The adjudicator spun the dial the other way. Simultaneously, he caught the hand on his belt by a forefinger and levered the member back so violently as to make the snap of its fracture audible even through the din of the fire. Ross gave a low, hoarse cry. He smashed a fist down on the fingers with which Mawson gripped the grav-seat's controls. It was Mawson's turn to jerk back; cry out. Gripping the control-arm with cable-taut fingers, corded muscles standing out along his forearms, Ross twisted. Metal screeched a protest. The seat rocked violently. Ross wrenched again. A contact-point snapped. Connections tore loose. Sideslipping, out of control, the seat careened down to a precarious landing athwart the catwalk. Convulsively, Mawson beat at Ross' face--raking the cheeks, stabbing for the eyes. Ducking his head, Ross levered the control-arm still farther out of place. A sound close to that of a sob echoed in Mawson's throat. He pounded Ross' back. "Stop it, you fool! Stop it, before you kill us both!" Panting with strain, Ross paused for an instant. Mawson, babbling: "Don't you see? There's no way left for us to get out of here except that skylight--and it's too high to do us any good without the grav-seat." A small, spasmodic ripple of movement, like the passing of a chill, crossed Ross' shoulders. He still didn't speak. "Turn me in to FedGov Security if you want to, rack you!" raged Mawson. "Do you think I care about that? Just get us out of this hell-hole alive; that's all I ask!" Ross raised his head a fraction; stared down at the sea of flame below. Mawson again--a cunning, crafty Mawson this time: "Think of the girl, Ross! Think of her, even if you don't give a filan for your own neck! She'll roast, down there in that office! But you still may be able to save her, if we get around to the street entrance fast enough." Ross breathed in sharply. He started to straighten. Twisting in his seat, Mawson peered back and down over his own shoulder. Then, suddenly, he leveled a shaking finger. "Ross! Look--!" Ross craned forward, staring. Like lightning, Mawson whipped back his elbow ... smashed it to the bridge of Ross' nose with the same savage force that had stunned Veta Hall. Ross lurched backwards. Mawson spun the chair's control-dial. Wobbling, unsteady, the grav-seat started upward. Only then Ross, reeling, caught the seat's base. His upflung hand slapped the control-plate. His fingers hooked around its edges. Again, muscles stood out along his forearm as he brought sudden pressure. The plate tore loose. The grav-seat dropped back onto the catwalk with a crash. Tight-lipped, with no sign that he so much as heard Pike Mawson's shriek of anguish, Ross hurled the control unit down into the roaring fire below.... * * * * * It was quiet in this place ... so very, very quiet. Only then, ever so faintly, a door-hinge creaked. Shoes whispered across synthoflooring.