He waved away the guard and led us through a padded arcade into a low-vaulted audience room, windowless and gloomy. Across it, a doorway panel stood ajar. Grantline peered through it. There was the glow of light from the adjoining room and the distant murmur of many voices.
Grantline closed the door. "Sit down and I'll tell you...."
"Where are we?" I asked.
"The ninth Conclave Hall."
I knew its location: Lower Manhattan, high under the city roof.
Grantline produced little cigarette cylinders. "Steady your nerves, lads; you'll need it."
He grinned at us. The hand with which he lighted my cylinder was steady as a tower-base, but he was excited. I could see it by the glint in his eyes, and hear it in his voice.
"What's going on?" Snap demanded.
"It's about this invading planet. By the gods, when you hear what's really been learned about it!"
"Well, what?" I asked.