He raised his head and shouted, "The fool!"
The lonesome echoes of his own madness came crashing back at him. He hugged the ladder and wept. He could not say why he was crying, except he felt he had been betrayed somehow. He knew he was young, too young to deal with this tremendous horror Rex was planning. And M'hort had sensed that horror.
After awhile, he started climbing up again. There was a flame in his heart, a heat that rived him, made him something less than human. He was going to kill Rex if Rex didn't talk, didn't tell him the details of the plan. As for the main plan, Carl already knew it.
On the surface, he waited. The sun came up, moved redly toward noon. The space-ship came back. As Rex appeared in the opening airlock, face perspiring, lips set with a cruel satisfaction that did not belong to youth, Carl jumped him. It was over in a moment. Rex lay unconscious.
When Rex came to, Carl had the ship in the sky again, driving toward the dying red sun. He left the controls again, and stood over Rex, who was rope-bound to a chair.
"I think," Carl said, his eyes burning, "I've put two and two together at last. Took me a whale of a long time to do it, too. Now go ahead and talk."