The communicator panted a report of his sighting, from a cobweblike bridge at the highest point of the city. He was heading-- He changed his heading. He had so far seen but one car of his pursuers. Now he went racing along empty, curving highways, among untenanted towers and between balconied walls with blank-eyed windows gazing at him everywhere. It was nightmarish because of the magnificence and the emptiness of the city all about him. He plunged along graceful highways, across delicately arched bridges, through crazy ramifications of its lesser traffic arteries--and he saw no motion anywhere. The wind whistled past the car windows, and the tires sang a high-pitched whine, and the sun shone down and small clouds floated tranquilly in the sky. There was no sign of life or danger anywhere on the splendid highways or in the heart-wrenchingly beautiful buildings. Only voices muttered in the communicator of the car. He'd been seen here, flashing around a steeply banked curve. He'd swerved from a waiting ambush by pure chance. He'd-- He saw green to the left. He dived down a sloping ramp toward one of the smaller park areas of the city. And as he came from between the stone guard rails of the road, the top of the car exploded over his head. He swerved and roared into dense shrubbery, jerked Murgatroyd free despite the _tormal's_ clinging fast with all four paws and his tail, and dived into the underbrush. * * * * * He ran, swearing and plucking solidified droplets of still-hot metal from his garments and his flesh. They hurt abominably. But the man who'd fired wouldn't believe he'd missed, followed as his blasting was by the instant wrecking of the car. The man who'd fired would report his success before he moved to view the corpse of his supposed victim. But there'd be other cars coming. At the moment it was necessary for Calhoun to get elsewhere, fast. He heard the rushing sound of arriving cars while he panted and sweated through the foliage of the park. He reached the far side and a road, and on beyond there was a low stone wall. He knew instantly what it was. Service highways ran in cuts, now and again roofed over to hide them from sight, but now and again open to the sky for ventilation. He'd entered the city by one of them. Here was another. He swung himself over the wall and dropped. Murgatroyd recklessly and excitedly followed. It was a long drop, and he was staggered when he landed. He heard a soft rushing noise above. A car raced past. Instants later, another.