Phillips nodded. He remembered the morbid curiosity during his own trial, the crowds who had watched him with a kind of shrinking horror--and he had actually been responsible for saving a spaceship and its crew, had they cared to look on that side of the affair. But he had killed. That was no longer the action of a normal human being, according to popular thinking. "I guess you and I are the only ones who will understand one another from now on," he shrugged. Donna smiled faintly, just as the signal sounded on the communication screen. It was Varret, looking pale and strained. He listened to Phillips' account, including the deaths of Truesdale and Brecken, and apologized for his appearance. He had, he informed them, been unpleasantly ill when he had seen the explosion. "It was a terrible thing," Varret continued sadly, "but necessary. They were beyond reasoning with, and a deadly menace." He pulled himself together and tried to hide his agitation by reminding them of his promise. He suggested that they consider their requests while his ship attempted to tow them in to Deimos. Phillips glanced speculatively at Donna. They would be two outcasts, however much their deed might be respected abstractly, however much official expressions of gratitude were employed to gloss over the fact. He might as well take one chance more. "We have already decided," he said boldly. "I hear you are building a new space station on Deimos." The old man nodded, surprised. "We will ask for a deed to that moon, and a contract to operate the beacon and radio relay station," Phillips stated flatly. Varret blinked, then smiled slightly in a sort of understanding admiration. "Reasonable and astute," he murmured after a moment's hesitation. "I think I appreciate the motive. Perhaps, if that ship can be repaired and remodeled, we can include it so that you may make short visits to Mars." He warned them to watch for the emergency crew he would send to their aid, and switched off. Phillips then dared finally to turn and look inquiringly at Donna. Her smile was relaxed for the first time since they had met. "Nice bargaining," she said, and Phillips felt like the king of something larger than a tiny Martian satellite. Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _Future combined with Science Fiction Stories_ September 1951. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. End of Project Gutenberg's This World Must Die!, by Horace Brown Fyfe