Starlight spattered through the narrow portholes in the spire and Lathrop shivered inside his space gear. It was cold there in the tower, for this part of the city was not conditioned against the Martian atmosphere as were some other portions, a concession for Earthly visitors.
From far below came a distant thud of metal striking metal, a rhythmic, marching sound that seemed to climb toward him. Lathrop sat, gun dangling from his knee, starlight sparkling on his helmet, brain buzzing with mystery. Suddenly, he sat erect, tense — that thudding sound was something climbing up the frosty stairs. He waited, wondering what new move might be afoot, realized with a twinge of terror that he was trapped here on the upper step.
Thought calls reached his brain. “Dr. Lathrop, are you up there? Dr. Lathrop!”
“I’m up here, Buster,” he called back. “What’s eating you?”
“Elmer wants to see you.”
Lathrop laughed, said nothing.
“But he really does,” insisted the robot. “There’s an old friend of yours with him. Dr. Carter.”
“It’s a trap,” said Lathrop. “You ought to think up a better one than that.”
“Aw, doc, forget it,” pleaded Buster. “It isn’t any trap. Carter’s really down there.”
“What’s he there for?” snapped Lathrop. “What’s Elmer got against him?”