"As soon as you feel strong enough," she said, "you can start loading gold onto my spaceship. It's over in the next valley. We're all going back to civilization. The wars there are more impersonal."
"You've made your choice?" I asked.
"I have," she said, "but to avoid bloodshed, I'll not reveal it till we get home—unless one of you figures it out."
"What happens then?"
"The loser gets locked up or placed under guard. I don't think, if you're the loser you'd do anything silly, like cracking up the spaceship. After all, there'll be a fortune in gold and consolation with another girl. I'm sure there is another girl in the universe."
At the time, though I didn't think there was.
When we landed on Earth, we divided the spoils three ways because Rosemary decided not to take either of us.
"Neither of you asked me to choose between you," she said, "and that was the way to decide. You should have said: 'Take one of us and the other will abide by your decision.' That is what is known as compromise, even if it doesn't seem that way. The trouble with men is that few of them can lose gracefully. They've got to start a war rather than a compromise."
"But losing isn't compromising," I pointed out. "If you give up something and gain something, that's a compromise."