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Updated: June 27, 2025
"On the white chest of his shirt, something is there." Polter was coatless, with snowy white shirt and cuffs to his thick wrists. He was no more than fifty feet from us. On his shirt bosom something golden in color was hanging like a large bauble, an ornament, an insignia.
I can't overtake you haven't enough of the drug!" His tiny voice was fading away. "Go and get him, George! This time get him " I swung with a staggering step around to face the open valley. It had by now shrunk to nearly half a mile in width. Its smooth walls rose some two or three thousand feet to an upper circular horizon with murky distance overhead. Polter stood across from me.
We were happy, until Polter came." "And only a few thousand people," Alan said. "No other cities?" "What lies off in the great distance, we do not know. Our nation is ten times what is here. We have a few other cities, and some of our people live in the forests." She broke off. "That boat is coming for Polter. He is in the city no doubt of that.
There were ravines in it, and dark holes resembling cave-mouths. One was near us. Alan gazed at it apprehensively. "I say, Glora, I don't like sitting here." I had been telling her all we knew of Polter. She listened quietly, seldom interrupting me. Then she said: "I understand. I tell you now about Polter as I have seen him." She talked for five or ten minutes.
It was an anomaly that gold should be produced in this region. No vein of gold-bearing rock had been found, except the one on Polter's property. Alan had seen a newspaper account of the strangeness of it; and on a hunch had come to Quebec, being intrigued by the description of the mine owner. He had seen Frank Rascor on the Dufferin Terrace, and recognized him as Polter.
I saw that I was in a circular valley now some five miles in diameter, with its jagged enclosing walls rising sheerly perpendicular out of sight in the haze overhead. Polter had staggered backward. I saw him a mile or so away. His back at that instant was turned to me. He was now no more than three or four times my own height.
They loved him; and I, an orphan, began looking upon him almost as a father. I was interested in chemistry. He knew it, and did his best to help and encourage me in my studies. There came an afternoon in the summer of 1966, when arriving at the Kent home, I ran upon a startling scene. The only other member of the household was a young fellow of twenty-five, named Franz Polter.
I want only to be with him." The old man's broken voice floated up to us. "You won't harm her, Polter?" "No. Fear nothing. But you no longer rebel?" "I'll do what you tell me." The tones carried hopeless resignation, years of being beaten down, rebelling but now this last blow vanquished him. Then he spoke again, with a sudden strange fire.
I recall it struck me that Alan would want to do it also. And, perhaps, even Glora. But that wouldn't work. My chances, however desperate, were better alone. Glora and Alan in our present size could doubtless disembark safely. Glora knew the layout of the island. And she could follow Polter.
"Can you land us, Alan?" "Yes, surely. At the Municipal Field just beyond the Citadel. We can get to the Hotel in five minutes." It was a flight of only half an hour. During it, Alan told me about Polter. The hunchback, known now as Frank Rascor, owned a mine in the Laurentians, some thirty miles from Quebec City a fabulously productive mine of gold.
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