Not Wilks, but Coniston! His drawling, British voice:
"You, Gregg Haljan! How nice!"
His voice broke off as he jerked his arm from me. My hand with the
projector came up, but with a sweeping blow he struck my wrist. The
weapon dropped to the rocks.
I fought instinctively, those first moments; my mind was whirling with
the shock of surprise. This was not Wilks, but the brigand Coniston.
It was an eerie combat. We swayed; shoving, kicking, wrestling. His
hold around my middle shut off the Erentz circulation; the warning
buzz rang in my ears, to mingle with the rasp of his curses. I flung
him off, and my Erentz motors recovered. He staggered away, but in a
great leap came at me again.
I was taller, heavier and far stronger than Coniston. But I found him
crafty, and where I was awkward in handling my lightness, he seemed
more skillfully agile.
I became aware that we were on the twenty foot square grid of the
observatory platform. It had a low metal railing. We surged against
it. I caught a dizzying glimpse of the abyss. Then it receded as we
bounced the other way. And then we fell to the grid. His helmet bashed
against mine, striking as though butting with the side of his head to
puncture my visor panel. His gloved fingers were clutching at my
throat.
As we regained our feet, I flung him off, and bounded like a diver,
head first, into him. He went backward, but skillfully kept his feet
under him, gripped me again and shoved me.
I was tottering at the head of the staircase--falling. But I clutched
at him. We fell some twenty or thirty feet to be next lower spider
landing. The impact must have dazed us both. I recall my vague idea
that we must have fallen down the cliff.... My air shut off--then it
came again. The roaring in my ears was stilled; my head cleared, and I
found that we were on the landing, fighting.
He presently broke away from me, bounded to the summit with me after
him. In the close confines of the suit I was bathed in sweat and
gasping. I had no thought to increase the oxygen control. I could not
find it; or it would not operate.
I realized that I was fighting sluggishly, almost aimlessly. But so
was Coniston!
It seemed dreamlike. A phantasmagoria of blows and staggering steps. A
nightmare with only the horrible vision of this goggled helmet always
before my eyes.
It seemed that we were rolling on the ground, back on the summit. The
unshadowed Earthlight was clear and bright. The abyss was beside me.
Coniston, rolling, was now on top, now under me, trying to shove me
over the brink. It was all like a dream--as though I were asleep,
dreaming that I did not have enough air.
I strove to keep my senses. He was struggling to roll me over the
brink. God, that would not do! But I was so tired. One cannot fight
without oxygen!
I suddenly knew that I had shaken him off and gained my feet. He rose,
swaying. He was as tired, confused, as nearly asphyxiated as I.
The brink of the abyss was behind us. I lunged, desperately shoving,
avoiding his clutch.
He went over, and fell soundlessly, his body whirling end over end
down into the shadows, far below.
I drew back. My senses faded as I sank panting to the rocks. But with
inactivity, my heart quieted. My respiration slowed. The Erentz
circulation gained on my poisoned air. It purified.
That blessed oxygen! My head cleared. Strength came. I felt better.
Coniston had fallen to his death. I was victor. I went to the brink
cautiously, for I was still dizzy. I could see, far down there on the
crater floor, a little patch of Earthlight in which a mashed human
figure was lying.
I staggered back again. A moment or two must have passed while I stood
there on the summit, with my senses clearing and my strength renewed
as the blood stream cleared in my veins.
I was victor. Coniston was dead. I saw now, down on the lower
staircase below the camp ledge, another goggled figure lying huddled.
That was Wilks, no doubt. Coniston had probably caught him there,
surprised him, killed him.
My attention, as I stood gazing, went down to the camp buildings.
Another figure was outside! It bounded along the ledge, reached the
foot of the stairs at the top of which I was standing. With agile
leaps, it came mounting at me!
Another brigand! Miko? No, it was not large enough to be Miko. I was
still confused. I thought of Hahn. But that was absurd: Hahn was in
the wreck of the _Planetara_. One of the stewards then....
The figure came up the staircase recklessly, to assail me. I took a
step backward, bracing myself to receive this new antagonist. And then
I looked further down and saw Miko! Unquestionably he, for there was
no mistaking his giant figure. He was down on the camp ledge, running
toward the foot of the stairs.
I thought of my revolver. I turned to try and find it. I was aware
that the first of my assailants was at the stairhead. I swung back to
see what this oncoming brigand was doing. He was on the summit: with a
sailing leap he launched for me. I could have bounded away, but with a
last look to locate the revolver, I braced myself for the shock.
The figure hit me. It was small and light in my clutching arms. I
recall I saw that Miko was halfway up the stairs. I gripped my
assailant. The audiphone contact brought a voice.
"Gregg, is it you?"
It was Anita!