"See something?"
Garth shook his head.
"Oh, I see, it's one of those—those things of yours again. Well, you've never been wrong yet on those premonitions, but this time you don't need it. Can you tell if there's more than one?"
"Not sure," Garth said, "but I don't think so. Just someone. Lord knows where he got the ray-pistol, those life-boats aren't equipped with 'em. He was probably carrying one."
"But good Lord, why take pot shots at us? He must know who we are! He must know we're here to get him off this blasted rock!"
Garth looked straight at Prokle and spoke calmly: "Maybe he knows it and maybe not. Twenty-one days, Prokle, remember? Imagine three weeks on this place, knowing there's only a chance in a million of you being located. Maybe watching the others die off one by one. You'd hate to be the last, Prokle, wouldn't you? But remember what I said about some men loving life more than others, clinging to it longer, even when it means...."
Garth didn't finish, but Prokle nodded and said the last word for him. "Madness. You're right, Hype, that's all it can mean. We've got a madman on our hands. Let's go home."
Garth shook his head and pointed across the chasm. Fifty yards away the opposite precipice, a bit higher, was limned raggedly against the stars.
"Our best bet is to get over there unobserved. It may not be easy dealing with him."