"Well, it's your move, Jordan." The Martian's voice, his entire mien, was one of amused complacency. He stepped to the controls. "Shall I re-chart for Earth?"
"No!" The word came explosively, and Ron was immediately sorry.
Tarnuff chuckled. "I thought not. Well?"
"We keep on for Callisto," Ron said with a finality he didn't feel. "It's nearer."
Tarnuff was still unperturbed. "Oh, I see. And there you turn me over to the authorities, eh? Well, Jordan, that means you cut your own throat; I meant it what I said; you're in this with me now."
Ron stood motionless, frowning and indecisive.
Tarnuff's voice was suddenly serious. "Come, Jordan, you're in a spot and you know it. So am I—I want to get these Silicytes through safely. So I'll make you a proposition. Come in this with me! I know how to land these things on Callisto and how to get rid of 'em. We'll have the cash an hour after we land there. This was to be my last load—it's getting risky—but I know where I can get a hundred more, and with your help we can get them through too. We'll split fifty-fifty."
Ron smiled thinly, indicating the pistols in his belt. "You're in a hell of a position to be talking like that, Tarnuff. If I wanted the Silicytes I'd take 'em all. But I don't want any part of your filthy business!"
The smile on the Martian's leathery face faded into a dark frown. "Oh. Just like your brother, eh? All right, about this time tomorrow we'll be approaching Callisto, and what then? Maybe you'll be joining your brother. I've heard that the Venus swamp is a slow and hideous death. Some men prefer the swiftness of the Ray-chamber to it...."
Ron knew that, and involuntarily he winced. He had come out here to clear Carl, he had waited a long weary month for the opportunity, and then he had bungled it.