I was one of the six who jammed into the manual exit lock. We went through it: in a moment we were outside. It was less than three minutes since the prowling brigands had been seen. Grantline touched me just as we emerged. "Don't wait for orders! Get them!" "That fellow with the torch, the most dangerous--" "Yes! I'm with you." We went out with a rush. We had already discarded our shoe and belt weights. I leaped, regardless of my companions. The scurrying Martians had disappeared. Through my visor bull's-eye I could see only the Earthlit rocky surface of the ledge. Beside me stretched the dark wall of our building. I bounded toward the front. The brigand with the torch had been at this front corner. I could not see him from here: he had been crouching just around the angle. I had a tiny bullet projector, the best weapon for short range outdoors. I was aware of Grantline close behind me. It took only a few of my giant leaps. I landed at the corner, recovered my balance, and whirled around to the front. The Martian was here, a giant misshapen lump as he crouched. His torch was a little stab of blue in the deep shadow enveloping him. Intent upon his work, he did not see me. Perhaps he thought his fellows had broken our exits by now. * * * * * I landed like a leopard upon his back and fired, my weapon muzzle ramming him. His torch fell hissing with a silent rain of blue fire upon the rocks. As my grip upon him made audiphone contact, his agonized scream rattled the diaphragms of my ear-grids with horrible, deafening intensity. He lay writhing under me, then was still. His scream choked into silence. His suit deflated within my encircling grip. He was dead; my leaden, steel-tipped pellet had punctured the double surface of his Erentz-fabric, penetrated his chest. Grantline's following leap landed him over me. "Dead?" "Yes." I climbed from the inert body. The torch had hissed itself out. Grantline swung on our building corner, and I leaned down with him to examine it. The torch had fused and scarred the surface of the wall, burned almost through. A pressure-rift had opened. We could see it, a curving gash in the metal wall-plate like a crack in a glass window-pane. I went cold. This was serious damage! The rarefied Erentz-air would seep out. It was leaking now: we could see the magnetic radiance of it all up the length of the ten-foot crack. The leak would change the pressure of the Erentz system, constantly lower it, demanding steady renewal. The Erentz motors would overheat; some might go bad from the strain. Grantline stood gripping me. "Damn bad!" "Yes. Can't we repair it, Johnny?" "No. Have to take that whole plate-section out, shut off the Erentz plant and exhaust the interior air of all this bulkhead of the building. Day's job--maybe more." * * * * *