He swerved aside into a half-concealed doorway to hide his progress, for it wouldn't do to have his pursuers see him. A badly aimed power-beam from an old-fashioned heat-ray gun splashed off a wall not a block distant, in incandescent fury. "The fools!" he thought contemptuously. But his eyes scanned the buildings for a sign of the "Paradisiac." He was beyond fear--beyond emotion even. But what bothered him in a sort of dazed wonderment was that the word "Paradisiac" should have been frozen in the neutralized telesolidograph. For his assignment as part of the "Plan" was to meet another member of the Dekka, a Techno-Star, at the "rendezvous!" How Fermin, the Arch-Mutant had managed to obtain that information was incredible! It was an index to plans and forces he had not previously conceived. But the problem now was to find the Paradisiac, he had merely a matter of minutes in which to seek concealment. And in this world of tortuous cabals not to speak of instant death, no blatant signs advertised pleasure, shelter or concealment. The latter was an art that was subtly applied to itself. One either did, or did not, know where to go. Sanctuary was there for the asking--at a price. But the signs were only for the initiate to recognize. Desperately Julian tuned in the secret wave-length of the _Dekka_, and turning his wrist-transmitter to full force, sent out in code a streamlined account of what had transpired since his landing, as a last detail he told briefly of his encounter with Fermin, and of taking the curious vial from the Arch-Mutant. It was then that out of the soft, roseate haze, a brilliant, vari-colored pinwheel flashed briefly, then vanished as if it had never been, not fifty paces from where he stood. And Julian without hesitation was at the blank, beryloid wall in a few strides. With his rapier-scabbard, he tapped a series of sounds, and the wall seemed to part, just wide enough for him to squeeze through the aperture. Behind him, the incredibly resistant plastic wall had closed. In silence he waited, trying to control his labored breathing. Knowing that he was being inspected, and that the translucent barrier before him would or would not open--as _they_ willed. The thought flashed through his mind that perhaps this _sub-rosa_ stronghold of the Dekka, kept ostensibly as a pleasure-den, might have become tainted--a trap instead of a refuge. And in that brief instant of harrowing suspense, Julian became conscious of a presence, something cold and weirdly impersonal, that pervaded the cubicle with its aura. He shifted uneasily, poised with a grim determination. The blood-stained fabric moulded to his superb torso gleamed with the sheen of wet metal under the soporific illumination. There was no sound save his audible breathing.