"I want only to find out who murdered MacDonald!"
"You want more than that, Hyrst, though you don't know it yet. But MacDonald's murderer is part of what we're after."
He took Hyrst's arm. "We don't have long. Thanks to my guidance, you slipped them all except this one. But they'll be hounding after our trail very quickly."
They went on along the shadowed street. The glare of the lights died back behind them, and they moved in darkness with only the keen stars to watch them, and the cold, gritty wind blowing in from the barrens, and the dark door-ways of the mastaba-like monolithic houses of the humanoids staring at them like sightless eyes. Hyrst looked up at the bright, tiny moon that crept amid the stars, and a deep shaking took him as he thought of men lying up there in the deathly sleep, of himself lying there year after year....
"In here," said Shearing. It was one of the frigid, musty tombs that the humanoids called home. It was dark and there was nothing in it at all. "We can't risk a light. We don't need it, anyway."
They sat down. Hyrst said desperately, "Listen, I want to know some things. Exactly what are we doing here?"
Shearing answered deliberately, "We are hiding from those who want you, and we are waiting for a chance to go to our friends."
"Our friends? Your friends, maybe. That woman—I don't know her, and—"
"Now you listen, Hyrst. I'll tell you this much about us now. We're Lazarites, like you, with the same powers as you. But all Lazarites are not on our side."
Hyrst thought about that. "Then those others who are hunting us—"