he _had_ to contact the not-men who were in the
city, warn them, before they spotted him, of the attack he carried with
him. If he were leading his pursuer, he could expect no mercy from the
ones whose help he sought. He knew the lengths to which they would go to
remain undetected in the society around them. Yet he had to find them.

In the distance, he saw a figure waiting, back against one of the show
windows. Harry stopped short, ducked into a doorway, and peered out
fearfully. Their eyes locked for an instant; then the figure moved on.
Harry felt a jolt of horror surge through him. Dr. Webber hunting him in
person!

He ducked out of the doorway, turned and ran madly in the opposite
direction, searching for an up escalator he could catch. Behind him he
heard shots, heard the angry whine of bullets past his ear.

He breathed in great, gasping sobs as he found an almost empty
escalator, and bounded up it four steps at a time. Below, he could see
Webber coming too, his broad shoulders forcing their way relentlessly
through the mill of people.

Panting, Harry reached the top, checked his location against a wall map,
and started down the long ramp which led toward the building he had
tried to call.

Another shot broke out behind him. The wall alongside powdered away,
leaving a gaping hole. On impulse, he leaped into the hole, running
through to the rear of the building as the weakened wall swayed and
crumbled into a heap of rubble just as Webber reached the place Harry
had entered.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and raced up the stairs of the building
to reach a ramp on another level. He turned his eyes toward the tall
building at the end of the concourse. There he could hide and relax and
try, somehow, to make a contact.

Someone fell into step beside him and took his arm gently but firmly.
Harry jerked away, turning terrified eyes to the one who had joined him.

"Quiet," said the man, steering him over toward the edge of the
concourse. "Not a sound. You'll be all right."

Harry felt a tremor pass through his mind, the barest touching of mental
fingertips, a recognition that sent a surge of eager blood through his
heart.

He stopped short, facing the man. "I'm being followed," he gasped. "You
can't take me anywhere you don't want Webber to follow, or you'll be in
terrible danger."

The stranger shrugged and smiled briefly. "You're not here. You're in a
psycho-integrator. It can hurt you, if you let it. Bu