We were both encased in spacesuits and it would have taken a battering ram to hurt either of us. Fists were useless, even though Spartan didn't realize this. Nor did I until I felt him hit me. The blow, I scarcely felt, but the force behind it sent me staggering back. I struck the rocks and bounded, like a boxer off the ropes in an arena, back at him. I tried to wrap my arms around him, to hold him securely, but he was a big man, in splendid physical condition, even though he was a few years older than I. We clinched, struggling to throw each other off balance, flailing helplessly with our fists. Suddenly I stepped back. Spartan, crazy with anger and rage, swung his fist toward me. I didn't try to dodge or block. I knew the fist wouldn't hurt me. As it struck me I grabbed his arm with both hands. I hung on as he tried to wrench free. Then I pulled back and started to turn. His weight, without the spacesuit, would have been in the neighborhood of 180 pounds, perhaps more. The spacesuit weighed at least twenty pounds. But all two hundred pounds of him was a mere eighty pounds on Mars. As I swung, his feet left the ground--and on Mars you don't drop very fast. His feet stayed off the ground as I heaved and turned and then let loose. His body sailed in an arc, over the rocks, and thudded in the moat, onto a heap of Martians, not all of them dead. A number of them must have had enough consciousness left to respond to contact with an earthling's body. As I sprang to the edge of the moat, I saw Spartan's spacesuit turn a cherry red. Then it glowed white. Little rivulets of metal poured over the Martian bodies, but still that current--it must have been thousands of volts--kept surging through. I heard a long, drawn-out scream. Then Dr. Spartan was dead. _Chapter 18_ Gail screamed as she came running to the edge of the moat. I seized the pistol which she held in her hand--later I learned it was Spartan's own gun that she picked up off the ground. I fired into the mass of bodies. It was too late. I killed the Martians but there was nothing I could do to save Spartan. Turning, I rushed to Axel's side. He was weak, but still alive. "Punctured spacesuit," he murmured, nodding to his left hand which clutched the garment. I understood. Axel's suit had been punctured by Spartan's bullet, but he had closed the hole with his hand. Fortunately the bullet had lodged in Axel's body and had not pierced the suit on the other side. "Hang on!" I said. I picked him up. He groaned as I lifted him and carried him up the ramp and into the ship. Inside, Gail and I stripped the suit away from the wound. The bullet had struck a rib in the suit, glanced to a rib bone and then lodged in the muscles of his shoulders. It was a nasty wound, made by a flattened bullet, but it was not the kind of an injury that would prove to be fatal. We applied antiseptics and removed the bullet.