The Martian Reservation had been established in Antarctica by an administration noted for its uneasy and fluctuating liberalism—much like the present one. The Reservation had been a bone of contention ever since. On it, Martians were to all intents free from human supervision. Although conditions were none too good, and food supply was always a critical problem, it served as a beacon of hope to enslaved Martia. It was largely because of the existence of the Reservation that border patrols, ground and sky, local and regional, had been made almost fantastically heavy.
“You’ve told them the dangers?” asked Scat.
“They still want to go.”
“Okay then; get the cans ready. And for cripes sake keep them in the icebox until!”
There were a half dozen pallid, flat-chested youths waiting in the out
