Forsyth grunted and vanished into the ship. Murph heard the crackle as equipment warmed up, and listened to the voice of Sitra. Oddly enough, Jamison tensed as he heard the voice of the present champion, and Forsyth nearly cried as his son's tones came through the metallic speaker. But all the voices said the same thing. "... subject to unprincipled attack to resist invasion of our homeland. This is the last time this warning will be broadcast." The receiver clicked, then dropped into the monotonous hum of a radio on an unused but still alert wavelength. Forsyth returned and the three men sat, each back of an electro-gun, alert eyes scanning the alien landscape. From over a slight rise a mile off, a figure approached the ship. Murph blinked, doubting his senses, confused, then his roar broke the silence of the strange world. "Sitra!" Just one word, but that's all he could do. She looked as she had when he'd left on this expedition, when they had said goodbye. Sparkling with sequins in her dressing room, undulating with feathers in the right places, she walked toward him with the feline grace he'd learned to love. "Sitra!" he shouted again. Astonished, he deserted his position behind the gun and started running across the plain. Gracefully, daintily, encountering difficulties because of her spiked heels on the rough terrain, she smiled bravely and hurried toward him. Forsyth saw the approaching figure too. He tensed with disbelief and surprise and then his voice rose excitedly. "Jimmy, _Jimmy!_" What was his boy doing _here_? Reason faded as he watched his nine-year-old son stumbling toward the ship. He unfastened his harness and slipped from behind the gun: _his_ boy on an alien planet, confronting unknown dangers! He must--_must_--get him back to the ship and the little ring of certainty behind the guns. Forsyth started across the level space, grateful that the towering hulk of Murph had recognized his boy and would, on this unknown world, help bring the kid back to comparative safety. In six hours, now, the fleet would be here. The boy could be sent home on one of the capital ships.... * * * * * Behind him Jamison watched the two figures running away. His face froze into granite. Rage and resentment surged within him. Across the plain he saw the man who had stolen, yes, _stolen_, the championship from him. The fighter loped toward him casually, sneering and confident. Jamison felt a surge like an electric shock across his shoulders. His teeth ground together and he could hear their roaring within his ears. Deliberately he moved from behind his gun, started at a fighter's dog trot toward his opponent. It occurred to him that Murph and Forsyth would beat him there. He was glad they were willing to help, but for the sake of his own integrity he considered this _his_ fight.