"No, Mark. This is a trick. You and I both know it. That door didn't open by itself. But if you go on in spite of it, then I go with you." I stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, I nodded. "All right. Let's go." "Mark--" I said, "There's no other way, Celeste. I'm human; this is my race the Kel are out to kill. To me, that means I fight them. I fight them all the way, till I drop, no matter what." Her eyes were wide as she stared at me. "But what will you do?" She gestured helplessly. "What can you?" I shook my head. "I'm not sure. But Kruze is here on Rizal. I'll see him, talk to him. He's got power. He can order action." "But Mark, can you reach him? After that fight--the way you broke away--" "I'll reach him," I said. "I'll reach him. And he'll listen, too, even if it has to be at gunpoint." I couldn't tell whether the wordless look she gave me was of despair, or resignation. Down the dark aisles, then; and that in itself was a strange experience. For somehow, incredibly, and in spite of the surrounding, all-pervasive black, there was always just light enough for us to see our way. Yet where it came from, or how, remained a mystery to the end. We reached the second room, the misshapen, distorted room in which Celeste and I had sat and talked. It was empty now, all traces of the living sculpture gone. On again, down yet another of the echoing aisles. I waited till we reached the first cross-track leading off between stacked battens, then turned aside. Instantly, we stood in utter darkness. All trace of the guiding radiance disappeared. Pressed to me, Celeste shivered. I gripped her tight and wiped sudden, icy beads of sweat from my forehead as, hastily, I groped my way back to our original route. Like magic, light was with us once again. More shadows, more echoing stillness, more stacked battens. Then another door. A heavy door, barred on the inside. Sliding back the bolts, I swung it open. A street. Not speaking, hardly daring to breathe, we crossed the threshold. I wondered if it were only my imagination that made the stars so bright, the night so still. The base-block at the first crossing oriented me: We were less than ten minutes' walk from Rizal Security headquarters. Still wordless, as if by mutual agreement we turned that way. As we did so, my belly knotted with a new and different type of tension. Before, there'd been the awful, taut frustration of blocked action. Now, I faced more subtle torments: the battle of the self, the gnawing problem of decision. * * * * * There was a voco station a block from the headquarters. Stepping inside, I punched out Security's number. "Rizal Security." It was a sleepy voice. I said, "Let me talk to Controller Gaylord, please." A pause, a buzzing. Then, "Controller Gaylord speaking." "You're up late, aren't you, Gaylord?" Intentionally, I made it mocking.