"They put up a space station right in the midst of being plundered, poor devils. They must have walked right into it." It was Kunklin's turn to be sombre. "There's been killing." "Undoubtedly," Prule growled with disgust. "The Faktors could not allow these people to be in space. They would see too much. Note the empty suit...." It was at this point that Web stepped out of the turret and saw Falk. Kunklin watched curiously. "A Faktor?" "No. One of the people of this planet. Note the primitive equippage." Pause. "This is extraordinary." "You mean because he's alive?" "Of course. The others are dead. Why is this one still alive?" Kunklin was the younger one, cocky and in many ways indolent, but he had by far the quicker mind. "He is alive," Kunklin said swiftly, "because he is a Galactic. Let us go down." The second set of eyes that was observing the satellite did not see Web come out of the turret. The brain behind those eyes was rejoicing as it approached the satellite. The plundering was very nearly done. All that remained now was a brief investigation, and then destruction of this station, and the bone and blood and magnificent flesh of these people would remain in free supply below, unwarned and unaware. The alien landed on the skin of the doughnut, switched off his gravity pack, and walked cheerfully around toward the turret. And at the turret, of course, Web Hilton was still sitting, slowly regaining his mind. It was at that moment occurring to Web that if there was a logical explanation for all this it would not be found up here, or by him, and he was just then considering the quickest way down to Earth--via rocket or escape pod in the station. He had not quite made up his mind when he saw the alien. It is difficult to say which of them was the most surprised. The alien had been under the impression that anything human that had been on the satellite no longer existed. Indeed, there was no possible way that anything human could exist on the satellite. So therefore, Web Hilton was not human. The alien was shocked. But for Web, who had recently undergone some extraordinary events, this was by far the most fantastic of all. For the alien was an adaptation. An artificial oxygen-producing mechanism in his chest, together with silicone-adapted skin and a number of similarly ingenious devices, enabled the alien to walk freely in space, which he did clad only in a short white cloth and a gravity pack. And what Web saw come walking toward him over the surface of the station, in open space, with the moon and the stars for a background, was a naked man. The alien wore no space suit. The door behind him was open, Web fell back into the turret. When a great many impossible things have happened to a man within a very short time there comes a jumping-off place. The man jumps outside himself and continues to survive by examining the whole thing from outside, with a sort of awed detachment. It was this way with Web.