He withdrew to the lee side of the ridge and picked his way toward Bandit as rapidly as possible, taking care not to brush against the sharp slivers of rock. He drew near the rocket, thinking that the open hatch would be a dead giveaway. Still, there was no alternative. A fort without a gunport was no fort at all. He climbed to a spot close to the crest of the ridge and peered back in the direction of the invaders, startled to find they were nearer than he had supposed. He hastily withdrew his head, deciding it was too late to warn the others to abandon the rocket. If the invaders climbed straight up the opposite side of the ridge, they conceivably could catch his crew on the open plain. That made another complication. He scanned the ridge. Off to his right a series of granite spurs jutted from the base rock in finger formation. He picked his way toward them, then descended until he found shelter between two rock outcroppings which gave him a clear view of Bandit. He checked his automatic rifle, moving the control lever to the semi-automatic position. The black rectangle that marked Bandit's hatch seemed lifeless. He waited. Long minutes passed. He cursed the eternal silence of the moon which robbed him of the use of his ears. A cannon could fire within an inch of his back and he'd never know it, he thought. He moved his head slightly forward from time to time in an effort to see the slope behind him. Nothing happened. His body itched intolerably from perspiration. He readjusted the suit temperature setting, gaining a slight respite from the heat. All at once he caught movement out of the corner of his face plate and involuntarily jerked his head back. He waited a moment, aware that his heart was pounding heavily, then cautiously moved forward. One of the invaders was picking his way down the slope in a path that would take him within thirty yards of his position. The man moved slowly, half-crouched, keeping his rifle cradled across his arm. They know, he thought. The open hatch was the giveaway. He anxiously searched Bandit. No sign of life was visible. He gave silent thanks that the invaders had not lugged their rocket launcher with them. Prochaska, he knew, would be watching, crouched in the shadow of the hatch opening behind the heavy automatic rifle. He estimated the distance between the base of the slope and the rocket at 400 yards--close enough for Prochaska to pick off anyone who ventured onto the plain. He waited while the invader passed abreast of him and descended to the base of the plain, taking cover in the rocks. He halted there and looked back. A few moments later Crag saw the second of the invaders moving down the slope about a hundred yards beyond his companion. He, too, stopped near the base of the rocks. Where was the third man? The same technique they used before, Crag decided. He would be covering his companions' advance from the ridge. That made it more difficult.