l tentacles around his body, binding him
hand and foot in their swift embrace. He fell crashing to the pavement.

A lieutenant of the red police was shouting his orders and the din in
the Square was deafening. With their numbers greatly augmented, the
guards were now in control of the situation and their maces struck left
and right. Groans and curses came from the gray-clad workers, who now
fought desperately to escape.

Then, with startling suddenness, the artificial sunlight of the
cavernous Square was gone, leaving the battle to continue in utter
darkness.

* * * * *

Cooper Square, in the year 2108, was the one gathering place in New York
City where the wearers of the gray denim were permitted to assemble and
discuss their grievances publicly. Deep in the maze of lower-level ways
seldom visited by wearers of the purple, the grottolike enclosure bore
the name of a philanthropist of the late nineteenth century and still
carried a musty air of certain of the traditions of that period.

In Astor Way, on the lowest level of all, there was a tiny book shop.
Nestled between two of the great columns that provided foundation
support for the eighty levels above, it was safely hidden from the gaze
of curious passersby in the Square. Slumming parties from afar, their
purple temporarily discarded for the gray, occasionally passed within a
stone's throw of the little shop, never suspecting the existence of such
a retreat amidst the dark shadows of the pillars. But to the initiated
few amongst the wearers of the gray, and to certain of the red police,
it was well known.

Rudolph Krassin, proprietor of the establishment, was a bent and
withered ancient. His jacket of gray denim hung loosely from his
spare frame and his hollow cough bespoke a deep-seated ailment.
Looking out from behind thick lenses set in his square-rimmed
spectacles, the watery eyes seemed vacant; uncomprehending. But old
Rudolph was a scholar--keen-witted--and a gentleman besides. To his
many friends of the gray-clad multitude he was an anomaly; they
could not understand his devotion to his well-thumbed volumes. But they
listened to his words of wisdom and, more frequently than they could
afford, parted with precious labor tickets in exchange for reading
matter that was usually of the lighter variety.

* * * * *

When the fighting started in the Square, Rudolph was watching and
listening from