Quasmin glared at him in outraged disbelief. He spat on the ground and demanded, "What're ya doin'? Settin' yourself up as judge an' jury all by yourself?" "And executioner, if need be," agreed Trolla. He watched in silence as the other's jaw hung slackly, then as Quasmin slowly turned red with temper. "You ... you ... why, ya dirty _cop_, ya! That's against every law that ever was. They ... they wouldn't _let_ ya!" "There's no other way. As you said, they can't send out people to hold a trial here. It isn't safe to take you back alone. They couldn't spare more officers to come with me on the off chance you'd be found way out here." "No matter how far it is, you ain't got any right to do that!" Quasmin's right hand was beneath his shirt but Trolla, secure within his shield, ignored that. "Well, then," he said, "if mere distance doesn't put this planet beyond human law, the same goes for _you_." "I still have a fair trial comin' then!" "You're having it right now," Trolla told him. "Like hell!" Quasmin snarled. He was on his feet now, teetering on his toes. "I know my rights. I oughta be gettin' rescue an' rehabilitation help. _You_ can't do anything but kill me. You got no right!" Trolla pushed off from the corner of the shack with a hunch of his shoulder. He took a few steps toward the trail out of the clearing, then hesitated. "You've had a lot of rehabilitation work, haven't you?" he pointed out. "I had plenty of time to study your records, on the way out from Blauchen III." "Ya can't talk me into comin' in for more psych treatments!" growled Quasmin. "I had enough of those guys, since I was a kid." "Yes, you were a little too smart for them," agreed Trolla. "The most they ever managed was a good, thorough conditioning against suicide, after you put on a psycho act to break up the second trial for murder." Quasmin grinned again. "I sure suckered them that time," he recalled with gloating. "The treatment didn't hurt any 'cause I never did have any idea of killin' myself; an' it got me outa the other mess till I could make a break." "It won't get you out of this one." Quasmin's grin left him. "Made up your mind already?" he demanded, half drawing a gas pistol of his own. "Not yet," said Trolla. "I'll go back to my ship to think it over." * * * * * He walked away, though keeping a prudent watch over his shoulder until he was a hundred meters distant. Even after that, he turned around occasionally. This made it difficult for Quasmin to follow him, but the outlaw managed to be in position to observe Trolla's arrival at his ship. He spied as the detective recovered his spacesuit and climbed the ladder to the airlock. When there appeared to be no likelihood of his emerging for some time, Quasmin scuttled back to his hut. "No sense bein' here if he comes lookin' for me with his gun an' shield," he growled to himself. "Maybe I bluffed him, an' maybe I didn't."