ng a lot about
Jesus--"

He broke off, whirled, and jumped for the doorway. Brett leaped after
him, caught his coat. It ripped. The fat man stumbled over one of the
cop-golems, went to hands and knees. Brett stood over him.

"Get up, damn it!" he snapped. "I need help and you're going to help
me!" He hauled the fat man to his feet. "All you have to do is stand by
the rope. Dhuva may be unconscious when I find him. You'll have to help
me haul him up. If anybody comes along, any Gels, I mean--give me a
signal. A whistle ... like this--" Brett demonstrated. "And if I get in
trouble, do what you can. Here ..." Brett started to offer the fat man
the gun, then handed him the hunting knife. "If anybody interferes, this
may not do any good, but it's something. I'm going down now."

The fat man watched as Brett gripped the rope, let himself over the
edge. Brett looked up at the glistening face, the damp strands of hair
across the freckled scalp. Brett had no assurance that the man would
stay at his post, but he had done what he could.

"Remember," said Brett. "It's a real man they've got, like you and me
... not a golem. We owe it to him." The fat man's hands trembled. He
watched Brett, licked his lips. Brett started down.

* * * * *

The descent was easy. The rough face of the excavation gave footholds.
The end of a decaying timber projected; below it was the stump of a
crumbling concrete pipe two feet in diameter. Brett was ten feet below
the rim of floor now. Above, the broad figure of the fat man was visible
in silhouette against the jagged opening in the wall.

Now the cliff shelved back; the rope hung free. Brett eased past the cut
end of a rusted water pipe, went down hand over hand. If there were
nothing at the bottom to give him footing, it would be a long climb back
...

Twenty feet below he could see the still black water, pockmarked with
expanding rings where bits of debris dislodged by his passage peppered
the surface.

There was a rhythmic vibration in the rope. Brett felt it through his
hands, a fine sawing sensation ...

He was falling, gripping the limp rope ...

He slammed on his back in three feet of oily water. The coils of rope
collapsed around him with a sustained splashing. He got to his feet,
groped for the end of the rope. The glossy nylon strands had been
cleanly cut.

* * *

For half an hour Brett waded in waist-deep water along a wall