Somewhere to the west of the city a Mars-bound rocket rose on its fiery
tail with a roar, higher and higher on its wings of flame until its
roar had dwindled to a high, penetrating whine. It flickered in the
morning sun, and disappeared.
Griffin awoke with a jolt, and stared out the window of the hotel,
watching the rocket move like an arrow across the sky, a sight that
he had always loved. Then he rolled back with a groan, the anger and
fear of the night before rushing back into his sleep-dulled mind like a
nightmare.
He had not found them. When he had finally taken the room, and fallen
down fully clothed on the bed to sleep, he knew he had reached a dead
end. He could do nothing but wait now. And knowing what he knew, he was
afraid to wait.
And then he heard a sound in the room, and jerked upright, and saw the
girl standing in the door. She was watching him as he lay there, her
face without expression. She might have been pretty once; her hair had
been long and shining black, and there was even a trace of a wave left
in it, a pitiful attempt to pin it back in some semblance of order. But
her face was hard, and she watched him with sharp dark eyes like an
animal's.
He sat up slowly, his feet on the cold floor. "All right," he said.
"What do you want? How did you get in here?"
Her lips curled into a sneer. "You can go where you want to. Why can't
I?"