Jon Saxon was the first man out of the helicopter. He stood stock-still
while the others climbed out, his scalp tingling, his eyes sweeping the
magnificent panorama. The faces of buildings like the sheer fracture of
tinted ice walled in the square, with here and there a canyon street
slicing off from it.
Ileth scrambled out last, asked, "Jon, what's wrong? You're pale as a
ghost."
"I don't know." The tingling in his hair roots was becoming less
pronounced as his extra-human sixth sense adjusted. He was still aware
of the aliens but not uncomfortably so.
"You--you don't feel anything?"