"Well, then, you do what I tell you."

Caine's eyes narrowed.

"Nic," the girl said. "Do what he says. He's crazy, he—"

The boy's left hand lashed out and struck the girl. She stumbled to the ground.

"You shouldn't have done that," Caine said, stepping forward.

The boy crouched, holding the gun with both hands. "You don't move any further. Do you hear? You don't move any further!"

Caine took another step and then he heard the movement of the Venusians behind him. He saw the boy's eyes widen, and out of the corners of his own eyes Caine could see the green skin of the approaching natives.

The boy cocked his head, his eyes shifting rapidly. His mouth was a grotesque leer. He yelled, "Oh, no, you filthy ..." and then the sound of his voice was lost in the explosion of the gun.

As though he were dreaming, Caine saw the jerking of the pistol in the boy's hand. He heard the peculiar screams around him as the bullets sprayed the clearing. He felt his shoulder burn as a wild slug cut his skin. Then he was diving forward.

The boy leaped sideways out of Caine's reach, falling and climbing up again, still firing the pistol. He yelled crazily, spinning and firing, and all of a sudden there was an end to the sound and the movement.

The boy was facing the clearing from the edge of the enclosing growth. His face was a surprised, contorted thing, and the pistol dropped out of his hand. He coughed once, and looked down at the red end of the razor leaf that had gone through his back and now showed its gleaming point through the center of his chest.

The boy crumpled and hung on the plant like a punctured rag doll. His head lolled at a twisted angle and his open eyes stared unseeing at the clearing.

Caine was on his knees, his hand against the wounded shoulder. The girl still lay on the soft grass, unhurt, but her face was pale beneath the golden tan.

Two Venusians lay sprawled across the clearing, their large lidless eyes staring at the sky. There was no sign of 

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