"The police haven't given up," said the voice. "I'm going to be busy
with them. Don't expect further communication from me."
He didn't know who the person was, in spite of the haunting familiarity
of the voice. And he wasn't going to find out soon. Probably never. It
was enough, however, to know that he had a friend.
He left Doumya Filone standing there, which was a mistake, he realized
as he reached the front office. He should have fired once more at her
hands. The screen was crackling; her hands had been free and she'd
managed to turn the screen on before the tangle strands interfered with
her movement.
He'd made a grave error, but not necessarily fatal. It would be some
time before anyone got there. By then he hoped to be safe.
He slipped through the corridors, went out the rear of the building and
looked around for an air cab. The place was deserted at this hour and no
cabs were in the nearby sky.
He had to walk and he didn't have that much time. He headed toward the
nearest main thoroughfare. It was in the opposite direction to his
destination, but he should be able to find an air cab there. He was
walking too fast, for a light flashed down on him. He wasn't presentable
and his haste was suspicious.
"Stop," said the amplified voice. It was probably just a routine check,
but he couldn't risk even that.
He dodged into a space between two buildings and began to run. In the
center of town, this would be a blind alley, but in this section it
wasn't. There was a chance he could lose them. The buildings were just
high enough so that they couldn't use the air car and they'd have to
follow on foot.
The patrol car alighted almost instantly and one of the policemen
started after him. The man following him knew his business and was in
good physical condition, better than Jadiver was after days of tension
and little sleep.
Jadiver turned and snapped a half dozen shots at his pursuer. He was
lucky, a couple were close enough. The policeman crashed to the ground
and began to swear. His voice was choked off in seconds.
The other one got out of the patrol car and let it stand. It was the
principle of the thing: nobody did that to a policeman. Jadiver had a
substantial lead and it was dark, but he didn't know the route. Jadiver
was enormously tired and this was the policeman's regular beat. The gap
between them closed rapidly.
Out of breath and time and space to move around in, Jadiver took the
wrong turn because the man was so close--and found himself boxed in.
* * * * *
Crouching, Jadiver fired at the oncoming man, a dark shape he sensed
rather than saw. The tangle gun clicked futilely, out of ammunition. He
fumbled hastily for a clip; before he could reload, the policeman
squeezed the trigger and held it down.
The bullets didn't hit him, they were set to detonate a fraction of an
inch away. He gave up and awaited the constricting violence of the
tangle strands.
The bullets detonated and the strands flashed out, glowing slightly in
the darkness. They never touched him; instead, they bent into strange
shapes and flipped away. The stickiest substance known, and one of the
strongest, from which there was no escape, yet it would not adhere to
him--was, in fact, forcefully repelled!
It was that skin, of course, the synthetic substance they had put on him
over the circuit. They should have tested it under these conditions.
They might not have been so anxious to boil men alive.
He felt that he was almost invincible. It was an exhilarating feeling.
He stopped trying to reload the tangle gun and stood up. He sprinted at
the policeman, who stood his ground, firing frantically at a target he
could not miss and yet did not hit. The tangle strands shattered all
around the target.
Jadiver swung the gun with his remaining strength; the butt connected
with the policeman's forehead.
Jadiver scooped up the discarded tangle gun and fired twice at close
range, in case the man should decide to revive too soon, which was
doubtful. He went back and entered the idling patrol car. He hadn't lost
much time, after all.
He sat the car down on top of a building near the edge of the
rocketport, straightened his clothing and wiped the grime off his face.
Some of the disguise went, too, but that no longer mattered much.
He stepped out of the elevator and walked casually along the street
until he came to the interplanetary flight office. The same robot was
there--would be there every hour, day and night, until the rocketport
was expanded and the building torn down and rebuilt, or the robot
itself wore out and had to be replaced.