For a few seconds, Vernay lay quietly, then he struggled into violent motion. He scrambled to get to his feet, his left hand groping at his belt. Stan caught the glint of polished steel. He stepped quickly around the man, poising himself. It was no use, he thought. This would have to be decisive. He brought his two hands up to his shoulder, then swung them like an axe, stepping into the swing as Vernay got his feet under him. The impact of the blow brought Vernay to a standing position. As the man stood swaying, Stan swung his hands again. Vernay's back arched and for an instant he was rigid. Then he stumbled forward, to pitch against the wall. Briefly, he was braced upright against the wall, his left hand high on the stones, the scalpel glittering. Then the hand relaxed and the sliver of steel clattered to the paving. Slowly, the man slid down, to melt into a shapeless heap in the gutter. Stan sighed, then shook his head and wiped an arm across his eyes. There was a concerted sigh behind him. "Go ahead, kid," someone muttered. "Give him the boots. Big phony hadda go trying a knife." Stan turned. "No use," he said wearily. "I just hope he's still alive." "I don't get it," said someone. "He wants this guy alive?" Someone else laughed shortly. "Maybe he just likes to make it tough on himself. Hey, look out! The joes." As the crowd faded into the nowhere from whence most of it had come, a guard approached Stan warily. "Now, look, Graham," he said cautiously, "I gotta throw you in the hole. You know that, huh?" Stan nodded listlessly. "Yeah," he said. "I suppose so." "Look, fellow, it won't be too long. He jumped you, so they'll have you out of there real soon." The guard was apologetic. "Besides, they'll probably offer you his job at Janzel. Get you clear out of here. Only don't give me a hard time. All you'll get is both of us flashed." "Yeah, I know." Stan held out an arm. "Come on, let's go." * * * * * Stan watched as the chief test engineer waved a hand. "Two hundred twenty gravs," the man said. "Full swing completed on both axes. That's it. Ease off your tractors." He looked closely at his panel of meters, then got off his stool and stretched. "No evidence of strain. Looks as though all components are good." He turned, looking at the test operators. "Let's get this place cleaned up." The sense of disorientation set up by the tractors was subsiding. Stan got to his feet and looked at his companion. Dachmann nodded at him. "Well," he said slowly, "Golzer can get off the hook now. His run'll be approved. Suppose we get back on the job." He led the way out of the blockhouse tunnel. A car was pulling up at the entrance. A heavy, square face looked from a rear window and a large hand beckoned. "Dachmann, Graham. Over here." "Oh, oh." Dachmann sighed. "Here's trouble. Wizow doesn't come out here unless he's got something."