unbuttoned her shirt, removed it. Her one wish--and an odd one, she thought, smiling--was for wax for her ears. She loosened the three snaps of her skirt, watched it fall to the floor. She stood there briefly, lithe-limbed, a tall, slim girl, then had the white shorts over her nakedness in one quick motion. She still wore a coarse halter. "All personal effects, Comrade," said the nervous little man. "No," Sophia told him. "But yes. Definitely, yes. You hold up the line, and we have a schedule to maintain. The Stalintrek demands quick, prompt obedience." "Then you will give me one additional item of clothing." The man looked at Sophia's halter, at the fine way she filled it. He shrugged. "We don't have it," he said, clearly enjoying himself.