Two levels below, under a pile of dust-covered trash, the body became suddenly conscious. Mark opened his eyes and looked around, recognition slowly returning. He had forgotten all about this old room, but then--one could hardly remember everything about a full shelter system, what with the hundreds of compartments, endless automatic equipment and innumerable connecting passages. Whoever it was who built this one sure had liked complexity. He bathed and carefully braided the long, blueblack hair, simulating somewhat the fashion of the day, and spent some time adjusting a purple scarf over his left shoulder. The purple scarf was sort of a trade mark with him, and Jennette always admired it. Purple was her favorite color. He made a joke out of it and called it Their color, which was typical of the strange, dangerous behavior she engendered in him. Mark was a little worried as he plunged up toward the stratosphere in his extra car. This time he kept clearly in his mind the fact that this was his last serviceable body, and he could take no chances with it getting ruined. Even if he saw a whole multitude of people, all clustered together, he would ignore them, he told himself. Halfway there, however, he spotted a peculiar marking on the scope, and detoured. The peculiar marking followed him. Anxiously, he looked out a clear view panel, but could see nothing in the cold, mist-laden night. The marking grew more definite as he hesitated. It was another car, and there could be no question what it was after. A shot at Mark. He cursed and sucked in his breath, making quick calculations. There was a rolling billow of cobalt fog off to one side, a whole bank of the stuff. Somebody apparently had been having a little game nearby. It was still hot enough, according to his indicators, to discharge anything the other car sent after him, and he would have the added advantage of being invisible to the other man's instruments. The only trouble was, once in the fog, he couldn't see anything either, and could be ambushed without difficulty on the way out. The marking on the scope became more definite, and the question settled itself as the other car came between Mark and the cloud. Growling with irritation, Mark swung around and sent a wide angle beam in the direction of his pursuer, watching nervously as the indicators described the pitiful short range of his fire at this setting. The assailant veered off, however, scurrying into the cobalt cloud. Mark grinned. He knew the man would expect him to wait for him to come out, so he swooped down at max acceleration toward the surface. In five minutes he was signaling into Jennette's shelter for permission to enter.