"Pride leads to death," he heard in his earphones. "You know that. Kinsman. It's pride that makes us murderers."

The shock boggled Kinsman's knees. He turned, shak- ing. "What ... did you say?"

"I know you, Kinsman. Anger and pride. Destroy not my soul with men of blood . . . whose right hands are . . . are . . ,"

Kinsman ran. He fought back toward the crater rim, storming the terraces blindly, scrabbling up the inclines with four-meter-high jumps. Twice he had to turn up the air blower in his helmet to clear the sweaty fog from his 143 faceplate. He did not dare to stop. He raced on, breath racking his lungs, heart pounding until he could hear nothing else.

Finally he reached the crest. Collapsing on the deck of the jumper, he forced himself to breathe normally again, forced himself to sound normal as he called Bok.

The astronomer listened and then said guardedly, "It sounds like he's dying."

"I think his regenerator's shot. His air must be pretty foul by now."

"No sense going back for him,"

Kinsman hesitated. "Maybe I can get the jumper close enough to him." But his mind was screaming at him, The priest found out about me!

"You'll never get him back here in time," Bok was saying. "And you're not supposed to take the jumper near the crater, let alone inside it. It's too risky."

"You want to just let him die?" He's hysterical. If he babbles about me where Bok can hear it ... Christ, it'll be piped straight back to Houston, automatically!

"Listen," the astronomer said, his voice rising again. "You can't leave me stuck here with both of you gone! I know the regulations, Kinsman. You're not allowed to risk yourself or the third man in the team in an effort to help a man in trouble. Those are the rules!"

"I know. I know." You've already killed one human being. Are you going to let another one die because of it? Where does it end. Kinsman? Where does it end?

"You don't have enough oxygen in your suit to get down there and back again," Bok insisted. "I've been calculat- ing—"

"I can tap the jumper's propellant tank."

"But that's crazy! You'll get yourself stranded!"

"Maybe." If NASA finds out about it they'll bounce me straight back to the Air Force. Back to Murdock.

"You're going to kill yourself over that priest! And you'll be killing me, too!"

"He's probably dead by now," Kinsman said, as much to himself as to Bok. "I'll just place a marker down there so another crew can get him out when the time comes. I won't be long."

"I'm calling Houston," said the astronomer. "You can't make a move until mission control okays it."

"By then he'il be dead for sure."

"But the regulations . . ."

"Were written Earthside," Kinsman snapped. "The brass never planned on anything like this. I've got to go back, just to make sure."

"Kinsman, if you go . . ."

"I'm gone," he said. Then he turned off his suit radio.