"All right," she said at last. "But I warn you that if my trust is misplaced and you do attempt to escape, I'll burn you down without compunction."
They went up together, quite as casually as might any two guests relaxing at the resort, and found chairs in the semi-darkness overlooking the moonlit lowland.
Deimos hung near the zenith, a tiny globe of light, virtually stationary. Phobos, larger and brighter, was not long risen, and it moved swiftly and smoothly across the sky, like the cold searchlight of some giant aircraft. Touched and transformed by the shifting shadows, Maya and Dark sat and chatted like old friends.
Dark talked now, and he told her of his past life, of his coming to Mars, of his joining the rebel movement upon realizing how the government was holding back man's progress toward Martian self-sufficiency. He spoke soberly, with intense conviction, and Maya, listening, began to realize that there was another side to this conflict than the one she had been taught.
She began to waver and to wonder, for the grave voice of this man was like a deep music she had never heard before but seemed to remember from some time before there was hearing, a music that touched the depths of her being.
Then his arm slid around her waist and he drew her gently toward him. For an instant, she responded, turning her face upward.
And, on that instant, she remembered.
With a lightning twist, she was free, and on her feet before him. She stepped back, and the lighter-gun was in her hand.
"I thought you said I could trust you," she said coldly. "Evidently, I was foolish to do so."
He looked up at her, and there was nothing but surprise on his face. Then, slowly, he smiled at her.