Vanning scanned them. "No use. They can't be climbed. No wonder the Swamja left this door unguarded!" "Wonder why they had it in the first place?" Hobbs asked. "Maybe there was a way out here once. Then the lava burst through ... I've seen lava pits like this on Venus," Sanderson grunted. "They're pure hell. This isn't an exit--except for a salamander." "Then there's no way?" Lysla asked. Vanning's jaw set. "There's a way. A crazy way--but I can't see any other, unless we can get out by the south gate." "Impossible," Hobbs said flatly. "Yeah. They'll have plenty of guards there now ... I mean the space-ship." There was a momentary silence. Zeeth shook his head. "No ship can live in the air of Venus." "I said it was a crazy way. But we might get through. We just might. And it's the only chance we have." Sanderson scratched his red head. "I'm for it. I don't want to be skinned alive ... I'm with you, Vanning. You a pilot?" "Yeah." "You'll have to be the best damned pilot in the System to get us through alive." Lysla said, "Okay. What are we waiting for?" An indomitable grin flashed in her grimy, lovely face. "Good girl," Hobbs encouraged. "We'd better get out of here, anyway. Back to the city." They returned through the valve, without troubling to close the doors. "The Swamja might think we tried to get through the lava," Vanning explained. "We need all the false trails we can lay. Now--we'd better hide out for a bit till the riot dies down." "Good idea," Sanderson nodded. "These outer buildings are deserted--I told you that. We can find a hiding-place--" Lysla led them into one of the structures, and into a room below the level of the street. "They'll search, but it'll take a while. Now I suppose we just wait." Since there were no windows, the light Lysla turned on would not attract attention. Nevertheless, Vanning subconsciously felt the urge to remain in darkness. He grinned mirthlessly. "I'm beginning to know how you feel, Callahan. Being a fugitive must be pretty tough." Nobody answered. The silence ran on and on interminably. Finally Sanderson broke it. "We forgot one thing. No slaves are allowed on the streets tonight without a Swamja along." "I didn't forget," Lysla said in a low voice. "There wasn't any other way." "But we haven't a chance in the world to get through." "I know that, too," the girl whispered. "But--" Abruptly she collapsed in a heap, her auburn curls shrouding her face. Under the red tunic her slim shoulders shook convulsively. Sanderson took a deep breath. A wry smile twisted his mouth. "Okay, Vanning," he said. "Let's have that make-up kit." * * * * * The detective stared. Curiously, he felt no exultation. Instead, there was a sick depression at the thought that Sanderson--the man who had fought at his side--was Callahan. "I don't--"