Craig relaxed his hold on a strip of heavy metal. When the man had entered, the boy pulled a ragged black cloth across the window once more. He then ignited a small oil burning lamp in a carved-out nook in the wall. "It's all right, Philip, nobody is following me," the newcomer said. Craig studied his face. It was an old face covered by a stained gray beard. With a shock Craig recognized the man as a tramp he had seen earlier on the street, napping, sprawled in a doorway. Now for the first time he saw the eyes. Sharp and clear, they caught up the yellow light of the oil lamp and glowed warmly as they turned to Craig. "I am 'Mr. Sam,' Mr. Craig. You might know me by the full name, Samuel Cocteau, but I doubt it. Even the names of the infamous do not penetrate space." "I guess not," Craig agreed. "But you said something about my being an enemy of tyranny." "Whether you like it at once or not, you are temporarily one of us--one of the 'we' Philip has been speaking of. But all of that in due time. Right now it is necessary for us to leave here." "They're going to try to find us _tonight_?" asked Phil, startled. "Yes, a tribute to Mr. Craig," said the old man. "A Geiger team is being readied at the station." Craig started to protest as the boy began hurriedly to pick up his few possessions in the room. "I'm sorry, Mr. Craig," the man said. "I must ask you to decide now whether to trust us and our judgment. There is grave danger for you if you are caught by the Civil Control. The report I have received is that you are largely unaware of the 'crimes against the state' you have committed. The Civil Control hoped to capture you before you find them out. But that, of course, is my word only. There is no time to give you proof, even if I had it." Craig's mind whirled under the sudden onslaught of new facts. He had followed a peddler without knowing why he did it. He had bought polyester he had no use for. He had followed a boy who beckoned to him. Now--how much longer was he to move haphazardly through Terra like a cork on a wind-blown sea? Who were these strange fugitives who said he was one of them and who lived in the heart of a radioactive city? "Well, Mr. Craig?" asked Cocteau quietly. Craig glanced at the boy. The child's eyes were wide and pleading in the dim light of the oil lamp. "Let's go," Craig said. * * * * * Darkness was swiftly falling on the wilderness of heaping ruin. The three made their way toward what Craig at first thought was an unbroken wall of rubble. The near-horizontal rays of the sun tipped the white mass of broken stone with brilliance, and gave the entire scene an unearthly quality. Below the towering rubble mountains, long black shadows were reaching toward what Craig knew to be the living city.