ife now, though. Come on, it's a long walk."

He left the car beyond the gate, and they pushed through the locker room
toward the smaller exit, stopping to fasten down their helmets. The
guard halted them, but without any suspicion.

"Going hunting for those damned kids, eh?" he said. He stared at Sheila.
"Lucky devil! All I got for a guide was an old bum. Okay, luck,
Sergeant!"

It made no sense to Gordon, but he wasn't going to argue. They went
through and out into the waste and slums beyond the domes, heading out
until there were only the few phosphor bulbs to guide their way.

Gordon was moving cautiously, using his helmet light only occasionally,
gun ready in his hand. But it was Sheila who caught the faint sound. He
heard her cry out, and turned to see her crash into the stomach of a man
with a half-raised stick. He went down with almost no resistance. Sheila
shot the beam of her light on the thin, drawn face. "Rusty!"

"Hi, princess." He got up slowly, trying to grin. "Didn't know who it
was. Sorry. Ever get that louse you were out for?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I got him. That's him--my husband! What's wrong with
you, Rusty? You've lost fifty pounds, and--"

"Things are a mite tough out here, princess. No deliveries. Closed my
bar, been living sort of hand to mouth, but not much mouth." His eyes
bulged greedily as she dug into a bag and began to drag out the
sandwiches she must have packed for the trip. But he shook his head. "I
ain't so bad off. I ate something yesterday. But if you can spare
something for the Kid--Hey, Kid!"

A thin boy of about sixteen crept out from behind some rubble, staring
uncertainly. Then, at the sight of the food, he made a lunge, grabbed
it, and hardly waited to get it through the slits of his suit before
gulping it down. Rusty sat down, his lined old face breaking into a
faint grin. He hesitated, but finally took some of the food.

"Shouldn't oughta. You'll need it. Umm." He swallowed slowly, as if
tasting the food all the way down. "Kid can't talk. Cop caught him
peddling one of Randolph's pamphlets, cut out part of his tongue. But
he's all right now. Come on, Kid, hurry it up. We gotta convoy these
people."

They were following a kind of road when headlights bore down on them.
Gordon's hand was on his gun as they leaped for shelter, but there was
no hostile move from the big truck. He studied it, trying to decide what
a truck would be doing here. Then a Marspeaker-amplified