All around, computers chattered and whistled. Kesley felt his astonishment growing with each moment. And beneath the astonishment, there was a mounting resentment at the Ducal philosophy that had blanked such achievements as this from the world. _Machines have destroyed civilization_, people said. But had they? No; not the machines. It was man's _use_ of the machines; the machines themselves were impartial, as disinterested in the currents of human affairs as the moon and the stars. Yet the Dukes had risen to power on a program of throttled technological development. Fleetingly, the thought went through Kesley's mind that the Dukes had made a mistake. If only-- He stopped, feeling a shiver of pain. Once again he had touched some reverberating rawness in the deep layers of his mind; once again, a forbidden thought. In sudden inspiration he turned toward a grid set in the wall near him. "Can I get information from you?" he asked. "Answering circuits are functioning." "Can you tell me anything about Antarctica? Anything at all?" Silence for a moment. "Do you mean Antarctica before or after removal of the ice?" the voice asked. "Afterward--I guess." "We have no information on Antarctica after 2062," the machine said. "Ice removal was completed in 2021, and settlement proceeded along with rapid technological development. In 2062 Antarctica ceased all contact with the rest of the world." 2062 was the year of the Great Blast, Kesley thought. And Antarctica had drawn the curtain. He shrugged and walked away, taking a seat on a curved metal stanchion projecting from the floor. Somewhere, locked in the obstinate memory banks of this computer-city, might be the information he needed to orient himself in the world, the missing data that everyone maddeningly withheld from him. But where to find it? How to get it? Suddenly the City's voice said: "Dale Kesley!" "I'm here. What do you want?" "You will have to leave at once. We will tolerate a delay of no more than five minutes, plus or minus one." "How come? Why can't I stay?" "The City of Wiener faces armed attack if you remain here. Therefore, you must leave." _Very logical_, Kesley thought coldly. "Armed attack from whom?" A section of the wall near him rolled away, revealing a mammoth screen that showed the outside desert with startling clarity. Kesley saw figures huddled along the horizon, marching forward. An army. Duke Winslow's army. "They're from the Duke, aren't they?" "Yes. They've come to get you." "And you're just going to turn me over to them?" Kesley asked horror-stricken. "We simply are requesting that you leave. We do not wish to risk an armed attack upon ourself." "You can defend yourself, can't you?" "We are not afraid of the Duke. We simply wish to avoid any conflict as unnecessary expenditure of material and effort. You now have three minutes, plus or minus one, in which to leave freely."