the
most imperative message on that other mind as he stumbled away in the
midst of the guards. The stranger was confused, apparently Dalgard's
arrival, his use of the mind touch, had been an overwhelming surprise.
But if he could only make the right move--would make it--The scout
from Homeport had no idea what was in store for him, but with one of
his own breed here and suspicious of the aliens he had at least a slim
chance. He snapped the thread of communication. Now he must be ready
for any opportunity--

Raf watched that amazing apparition go out of the room below. He was
shaking with a chill born of no outside cold. First the shock of
hearing that language, queerly accented as the words were, then that
sharp contact, mind to mind. He was being clearly warned against
revealing himself. The stranger was a Terran, Raf would swear to that.
So somewhere on this world there was a Terran colony! One of those
legendary ships of outlaws, who had taken to space during the rule of
Pax, had made the crossing safely and had here established a foothold.

While one part of Raf's brain fitted together the jigsaw of bits and
patches of information, the other section dealt with that message of
warning the other had beamed to him. The pilot knew that the captive
must be in immediate danger. He could not understand all that had
happened in that interview with the aliens, but he was left with the
impression that the prisoner had been not only tried but condemned.
And it was up to him to help.

But how? By the time he got back to the flitter or was able to find
Hobart and the others, it might already be too late. _He_ must make
the move, and soon, for there had been unmistakable urgency in the
captive's message. Raf's hands fumbled at the grid before him, and
then he realized that the opening was far too small to admit him to
the room on the other side of the wall.

To return to the underground ways might be a waste of time, but he
could see no other course open to him. What if he could not find the
captive later? Where in the maze of the half-deserted city could he
hope to come across the trail again? Even as he sorted out all the
points which could defeat him, Raf's hands and feet felt for the
notched steps which would take him down. He had gone only two floors
when he was faced with a grille opening which was much larger. On
impulse he stopped to measure it, sure he could squeeze through here,
if he could work loose the grid.