A moment later he was sprawled on Atel's ceiling, amid a litter of the surly Varan's personal effects. He had hardly come to rest when he fainted with a small sigh.
The second flipover of the city's gravity barely jounced him, but it seemed to cause a lot of damage elsewhere. He had just gotten to his feet when a terrific crash rang from the street below, and was followed at once by others in other parts of the metropolis. He went to the catwalk and looked over it—very tentatively, for he was warier than ever of open spaces—but the distance was too great. He guessed that something which hadn't been fastened down when the original reversal took place had just made the return trip.
As he peered, four or five of the winged people stepped from a platform far below his eyrie, and began to mount. Since they were between him and the glowing side of the next building, he did not recognize Atel and Jina among them until they were almost upon him.
As they settled gracefully on the catwalk, he noted with some surprise that they were all armed with a glass-muzzled, pistol-like weapon instead of the usual metal bar; and judging from their expressions, they anticipated trouble.
"I see you weren't killed," Atel said grimly. He seemed a bit disappointed.
"No. But I did a lot of dropping back and forth," Andreson returned acidly. "Why the artillery?"
"These men are members of the Council Guard. They think you're a spy of some sort. They suspect me, too, for forgetting about you during the fighting."
"That's ridiculous!" Jina burst in, her breast pulsing hotly. "They never thought of it until you suggested it!"
"We can't afford to run any risks."