Dors Venabili had lived on the Imperial Palace grounds for ten years. As wife of the First Minister, she had entry to the grounds and could pass freely from the dome to the open, with her fingerprints as the pass.

In the confusion that followed Cleon’s assassination, her pass had never been removed and now when, for the first time since that dreadful day, she wanted to move from the dome into the open spaces of the grounds, she could do so.

She had always known that she could do so easily only once, for, upon discovery, the pass would be canceled—but this was the one time to do it.

There was a sudden darkening of the sky as she moved into the open and she felt a distinct lowering of the temperature. The world under the dome was always kept a little lighter during the night period than natural night would require and was kept a little dimmer during the day period. And, of course, the temperature beneath the dome was always a bit milder than the outdoors.

Most Trantorians were unaware of this, for they spent their entire lives under the dome. To Dors it was expected, but it didn’t really matter.

She took the central roadway, into which the dome opened at the site of the Dome’s Edge Hotel. It was, of course, brightly lit, so that the darkness of the sky didn’t matter at all.

Dors knew that she would not advance a hundred meters along the roadway without being stopped, less perhaps in the present paranoid days of the junta. Her alien presence would be detected at once.

Nor was she disappointed. A small ground-car skittered up and the guardsman shouted out the window, “What are you doing here? Where are you going?”

Dors ignored the question and continued to walk.

The guardsman called out, “Halt!” Then he slammed on the brakes and stepped out of the car, which was exactly what Dors had wanted him to do.

The guardsman was holding a blaster loosely in his hand—not threatening to use it, merely demonstrating its existence. He said, “Your reference number.”

Dors said, “I want your car.”

“What!” The guardsman sounded outraged. “Your reference number. Immediately!” And now the blaster came up.

Dors said quietly, “You don’t need my reference number,” then she walked toward the guardsman.

The guardsman took a backward step. “If you don’t stop and present your reference number, I’ll blast you.”

“No! Drop your blaster.”

The guardsman’s lips tightened. His finger began to edge toward the contact, but before he could reach it, he was lost.

He could never describe afterward what happened in any accurate way. All he could say was “How was I to know it was The Tiger Woman?” (The time came when he would be proud of the encounter.) “She moved so fast, I didn’t see exactly what she did or what happened. One moment I was going to shoot her down—I was sure she was some