long ago. But without the damn chemist, the herbs were just so many dried weeds.
It had not been difficult to track Newell's sled through the tunnels. Unfortunately, by the time he had caught up with her, she had abandoned her utility vehicle and crawled off into a corridor laced with myriad chambers, antechambers and mazelike passages.
He had hoped to find a trail of blood leading from the sled to the woman's hiding place, but there had not been one. She had somehow stopped the bleeding long enough to conceal her trail.
In the end, he had been forced to abandon the hunt.
He regretted the fact that he had not been able to make absolutely certain that Newell was dead, but he had used his para-rez talent to ensure that, even if she did survive, she would never be able to return to the surface.
There was little possibility that anyone would send a search-and-rescue team in after her, he told himself. Ruin rats were notoriously secretive. Most eventually became full-blown paranoids. They worked alone, rarely trusted anyone with their personal amber frequencies, and never told others about their excavation locations for fear of being ripped off by the competition.
But even if, by chance, someone did miss Newell and send a team in to search for her, there wouldn't be a problem. The amber-rez locator on the woman's sled no longer functioned. Not that anyone was likely to attempt a search-and-rescue operation. Who would give a damn about a lost ruin rat?
He left his sled in the green quartz chamber where he always stored it and headed for the surface as swiftly as possible. He was really on fire this time. He had been forced to use the blue stuff. The afterburn was tearing through him in hot, thrilling waves.
He had to find a woman before the crash came. He couldn't have her, not yet at any rate, and the other one was out of town.
He would have to make do with a street whore, he thought, climbing swiftly up the steps to ground level.
He found just what he was looking for a short time later in a twisted little lane. She was a cheap-looking blonde in a skimpy red dress, huddled in a dimly lit doorway, pulling on a synch-smoke cigarette.
He was desperately thankful for the fog, which was so heavy now that even if someone noticed him talking to the woman, he could not possibly be identified from a distance.
With a supreme effort of will he managed to summon enough control to conceal the feverish lust beneath his public mask. It wasn't easy.
'You look cold,' he said, walking toward her.
She lowered the cigarette and gave him a professional perusal.
'You want to warm me up, handsome?' she asked.
'It would be my pleasure.'
'It'll cost you seventy-five bucks. Cash up front.'
He reached into his pocket for a small packet. 'Got something better than money.'
She took the packet, opened it, and inhaled gently. In the pale light of the vestibule he could see the sudden anticipation that animated her once-beautiful features.
'The chant will cover it, all right.' She rose and opened the door. 'What do you say we go upstairs to my place?'
'I'm in a hurry,' he said, following her through the doorway.
'I know. They all are.'
*****
HE BARELY MADE IT BACK TO HIS HIDING PLACE BEFORE he collapsed. The effects of the bad afterburn made him feel like a vampire. After the initial euphoric rush of heated lust came the inevitable crash into a deep, heavy slumber that could not be denied.
When he awoke the next morning, he reached for his journal. It was time to make another modification in the elaborately detailed plan he had constructed several months ago.
But first he made a careful note of the two recent deaths. He put a little question mark beside Bertha Newell's name because, although he was certain that she would not make it out of the catacombs alive, he had not actually seen the body. He liked to be precise.
He had no doubts about the fate of the hooker, however. The dose of chant that he had given her had been especially prepared by the chemist to be used in case of just such an emergency. No one could have survived it.
Chapter 6
ELLY REZZED IN THE CODE OF THE HIGH-TECH LOCK THAT Bertha had installed on the concealed steel door. There was a faint snick of sound as it released.
'I'll get it.' Cooper shifted the flashlight to his left hand, grasped the heavy handle with his right, and pulled the door inward. The hinges groaned. 'This thing is old. Looks like it might be Early Colonial.'
'My rat hole dates from Colonial days, too,' she said. 'All the buildings on Ruin Lane were put up around the same time.'
They went through the steel door and down another long flight of steps. At the bottom a familiar green glow rimmed a jagged opening in the green quartz wall of the tunnel.
Elly knew that nothing human had created the rips and tears in the nearly indestructible green quartz. Some experts assumed that the openings had been made by the aliens themselves, using the same machines that they had used to construct the catacombs. The other theory was that at some point in the planet's past, massive earthquakes had done the damage.
An invisible current of psi energy flowed out of the opening. It whispered across all of her senses. On her shoulder, Rose stiffened with anticipation.
Cooper examined her curiously in the emerald light. 'You can feel it, too?' he asked. He sounded surprised.
'Of course. I can sense psi power when there's a lot of it around,' she said briskly. 'Most people can. Why do you think the Old Quarters of the cities have all the most popular nightclubs, casinos, and restaurants? Tourists love the little buzz they get from psi energy.'
'Is that how it feels to you? Like a little buzz?'
'No,' she said, reaching into her tote for an amber compass. 'If you want to know the truth, it feels like I'm looking through a dark mirror. I can sense shapes and shadows moving on the other side, but I can't quite see them. It's frustrating. That's one of the reasons I haven't used my own hole-in-the-wall very much. I've gone into the tunnels a few times with my friend, Doreen, but that's about it.'
'You never talked about what it was like not having the same kind of strong para-psych profile that everyone else in your family has.'
'There were a lot of things you and I never discussed, Cooper.' She started toward the rip in the wall.
'I'll go first.' Cooper eased her aside and moved through the opening ahead of her.
Typical hunter, she mused. Get one underground, and he immediately took charge. Then again, that's what they were all trained to do, she reflected. The safety of the exploration and excavation teams depended on the strong-willed hunters who, in an emergency, could deal with the impressive egos and the research fever that often overtook the academics they were hired to protect.
She followed Cooper into the dimly lit green hallway.
Cooper contemplated the seemingly endless corridor that stretched out in front of them, assessing the multitude of vaulted openings and branching passageways.
'Let me see that frequency number that your friend gave you,' he said, drawing a small, palm-sized amber-rez locator out of his pocket.
No hunter worth his amber went anywhere without an amber compass and an amber-rez locator, Elly thought wryly. Her father and brothers even carried them when they dressed for formal occasions.
She handed the slip of paper to him and waited while he coded the frequency of Bertha's utility sled into the
