Curt whirled, darted toward the rear door. His gun menaced the entire room, and he was a shifting fading figure as he fled from that room of death. His eyes were blurred with tears, and his throat was constricted with grief. At the door, he hesitated briefly, then surged ahead. He heard the shrill whistles of other IP men in the street before the night club, and his nerves were tense for the slightest of sounds betokening hidden watchers in the alleyway. He slammed the door behind him, raced down the alley. He tripped, rolled like a prowling cat, came lithely to his feet again. His hand brushed at a wall to steady himself, missed its hold, and he lurched to one side. That misstep saved his life. A blazing bolt from a dis-rifle sprayed molten rock from the alley's floor, swung, tried to catch him in its range. He fired twice, shooting instinctively, feeling a gladness in him when he heard the choking death-rattle of the man who had fired. He twisted about a corner, ran with a desperate speed, hearing the growing sounds of pursuit behind. He knew a place of comparative safety a block away, and he plunged toward it through the moon-lit night. Feet were pounding in the street, when he came to a manhole that led into the unused conduit system of the city. He knew he was watched but he knew also that he had to make his escape as best he could. He kicked the rusted latch of the manhole cover free, lifted the lid, shoved one leg through. Sitting on the manhole rim, he lifted his other leg through the hole, then braced his hands, and lowered himself so fast he almost fell. The single shot melted the edge of the conduit opening, flecked briefly at the side of his head, dropped him squarely into a blaze of flame that seemed to grow out of nowhere and fold him in its embrace. II The Falcon landed in a sprawling heap, cramped with vertigo, his mind numb with the shock of the shot that had slapped at the side of his head. He groped blindly for support, felt the skin ripping from his hands on the rough metal of the pipe. For seconds, he fought to retain his senses, finally forced the black shadow of unconsciousness back from his mind. His eyes focused slowly, made out the glow cast through the open manhole. Only a moment could have passed, for he still heard the excited calling of his pursuers, and felt the vibrations of men climbing the outside of the pipe. He went at a staggering run down the pipe, guiding himself by the beam of the radi-light torch he fumbled from his belt. Echoes drummed along the metal tube from his running feet, and the dull pounding in his head raced with the sound. He whirled around a bend in the pipe, stopped, braced himself momentarily on the curved wall. Then, the ringing in his head slowing, and his mind clearing, he ran again at a faster pace.