"To get X's head," Cull shouted.

It was still in the middle of the street where Fyodor had tenderly placed it. It lay on its back with the face turned upward. The dark gla.s.ses, despite the violence, had not come loose. At the time, Cull's excitement had made him overlook this fact. Now, he thought, I'll remove the gla.s.ses. See the eyes of X, if I have to lift the eyelids myself.

Why should X wear dark gla.s.ses? Was he a demon? Demons, no matter what their form, human or monster, had eyes like cats or wolves. They shone in the dark when a light was turned on them. "

Angels, so he had been told by a man who claimed to have seen one, had the same type of eyes.

This was logical. Angels were unfallen demons. If Cull took X's head into a dark room and shone a light into the eyes, and the eyes re-flected the light, he still would not know if X was a celestial or an infernal.

But he would know that he had not been human.

He thought, do not tell me that angels cannot be hurt or killed. I know better. Ask the man who is in h.e.l.l. Angels are flesh and blood like us. Or are when they walk among us. Remember that Adam was created in Our (G.o.d's and the angels') image. The sons of G.o.d (fallen angels) found the daughters of men fair and took them to wife. Fallen angel and human female had children. So, even the angels had s.e.x and spermatozoa and genes and all that goes with the biological paraphernalia. And where angels are mentioned in the Scriptures they look, by implication, just like men.

Who had ever heard of a female angel? Yet they must exist, for what use a male without a female? And if male angels can cohabit with the daughters of men and beget, then a male angel must be able to cohabit with a female angel and beget, and a man cohabit with a female angel and beget.

And if the fallen sons of G.o.d had children, then we human beings must have angelic genes. But the genes for light-reflecting eyes must be recessive, maybe lost, for no human beings with photo-reflective eyes have ever been discovered.

One of the ambulance attendants quit leaning against the hood. He stared at Cull. Then, divining Cull's intention, he ran to the head, scooped it up, spun like a halfback, reversing the field, and sped away. But not before Cull saw him grin and saw the long canines -- unhumanly long -- in his mouth.

"Stop!" Cull shouted. "I'll have you skinned alive for this, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, if you don't stop!"

He turned his head to laugh at Cull and kept on running. Cull was determined to catch him, not only to get the head but to find out why he was so disobedient. Many strange things had come about, and he wanted to get at least a clue as to why.

By then, the streets were beginning to fill up again. The demon cut through the crowd. They scattered when they saw the thing he was carrying, like a football, in the crook of his arm.

Cull began to fall back behind the demon. His muscles were stiff, and he was exhausted from the long piggyback trip. If the demon had kept run-ning, he would soon have put him out of eye-range. But the demon stopped to lift up a very heavy stone manhole-cover in the middle of the street with one hand.

Down the sewer entrance he went. By the time Cull got above the hole, he could see nothing but the darkness that began about twelve feet down.

About thirty seconds later, Fyodor, panting, arrived. Gasping, he asked why Cull wanted the head. Cull told him some of his reasons.

"But," Cull said, "we might as well give up. We can't follow him down there."

"Oh, yes, we can," said Fyodor, smiling strangely. "And now is as good a time as any. We had to go down, anyway."

He lowered himself into the hole and began climbing down the stone ladder leading into the depths.

"Are you crazy?" Cull said.

Fyodor stopped just as his head was below the street level, and he looked up at Cull with his small blue-grey eyes, his wide rubbery mouth twisted in a smile.

"Perhaps. But this, my friend, is the only way to penetrate into the mysteries and puzzles of this world. I decided that some time ago. Especially af-ter encountering several very curious characters emerging from or climbing into sewer entrances while I was roaming the street during the dark. I thought then that it was possible that one might gain entrance to the House of X. Or, as some say, the House of the Dead, by coming up from beneath.

"So, to prepare for the lightless ways and the dangers that wait -- and, believe me, there are plenty -- I have cached many things underneath. In a fine and private place."

The stench that leaped upward from the hole in the street made Cull want to puke.

"Come on down," "said Fyodor. "The odor won't kill you. Only half-kill. Did you think you could get to the bottom of anything without wading through much c.r.a.p and corruption?"

"Wait a minute," Cull said. "I want to phone in."

"No time, no time," said Fyodor's voice, fainter and more hollow. "Hurry up, or we'll lose the head."

"We'll lose our own heads," Cull said, but he began to climb down the ladder.

Just as his eyes were about to pa.s.s below the pavingstones of the street, he saw a woman and four men run from around the corner of the street intersection. The woman was running as swiftly as she could. She was not making much speed, however, for it was evident that her arms and legs were heavy with fatigue. She staggered and stum-bled, several times almost falling down. A few more steps, and she would be through running.

"Phyllis!" said Cull. He stopped his descent.

Behind Phyllis and the four palanquin-bearers, strung out in groups determined by their innate ability to run, were men and women. These were, obviously, the pursuers. They screamed at the pur-sued, yelled insults and threats, waved fists and weapons.

Some of the men running with the woman turned and fought the first of the pursuers. For a few seconds, they held them back. Then, when the second group caught up with the first, the de-fenders went down.

It was then that Cull recognized that the woman was Phyllis Nilstrom.

He froze, so horrified was he. It was not so much her immediate danger, though that was terrible enough, as it was the implications of the scene. If a mob dared attack the agents of the Ex-change, conditions were indeed topsy-turvy and strange and fearful things must be taking place. The world, as he knew it, was going to pieces.

Phyllis ran toward him, her eyes staring, her mouth wide open, deep lines of strain in her face, her breath rasping so loudly he could hear it.

"Hold it!" Cull said to Fyodor, and he climbed out of the manhole. Phyllis, seeing the figure rise before her, seemingly from the pavement itself, put out her hands as if to ward him off. She also tried to change her course, but, instead, staggered headlong into his arms. There she collapsed.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the manhole. After lowering her to Fyodor, he jumped down the hole, almost missing the ladder and tumbling onto the floor. But he caught him-self in time, though not without sc.r.a.ping skin off his knees and hands. Frantically, he replaced the cover on the hole.

Phyllis between them, they went through the darkness. He was in a panic that the crowd might come down the ladder after them. For a moment, he thought of leaving her behind. He would be justified; had she not abandoned him?

But the manhole cover was not lifted. In a few seconds, they were out of range of the shrieks and cries coming from above.

After they had gone approximately five hun-dred steps in the darkness, Fyodor said, "Stop! It should be just about here."

He lowered Phyllis' legs to the floor, and Cull did likewise with the upper part of her body. She lay there, wheezing as if she could never get enough air into her lungs.

Fyodor said, "Don't move, either of you. A few steps in the wrong direction, and you could fall into the sewage."

Cull shivered, though he was hot and sweating, because he could hear the clotted current burbling a few feet away. Suddenly, the compact stench and heat pressed in on him, and he wanted to run away. There was nothing to keep him from quit-ting Fyodor and Phyllis; he could easily make his way back to the ladder and climb back up into the light and fresh air of the street. By now, the mob must have pa.s.sed on. Or, even if they were there, he could join them. How would they know that he was responsible for having cheated them of a victim?

Moreover, if he stayed here, he would be in Fyodor's power. For all he knew, Fyodor might have lured him down here only to lose him or kill him. Who knew what went on in a man's mind, especially a fanatic like Fyodor? The little fellow was weak and, probably, a coward. He must loathe the man who had insulted his belief in X, who had, in fact, been the cause for inciting the mob into attacking X.

Take it easy, Cull cautioned himself. Take it easy. Maybe I'm the one who's the coward.

Logically, Fyodor doesn't have any reason for doing me harm. Would he have invited me to come along with him if he hadn't sincerely wanted companionship and help in these dark and dangerous tunnels?

Doesn't he really believe in all that c.r.a.p about the brotherhood of man and the love one must bear for the other because the Great Father wants it so?

Phyllis, who had by then recovered her breath, said, "Jack? Was it really you who saved me?

What are we going to do now?"

"Sure, I did," he said. "Though I don't know why. I should have watched you being torn apart; it would only have been justice to let them do it. But I didn't."

"You still love me," she said, wonderingly.

"Don't you believe it," he replied harshly. "I love your body. What man wouldn't? But I hate you.

What would you expect after your telling me how much you hated me, how frigid you are, how you acted so pa.s.sionately only to advance yourself to another man who could do you more good? You b.i.t.c.h!"

Fyodor's voice came out of the darkness. "Step inside, brother Cull and sister Nilstrom. Take my hand; follow me. I found the place.where I've stored my supplies."

This was the first indication Cull had that Fyodor had been absent. He was very much at the mercy of the little man.

Phyllis rose and took Cull's hand. He groped around until his hand met Fyodor's, and he allowed Fyodor to lead him for about thirty steps more. Then, Fyodor turned into what seemed to be a recess in the wall.

"There are many of these little rooms throughout the sewage system," said Fyodor. "What their original purpose was, I don't know. But I use this one as a storage room. I hope no one has found it and looted it. If they have, we might as well return to the street. Don't move."

He stopped and released Cull's hand. A moment later, he breathed, "Ah, still here!"

Cull smelled sulfuric acid, and a light flared from a stick held in Fyodor's hand. "For-tunately," he said, "there is plenty of sulfur in h.e.l.l. Wrap some dried rocktree leaves, the only readily flammable substance in this world, around a sliver of bone (human, of course), form a tip of pota.s.sium chlorate and sugar, derived from urine or organs, etcetera. Unfortunately, obtaining sulfuric acid and other chemicals is very difficult. Evil men control the supply and I had to do some very distasteful, even wicked acts, in order to buy these substances. Some of the acts involved the ex-ploitation of. . . well, never mind, it is a wicked-ness to even recount wickednesses. But I needed the acids to do good, to do what I think is good, anyway. And pardon me for this lecture.

"To obtain these materials, I had to consider that the end justifies the means. But have I made the end evil by using evil means? I do not know and cannot bear contemplating that such a possibility exists.

"Thus, you see, morality threads throughout the fabric of both the physical and spiritual universes.

Chemistry involves ethics. There is no separation of the two, or, indeed, of anything. What do you think?"

"We must do what we have to do," Cull said, watching him apply the long thick malodorous match to a torch. The torch caught fire quickly and gave a bright flame but also much smoke.

"Ah, but do wehave to do what we do?" Fyodor said. He lit a second torch from the first and handed the second to Cull. A third, he gave to Phyllis. Then, he picked up two bundles of torches and gave Cull one. These were bound by skin and could be carried over the left shoulder by a strip of leather.

Three more sacks, containing food and clay bottles filled with water, went over their right shoulder.

"Bags of human skin," said Fyodor. "By pur-chasing these, I encouraged the illicit and mur-derous trade in such articles. True, I did not myself cut the throats of men and women from whom these skins were gotten. But I paid to have the deed done, even if it was already done. Yet, I need the skins, just as I need the matches, to fur-ther my goals. Is not my goal to determine whatis good, good?"

"What's the difference if you kill or not?" Cull said. "A man does not stay dead. Killing somebody only means they get to sleep a little while. For that, they should thank you."

"Ah, but you could say the same thing about killing on Earth. If a man has an afterlife, why is it a sin to kill him? He will rise again. No, even here murder is interference with a man's business and destiny.

It is blocking a man's free will. As long as a man's business is not harmful to others, he should be allowed to do what he will."

"Why?" Cull said.

"Ah, I do not know. Not really. Except that that is the way it has always been on Earth. Why not here? It's a matter of self-preservation. Each self wants to be free of interference and to develop to the full his length of life and his capabilities. So, all selves make a social contract. Murder is illegal, a sin against self and community, therefore, against G.o.d.

"Enough of talk. The demon must be far ahead by now. Of course, he can't see without light any more than we can. But he may be familiar with this area and steer swiftly through the darkness with ears and finger tips. Let's go."

They plunged into a world bounded by white metallic walls on the right and the outermost glow of the flickering torches on the left. The walk along the curving walls was about three feet wide. Six feet below it, the sewage ran thickly. Cull could not see the other side of the ca.n.a.l or the wall that bounded it.

"Isn't there danger of our torches causing heavy concentrations of sewage gas to explode?" he said.

"There is," said Fyodor. "But it is not the greatest danger down here."

"Oh?" Cull said, but he did not ask him for more specific information. He was scared enough.

"Who built these sewers?"

"Don't know. Demons, probably. Under the direction of The Authorities, I suppose. After the last reconstruction of this world -- the Einsteinian."

Presently, they came to a place where the ca.n.a.l narrowed and a white metal bridge led over the ca.n.a.l to the other side.

"The ca.n.a.l branches off here," said Fyodor. "We have to take the further branch."

He walked across the bridge, which was a strip only two feet wide and without railings.

"Hmmm! Evidently, the recent quake has widened the ca.n.a.l. Fortunately, though unexplainedly, the metal seems to stretch. To what limits, I don't know and hope I never do."

They crossed the bridge and went around a corner and into another tunnel. After crossing a second bridge, they walked down the left side of the tunnel.

"How do you know the demon went this way?" Cull said.

"I don't. But I'm gambling that he returned to the House of the Dead from which he came. If he did return, he can be followed."

Cull did not understand fully what he meant, but he would follow Fyodor. By now, he had no choice. Fyodor knew where he was going; Cull did not. And, after they took another turn, he was not sure of getting back.

It was then that he began to wonder if Fyodor might not be a demon.

He might be leading them to torture. Cull cursed himself for not having thought of this earlier. He dropped back about forty feet and then called, "Fyodor!" The little Slav turned abruptly so that his torch was held high behind him and Cull's was the only light in his eyes.

"What? "he cried.

"Nothing," Cull said. "I just thought I saw something move in the shadows." He sighed with relief.

Fyodor' s eyes had not shone.

"If you see anything," Fyodor said, "yell! I'll do the same. That way, if one of us is attacked or overpowered, the others may have time to defend themselves."

"You're very encouraging," Cull said.

Phyllis moaned and said in a low voice to Cull, "Please! Do we have to go on? I'm so scared."

"Would you rather go back and be torn to pieces?"

"I'd rather take that chance. At least, I'd know what I was facing. But down here! There might be worse things than being ripped to shreds. Besides, the Exchange may have things in hand again."

"I doubt it," said Cull. "There's something very bad, very powerful, going on. Anyway, I want to find out Who or What is running this inferno."

"You fool!" she said. "I'll tell Stengarius you neglected your duties! You neglected me! He'll have your tongue ripped out, your b.a.l.l.s cut off, your hands and feet smashed! He'll have your eyes gouged out!"

"-- Stengarius!" said Cull. "And you, too, you lying wh.o.r.e!"

Phyllis gasped. For a moment, she was silent. The flickering torchlight illuminated a pale skin, staring eyes, and lines on her forehead and be-tween her nose and mouth. She looked much older.