Phillips regarded the scene without enthusiasm. The sight of the dead
man had reminded him of what the compartments of that other vessel must
look like by now. Its parts were beginning to scatter slowly.

He looked at Donna, and found her regarding him soberly. "What will they
do with us now?" she asked.

She looked exhausted. He extended an arm, and she leaned against him.
"You heard what Varret said," he told her.

"Yes, but will he keep his word? They might be ... ashamed of us, now
that it's done. Even if they're not, I can't bear the thought of going
back to Earth and having them stare at me!"

Phillips nodded. He remembered the morbid curiosity during his own
trial, the crowds who had watched him with a kind of shrinking
horror--and he had actually been responsible for saving a spaceship and
its crew, had they cared to look on that side of the affair.

But he had killed. That was no longer the action of a normal human
being, according to popular thinking.

"I guess you and I are the only ones who will understand one another
from now on," he shrugged.

Donna smiled faintly, just as the signal sounded on the communication
screen.

It was Varret, looking pale and strained. He listened to Phillips'
account, including the deaths of Truesdale and Brecken, and apologized
for his appearance. He had, he informed them, been unpleasantly ill when
he had seen the explosion. "It was a terrible thing," Varret continued
sadly, "but necessary. They were beyond reasoning with, and a deadly
menace."

He pulled himself together and tried to hide his agitation by reminding
them of his promise. He suggested that they consider their requests
while his ship attempted to tow them in to Deimos.

Phillips glanced speculatively at Donna. They would be two outcasts,
however much their deed might be respected abstractly, however much
official expressions of gratitude were employed to gloss over the fact.
He might as well take one chance more. "We have already decided," he
said boldly. "I hear you are building a new space station on Deimos."

The old man nodded, surprised.

"We will ask for a deed to that moon, and a contract to operate the
beacon and radio relay station," Phillips stated flatly.

Varret blinked, then smiled slightly in a sort of understanding
admiration.

"Reasonable and astute," he murmured after a moment's hesitation. "I
think I appreciate the motive. Perhaps, if that ship can be repaired and
remodeled,