Was it Haljan standing up there on the summit? Who was it climbing the stairs? And was the third figure Miko? Grantline's mind framed the questions. But his attention was torn from them, and torn even from the swift silent drama outside. The corridor was ringing with shouts. "We're imprisoned! Can't get out! Was Haljan killed? The brigands are outside!" And then an interior audiphone blared a calling for Grantline. Someone in the instrument room of the adjoining building was talking. "Commander, I tried the telescope to see who got killed--" But he did not say who got killed, for he had greater news. "Commander! The brigand ship!" Miko's reinforcements had come. XXV Not Wilks, but Coniston! His drawling, British voice: "You, Gregg Haljan! How nice!" His voice broke off as he jerked his arm from me. My hand with the projector came up, but with a sweeping blow he struck my wrist. The weapon dropped to the rocks. I fought instinctively, those first moments; my mind was whirling with the shock of surprise. This was not Wilks, but the brigand Coniston. It was an eerie combat. We swayed; shoving, kicking, wrestling. His hold around my middle shut off the Erentz circulation; the warning buzz rang in my ears, to mingle with the rasp of his curses. I flung him off, and my Erentz motors recovered. He staggered away, but in a great leap came at me again. I was taller, heavier and far stronger than Coniston. But I found him crafty, and where I was awkward in handling my lightness, he seemed more skillfully agile. I became aware that we were on the twenty foot square grid of the observatory platform. It had a low metal railing. We surged against it. I caught a dizzying glimpse of the abyss. Then it receded as we bounced the other way. And then we fell to the grid. His helmet bashed against mine, striking as though butting with the side of his head to puncture my visor panel. His gloved fingers were clutching at my throat. As we regained our feet, I flung him off, and bounded like a diver, head first, into him. He went backward, but skillfully kept his feet under him, gripped me again and shoved me. I was tottering at the head of the staircase--falling. But I clutched at him. We fell some twenty or thirty feet to be next lower spider landing. The impact must have dazed us both. I recall my vague idea that we must have fallen down the cliff.... My air shut off--then it came again. The roaring in my ears was stilled; my head cleared, and I found that we were on the landing, fighting. He presently broke away from me, bounded to the summit with me after him. In the close confines of the suit I was bathed in sweat and gasping. I had no thought to increase the oxygen control. I could not find it; or it would not operate. I realized that I was fighting sluggishly, almost aimlessly. But so was Coniston!