"I'm through with it. So help me!"
"You killed that redboy."
"He tried to kill me. He knew I had a gun. What was I supposed to do? Only a redboy—"
Hale said slowly, "What about George and the others? I'll have to face them on this."
"They'll find you on the floor with a lump on your head. They'll never hold it against you." Randy spread his hands. "I'd rather you'd kill me—now—than take me out there for the redboys."
Hale felt baffled. It had been like this in the old days, Randy had always had his way. Coming to Mars in the first place had been Randy's idea, and he'd pressed it, and Hale had done well on Mars. Maybe Randy had a break coming. Hale thought, five years isn't such a long time, after all. He said tiredly, "All right. You can have your chance. Good luck. And I'll take those twin-stones, Randy."
Randy let out a long sigh and looked up at the roof of the temple, as if he could see far-off Venus in that thick blackness. He brought the glowing stones from a pocket. "Here's Phobos—here's Deimos," he said wryly. "I thought maybe you'd forget."
They were heavy in Hale's hand. He said, "So long."
Randy said, "One more thing, friend," and there was an undefinable something in his voice. "I'll need a gun. You'll lend me yours, won't you? They'll think I took it." He reached over and slid Hale's blaster from his holster, and brought the glowing coal of his cigarette close to the dial on the butt. "Fully charged. Well, I may need every shot—" his eyes met Hale's, and that undefinable something was in them too—"for those meddling bastards outside. I owe them for tonight. Now—" He took a step toward Hale, hefting the gun and raising it to strike.