ast ..."

"You're safe here for the moment," Brett said. "There are none of them
around. But they may be back. We've got to find a way out!"

Dhuva started up, staring around. "Where am I?" he said hoarsely. Brett
seized his arm, steadied him on his feet.

"We're in a hollowed-out cave," he said. "The whole city is undermined
with them. They're connected by tunnels. We have to find one leading
back to the surface."

Dhuva gazed around at the acres of bones. "It left me here for dead."

"Or to die," said Brett.

"Look at them," Dhuva breathed. "Hundreds ... thousands ..."

"The whole population, it looks like. The Gels must have whisked them
down here one by one."

"But why?"

"For interfering with the scenes. But that doesn't matter now. What
matters is getting out. Come on. I see tunnels on the other side."

They crossed the broad floor, around them the white bones, the rustle of
rats. They reached the far side of the cave, picked a six-foot tunnel
which trended upward, a trickle of water seeping out of the dark mouth.
They started up the slope.

* * *

"We have to have a weapon against the Gels," said Brett.

"Why? I don't want to fight them." Dhuva's voice was thin, frightened.
"I want to get away from here ... even back to Wavly. I'd rather face
the Duke."

"This was a real town, once," said Brett. "The Gels have taken it over,
hollowed out the buildings, mined the earth under it, killed off the
people, and put imitation people in their place. And nobody ever knew. I
met a man who's lived here all his life. He doesn't know. But we know
... and we have to do something about it."

"It's not our business. I've had enough. I want to get away."

"The Gels must stay down below, somewhere in that maze of tunnels. For
some reason they try to keep up appearances ... but only for the people
who belong here. They play out scenes for the fat man, wherever he goes.
And he never goes anywhere he isn't expected to."

"We'll get over the wall somehow," said Dhuva. "We may starve, crossing
the dry fields, but that's better than this."

They emerged from the tunnel into a coal bin, crossed to a sagging door,
found themselves in a boiler room. Stairs led up to sunlight. In the
street, in the shadow of tall buildings, a boxy sedan was parked at the
curb. Brett went to it, tried the door. It opened. Keys dangled from the
ignition switch. He slid into the dusty seat. Behind him there was a
hoarse