Calhoun sprinted for the ground-car. A blaster-bolt flashed past him. He halted and deliberately traversed the building with the trigger held down. Smoke and flame leaped up. At least one more invader crumpled. Calhoun heard a voice yelling inside somewhere. "_We're attacked! Those refugees are throwing bombs! Rally! Rally! We need help!_" It would be a broadcast call for assistance. Wherever men lolled or loafed or tried desultorily to find something to loot, they would hear it. Even the standby crew in the spaceship would hear it. Those who repaired the grid-transformers Calhoun had burned out would hear it. Men would come running. Hunters would come. Men in cars-- Calhoun snatched Murgatroyd to the seat beside him. He turned the key and the tires screamed and he shot away. * * * * * The highways were of course, superb. He raced forward, and the car's communicator began to mutter as somebody in the undamaged part of the building chattered that he'd gotten in a car and away. It described his course. It commanded that he be headed off. It hysterically demanded that he be killed, killed, killed-- Another voice took its place. This voice was curt and coldly furious. It snapped precise instructions. Calhoun found himself on a gracefully curving, rising road. He was midway between towers when another car flashed toward him. He took his blaster in his left hand. In the split second during which the cars passed each other, he blasted it. There was a monster surge of smoke and flame as the stricken car's Duhanne cell shorted and vaporized half the metal of the car itself. There came other voices. Somebody had sighted the explosion. The voice in the communicator roared for silence. "_You_," he rasped. "_If you got him, report yourself!_" "_Chee-chee-chee!_" chattered Murgatroyd excitedly. But Calhoun did not report. "_He got one of us_," raged the icy voice. "_Get ahead of him! And blast him!_" Calhoun's car went streaking down the far side of the traffic-bridge. It rounded a curve on two wheels. It flashed between two gigantic empty buildings and came to a sideway, and plunged into that, and came again to a division and took the left-hand turn, and next time took the right. But the muttering voices continued in the communicator. A voice, by name, was ordered to the highest possible bridge from which it could watch all lower-level roadways. Others were to post themselves here, and there--and to stay still! A group of four cars was coming out of the storage-building. Blast any single car in motion. Blast it! And report, report, report-- "I suspect," said Calhoun to the agitated Murgatroyd beside him, "that this is what is known as military tactics. If they ring us in--There aren't but so many of them, though. The trick for us is to get out of the city. We need more choices for action. So--"