e
extended the detector's range to maximum, and worked the scanners up
the sheer face of the cliff toward the top.

There he was! The shadowy outline of a man etched itself on the
detector screen. And at the same time, Massan heard a muffled roar,
then a rumbling, crashing noise, growing quickly louder and more
menacing.

He looked up the face of the ice cliff and saw a small avalanche of
ice tumbling, sliding, growling toward him. _That devil set off a bomb
at the top of the cliff!_

Massan tried to back out of the way, but it was too late. The first
chunk of ice bounced harmlessly off his helmet, but the others knocked
him off-balance so repeatedly that the servos had no chance to
recover. He staggered blindly for a few moments, as more and more ice
cascaded down on him, and then toppled off the ledge into the boiling
sea.

Relax! he ordered himself. _Do not panic! The suit will float you. The
servos will keep you right-side-up. You cannot be killed accidentally;
Odal must perform the coup-de-grace himself._

Then he remembered the emergency rocket units in the back of his suit.
If he could orient himself properly, a touch of a control stud on his
belt would set them off, and he would be boosted back onto the
iceberg. He turned slightly inside the suit and tried to judge the
iceberg's distance through the infrared detector. It was difficult,
especially since he was bobbing madly in the churning currents.

Finally he decided to fire the rocket and make final adjustments of
distance and landing site after he was safely out of the sea.

But he could not move his hand.

He tried, but his entire right arm was locked fast. He could not budge
it an inch. And the same for the left. Something, or someone, was
clamping his arms tight. He could not even pull them out of their
sleeves.

Massan thrashed about, trying to shake off whatever it was. No use.

Then his detector screen was lifted slowly from the viewplate. He
felt something vibrating on his helmet. The oxygen tubes! They were
being disconnected.

He screamed and tried to fight free. No use. With a hiss, the oxygen
tubes pulled free of his helmet. Massan could feel the blood pounding
through his veins as he fought desperately to free himself.

Now he was being pushed down into the sea. He screamed again and tried
to wrench his body away. The frothing sea filled his viewplate. He was
under. He was being held under. And now ... now the viewplate itself
was