I could hear no sounds of pursuit as yet. I thought back over the
past half hour. I still experienced no shred of remorse. The man had
deserved to die. He had laid hands on me without provocation. He had
been stupid. He had been a _man_.
Again that odd emphasis stirred a wonder in my mind, which vanished
before I could grip it. I looked about me at what I could discern of
the artificial cavern. I felt at home here. Then my memory played me
a trick. I thought I had been in this place before, with others of my
kind (my kind? what the hell?), and we had squatted thus and hearkened
to the hunting cries of great carnivores and of--I grasped too quickly
and too consciously for the rest of the thought and it was gone. But I
could have sworn that I was going to remember the blood-roaring of a
band of men.
What the hell, indeed! Had my wild adventure tales got under my skin
and turned me lunatic?
That idea lasted for about a breath and a half. I knew I was cold sane.
So, coldly and sanely, I groped in my memory for whatever experience I
had turned up a fragment of. It was dim but it was certainly there, a
scene painted in faded oils on dark canvas. I was in a cave with others
of my kind, hulking broad-chested shapes in the gloom, and outside rose
the howling of our pursuers. I felt the hair bristle on my neck and
my forehead creased with rage. Then the lights went on in the geology
hall, dispelling the picture.
I curled myself down behind the biggest of the stalagmites. I was
wholly in shadow. I lay perfectly still, and my heart slowed its beat
so that the blood hissed more quietly in my ears and I could hear with
wonderful clarity. Guards spoke nearby. They were searching for me,
checking methodically through every cranny of the hall. I flexed my
fingers. A silent chuckle shook me.
One came cautiously to the entrance of the cave and bent and stared
futilely. I saw him glance around for his companions, then advance
slowly into the place. When he was nearly above me I rose as swiftly as
a panther. He had no time to drag in breath for a yell. I clamped his
mouth tight with one hand, broke his neck with the other. It was done
beautifully. In that moment I found pride in my perfect coordination,
in my excellence as a killing machine as deadly as a king cobra. I laid
him down in shadow. I traded my coat for his uniform jacket, which was
too snug in the shoulders but fitted well enough otherwise. I put on my
shoes and his visored cap and walked out of the cave. I went along the
aisle, face averted from the other guards, and found a stair well and
slipped into it.
Up went the hue and cry before I was halfway down!
I leaped to the second floor entrance, feeling their eyes already on my
back as I passed through it, and went loping for the nearest window, a
tall square of moontouched glittering. I hurled the thing open, swung
onto the sill, and launched myself into space without even looking at
the ground. It rushed up at me. As naturally as a cat might have done
it, I landed on toes and fingers. Then I was running.
No shouts broke out behind me. They had not seen my leap. I shed the
jacket and cap as I ran. Then I remembered my coat, lying across the
dead guard. No identification there--until they had time to check
dry-cleaner's marks. I had an hour or two at least.
I headed for my hotel, a dingy, half-respectable pile on the edge of
the downtown district. An hour to pack, and I would be on my way. There
was something, or someone, calling to me from a great distance. I did
not know what it was nor where.
My instincts would carry me to it. I wasted no time in wondering. I let
my mind slip out of gear, put my whole energy into my traveling.
When I had run far enough, I found an owl cab and let it carry me the
rest of the distance. It seemed oddly alien to me to trust to anything
but my own powerful legs; but I forced myself to sit back and let the
civilized habits of Bill Cuff take the upper hand. _I_ would rest for a
little while.