"Why does Antarctica cut itself off from the rest of the world?" "A matter of choice," van Alen said. "Our Duke doesn't care for the company of his twelve colleagues, nor for that of their subjects. But you're leading me astray with your questions. You're not letting me explain why I came here to you." "Go ahead, then." Kesley sat back, trying to conceal his tenseness. It made no sense at all. The Twelve Dukes had ruled the world four hundred years, and in that time no contact between men of the Twelve Empires and the people of the continent of Antarctica had ever taken place. A barrier had always surrounded that continent. Antarctica was as unapproachable as frozen Pluto, or one of the stars. And now the barrier had lowered long enough to let this Dryle van Alen out into the world of the Twelve Dukes. Van Alen had made his way to America, to Duke Winslow's land--merely to see Dale Kesley? It was impossible. Van Alen peered at Kesley. "You have lived in Iowa Province for four years--is that right?" Kesley nodded. "And before that, where?" "Kansas Province. I was a farmer there, too." One of van Alen's heavy eyebrows twitched skeptically. "Oh? How long did you live in Kansas Province, then?" "All my life. I was born there. I lived there twenty-one years. I came here four years ago." Van Alen chuckled. "You cling to that story the way you would a straw in a maelstrom." He leaned forward; his voice deepened. "Suppose you try to tell me why you left Kansas Province to come here." "Why, I--" Kesley paused. A muscle began to throb painfully in one cheek, and he looked down at his heavy work-boots in confusion. He had no answer. He did not know. Once again, the same malaise that had spread over him outside hit him. He sucked in a deep breath, but said nothing. "You don't know why you left Kansas?" van Alen asked gently. "Think, Dale. Try to remember." Kesley clenched his fists, fighting to keep back a cry of rage and frustration and fear. Finally he said, "I don't know. I don't remember. That's it--I don't remember." His voice was glacially calm. "Very good. You don't remember." Van Alen tugged at his beard again, as if to signify that he had won a telling point. "Next question: describe in detail your life in Kansas Province. What your farm was like, what your mother looked like, how tall your father was--little things like that. Eh?" The questions poured down on Kesley like an unstoppable torrent; they seemed to wash his feet out from under him and leave him struggling helplessly and impotently to regain his footing. "My mother? My father? I--" Again he stopped. The room was blurred; only the smiling, diabolical face of the Antarctican seemed to be fixed, and all else was whirling. Kesley elbowed himself up from his chair and crossed the room in two quick bounds. "Damn you, I don't remember! _I don't remember!_" He grabbed van Alen roughly by the scruff of his cloak and hauled him to his feet. "Let go of me, Dale."