Proteus stood, uncertain. Soon Grek would wonder what had happened to him. His father would be worried. Should he go back while he could? Was he doing the right thing? His eyes stung. Boys rarely even competed in the examination for Historical Training, since it was a woman’s field—his father said they rewrote history—but he’d tried and flunked. If they’d taken him, he probably never would have decided to strike out on his own; to discover Earth on his own. He would have been content with records.

Remembering, his resolve came back with a warm rush. The grating was beneath him. He pulled it up easily—it was made for womens’ lighter hands—and closed it from inside. Quietly he began to descend the dimly lighted ladderlike stairs.

His steps echoed through the aluminum tunnel. His scalp prickled and his ears rang. Suppose, just suppose, that he couldn’t get out at the lower end, and someone locked the upper entrance? “You’re just acting like a scared kid,” he told himself scornfully. He knew that the ramps only extended a few hundred feet, yet it seemed that the steps would never end.

There were other ramps, but many were used to transport scientific supplies and he didn’t know their schedules. That’s why he’d chosen a utility ramp, because they were visited only several times a year for inspection purposes. But now it occurred to him that if anything happened and he couldn’t get out, it would be a long time until he was found. Not that he didn’t have enough supplies, he told himself quickly, because he did. He was just nervous because he couldn’t have known ahead of time how he’d feel.

The descent was oddly distasteful. He felt like one of the archaic looking insects he’d seen in microfilms, creeping inside the huge ramp that descended from the underside of the city. Maybe it was just the knowledge that each step took him nearer the ramp’s end that bothered him, he thought.

Twice he stopped to rest, gripping the thin railing with both hands and slipping his survival pack down on the stairs. At the same time he kept thinking of his father, who must know of his disappearance by now—he was probably questioning Grek at this very moment.

To show himself that he didn’t really care, he started to run down the stairs, the echo of his steps growing even louder. Then the steps ended. A small door read: “Outlets—Surface.” It opened automatically at his touch and closed behind him. A narrow hall lined with machinery ended with a second door.