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THE FUGITIVES

By Malcolm B. Morehart, Jr.

Somehow Jeff Engel followed the stranger
into another world—among people who hated all
aliens. And of course, he was now one himself!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
September 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Jeff Engel studied the feverish crowd hurrying through the subwayturnstiles. As he checked each passing face against a card-index mind,he smiled to himself. Even when off duty, the habit persisted. Therewas always the chance he'd spot a face that would fit, one that wouldclose another active file in Missing Persons Bureau.

A mousey little guy slipped through a turnstile and bumped into a fatwoman shopper. Engel glanced at the thin apologetic face and then at abriefcase bearing the faded initials, "C. G." As a train rumbled in andthe noise of the commuters rose, something glinted at Engel's feet. Hebent down, curious.

It was a cheap fountain pen inscribed with the same initials. He caughta glimpse of the stranger on the crowded subway stairs.

"Wait a minute, mister!" he yelled.

When C. G. didn't turn, Engel hesitated, then pounded up the stairsinto dazzling sunlight. He squinted around at people and then overlow bushes into the city park where he saw the little fellow walkingbriskly. Annoyed, Engel trotted down a shady walk, then down a quietlane and finally reached out to tap his shoulder.

C. G. vanished in thin air.

Engel slid to a halt and rubbed his eyes. Fearfully he explored thisqueer illusion, his hands pawing nothingness. There was a roar like athousand subway trains, and something invisible and powerful hurled himsprawling. He lay stunned as the noise died away and then sat up tonurse a bruised head.

Someone grabbed his arms, jerked him rudely to his feet, and spun himaround. A tall gangling cop glared down at him.

"You been drinking?"

"W-what?" Engel stammered. Confused, he looked more closely at thisman who wore a gray metallic uniform, a glittering badge, and an oddlyshaped holster. "I wasn't drinking. Something pushed me."

The cop smirked as he picked up the fountain pen and dusted it off withhis gloves. "This yours?" he asked.

"Yes—uh, why, no," Engel sputtered. "It belongs to a guy I waschasing."

The cop's thick eyebrows lifted.

"He lost it, and I was trying to return it," Engel explained. "But hedisappeared right in front of me!"

"Well, that's a new one," the cop said with a cynical smile. He seizedEngel's arm and dragged him down the walk. "I'm running you in as adrunk and robbery suspect, bud."

"But I didn't do anything!" protested Engel.

The cop scowled. "We'll see. If you're innocent, you'll get out ofC. D. in a few minutes."

"C. D.?" Engel echoed. C. D.? C. G.? C. D.? The initials hopped wildlyabout in his mind. At a soft whistling sound he glanced up above a highhedge and his eyes widened. Gleaming white towers rose up to fade intomisty blue, and around them silently darted silvery bubbles. Faintlytraced with jointed, concentric lines, the sky seemed to curve over himlike a lofty and enormous spider web.

As he was pulled across a wide street, tall, hollow-cheeked peoplestopped to stare at him, and he stared back in wonder.

"Who are they?" Engel faltered.

The cop said nothing and led him through the low entrance of a tower.As they went down a glowing hall, Engel touched the back of his stillaching head. Was his fall in the park causing these hallucinations?Possibly. But before the fall, hadn't some mysterious, unseen forceth

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