Ross stared after him. Then, turning, once again he looked down at the office area.
Veta Hall still lay unmoving where she'd fallen.
Ross started along the catwalk towards her.
Only then, as if his eyes somehow were drawn by some psychic magnet, he paused in mid-stride and yet another time looked around for Mawson.
Simultaneously, the other's grav-seat came to rest on the second, higher catwalk, close under the roof. Unfastening the seat's safety belt, Mawson thrust his twisted legs down onto the walk, dragged himself to his feet, hobbled clumsily to a nearby switch-box and pulled a lever.
A faint grinding of gears rose above the noise of the fire. Twin roof-plates slid back to reveal a skylight.
For the fraction of a second Ross hesitated. Then, pivoting, he ran for the nearest ladder that stretched upward from his catwalk to Mawson's.
Above him, the adjudicator slapped shut the switch-box and began a slow-shuffling return to the grav-seat.
Ross reached the ladder. Cat-agile, he swung up it, hand over hand, two rungs at a time.