ad made her,
directly, his slayer. Her feeling of distress was much deeper and more
personal than normal regret at having brought about the death of a
friendly enemy while in pursuit of her duty.

Maya realized that in those few hours she had been with Dark and talked
to him, something had taken root and flowered that had changed her whole
outlook on existence. She did not want to call it love; she was a very
practical young woman and did not believe in love on such short notice.
But, in examining her feelings, she was at a loss as to what else to
call it.

She had felt a powerful attraction to this man, a tremendous admiration
and liking for him, a feeling of _belonging_ in his presence. She had
sensed his strength. It had appalled her when she had had to oppose
herself to him in keeping him captive, but in other circumstances she
felt it was the sort of strength she could depend on. Willingly, she
thought now, she, could have dispensed with everything else in her life,
and followed Dark Kensington wherever he chose to wander, a fugitive,
among the deserts and lowlands.

And Nuwell? Her feeling for him had not changed. She was still attracted
to him and she still admired him. But the admiration she had felt for
his sharp, sardonic handling of his opponents in a court of law seemed a
little shallow and a little immature in comparison to the sudden onrush
of what she sensed about Dark.

Since her early teens, she had been an eager enemy of those rebels whom
she conceived to be disrupting the orderly settlement of Mars, and her
desire to contribute to the defeat of those rebels had been a
disciplining, integrating force in her personality. Yet, in only a few
short hours of quiet talk, Dark had cut the foundation from that force
and dissipated it.

If only she had not delayed, if only she had made up her mind decisively
to what she felt now ... Dark need not have died, she could have freed
him, and together they could have left Solis Lacus. With him, she would
have fought as hard for the rebel cause as, in the past, she had fought
against it.

But now it was too late. And, moping tearfully in her room, she found
that she didn't care any more, one way or another, about the struggle
between Marscorp and the rebels.

By the time Nuwell arrived from Mars City, she had regained control over
her feelings. When he telephoned her in her room, she went down to the
lobby to meet him, pale but composed.

She had a strange