nmoving in the dark on a
narrow strip of linoleum. At her feet the chasm yawned. The edge of the
floor was ragged, as though it had been gnawed away by rats. There was
no sign of Dhuva.

Brett stepped back into the dining room, let the door swing shut. He
took a deep breath, picked up a paper napkin from a table and wiped his
forehead, dropped the napkin on the floor and went out into the street,
his suitcase forgotten now. At the corner he turned, walked along past
silent shop windows crowded with home permanents, sun glasses,
fingernail polish, suntan lotion, paper cartons, streamers, plastic
toys, vari-colored garments of synthetic fiber, home remedies, beauty
aids, popular music, greeting cards ...

At the next corner he stopped, looking down the silent streets. Nothing
moved. Brett went to a window in a grey concrete wall, pulled himself up
to peer through the dusty pane, saw a room filled with tailor's forms,
garment racks, a bicycle, bundled back issues of magazines without
covers.

He went along to a door. It was solid, painted shut. The next door
looked easier. He wrenched at the tarnished brass nob, then stepped back
and kicked the door. With a hollow sound the door fell inward, taking
with it the jamb. Brett stood staring at the gaping opening. A fragment
of masonry dropped with a dry clink. Brett stepped through the breach in
the grey facade. The black pool at the bottom of the pit winked a
flicker of light back at him in the deep gloom.

* * *

Around him, the high walls of the block of buildings loomed in
silhouette; the squares of the windows were ranks of luminous blue
against the dark. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight. Far above,
the roof was dimly visible, a spidery tangle of trusswork. And below was
the abyss.

At Brett's feet the stump of a heavy brass rail projected an inch from
the floor. It was long enough, Brett thought, to give firm anchor to a
rope. Somewhere below, Dhuva--a stranger who had befriended him--lay in
the grip of the Gels. He would do what he could--but he needed
equipment--and help. First he would find a store with rope, guns,
knives. He would--

The broken edge of masonry where the door had been caught his eye. The
shell of the wall, exposed where the door frame had torn away, was
wafer-thin. Brett reached up, broke off a piece. The outer face--the
side that showed on the street--was smooth, solid-looking. The back was
porous, nibbled. Brett st