Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The most dangerous is not the outlawed murderer, who only slays men, but the rebellious philosopher: for he destroys worlds. Darkness and the chill glitter of stars. Bo Jonsson crouched on a whirling speck of stone and waited for the man who was coming to kill him. off, with one long thin crag sticking into the sky like a grotesque bowsprit. There was no sound except the thudding of his own heart, the harsh rasp of his own breath, locked inside the stinking metal skin of his suit. insulating material. He might be able to hear the footsteps of his murderer conducted through the ground. Stillness answered him. He gulped a heavy lungful of tainted air and rose. The other might be miles away yet, or perhaps very close, catfooting too softly to set up vibrations. A man could do that when The stars blazed with a cruel wintry brilliance, over him, around him, light-years to fall through emptiness before he reached one. He had been alone among them before he had almost thought them friends. them, he did not exist, and they would shine carelessly long after he was gone into night. He had never felt so alone as now, when another man was on the asteroid with him, hunting him down. stiffly at the thought. He wanted to laugh too, but checked himself for fear he wouldn't be able to stop. Let's face it , he told himself. You're scared. You're scared sweatless. He wondered if he had spoken it aloud. miles, probably more if you allowed for the rough surface. He could skulk around, hide ... and suffocate when his tanked air gave out. He had to be a hunter, too, and track down the other man, before he died. And if he found his enemy, he would probably die anyway. He looked about him. Nothing. No sound, no movement, nothing but the death. Not till men came and hunted each other. Slowly he forced himself to move. The thrust of his foot sent him command. But he couldn't do that. Even if the other man let him do it, which was doubtful, he couldn't. Johnny Malone was dead. Maybe that was what had started it all—the death of Johnny Malone. Moreover, being dense clusters, they have attracted swarms of miners, so that Achilles among the leaders and Patroclus in the trailers have a rockhound dreaming of the day when his stake is big enough for him to start out on his own—a race of individualists, rough and noisy and jealous, but living under iron rules of hospitality and rescue. The Last Chance on Achilles has another name, which simply sticks an he didn't grate on Bo, they had been partners for several years now. They pushed through a milling crowd at the bar, rockhounds who watched one of Achilles' three live ecdysiasts with hungry eyes, and by some drinks. Bo was larger and heavier than most spacemen—he'd never have content to let others talk while he listened. A placid blond giant, with amiable blue eyes in a battered brown face, he did not consider "Because I am one at heart. Look, Bo, why don't you get over that Bo chuckled. The Company consisted of (a) the Bo shook his head and watched his partner move off, swift in the puny Bo sighed, feeling a bit lonesome. If he wasn't going to make a night Johnny made some reply. Bo heaved up his form and strode toward the the dart in his stomach. Then his knees buckled and he fell with a nightmare slowness. only clear thought which ran in the sudden storm of Bo's head. lifted the jagged end. There was the noise of a fist meeting flesh. Bo had seen death before. That needle wasn't anesthetic, it was poison. He knelt in the riot with Johnny's body in his arms. II his enemy was not there. He turned the thought over in a mind which seemed stiff and slow. By crossing that little plain he was exposing himself to a shot from one near the ground jump up a few feet and it would take you a while to fall back. It was utterly silent around him. He had never thought there could be so much stillness. Bo stood unmoving an instant, fighting the impulse to leap away. He was a spaceman, not a rockhound he wasn't used to this environment, and if he jumped high he could be riddled as he fell slowly down again. Sweat heatless dazzle blinding in his eyes. Fire crashed at his back. Thunder and darkness exploded before him. He lurched forward, driven by the impact. Something was roaring, echoes clamorous in his helmet. He grew dimly aware that it was himself. Then There was a knife in his back, it was white-hot and twisting between the ribs. He stumbled over the edge of the plain and fell, waking when and freezing its moisture. The knife in him was not hot, it was cold with an ultimate cold. Around him, world and stars rippled as if seen through heat, through fever. He hung on the edge of creation by his fingertips, while chaos shouted beneath. emergency reserve, but a preventive of emergencies, for one man alone might get too tired at the critical moments. Bo knew he wouldn't be and laid him in the barren ground to wait, unchanging now, till Judgement Day. He felt empty then, drained of grief and hope alike, his main thought a dull dread of having to tell Johnny's father when he reached Luna. He was too slow and clumsy with words his comforting Bo shrugged, not caring much. "I'll circulate an ad if you want, but—" danced and laughed and flirted mildly, but even the dullest rockhound course it would be a catastrophe if he fell in love with her because she wouldn't look twice at a big dumb slob like him. He had sweated out a couple of similar affairs in the past and didn't want to go through another. He woke up many hours later. Achilles ran on Earth time but did not rotate on it officially, it was late at night, actually the shrunken Bo nodded, for every spaceman knows exactly what every spaceship is Bo had heard of it in the course of during my watch, and even if nobody blamed me I couldn't help feeling guilty." Bo understood that kind of loyalty. You couldn't travel space without Bo went at his share of the job doggedly, checking and re-checking and spent his time while waiting for Bo in swapping dirty limericks Bo relaxed against the thrust, thinking of Achilles falling away behind them. "So long," he whispered. "So long, Johnny." III In another minute, he would be knotted and screaming from the bends, and a couple of minutes later he would be dead. Bo clamped his teeth together, as if he would grip consciousness in his jaws. His hands felt cold and heavy, the hands of a stranger, as not to howl with the fury ripping in his nerves. His body was slow, inert, a thing to fight. There was no more feeling in his back, was he dead already? Redness flamed before his eyes, red like Valeria's hair blowing across the stars. It was sheer reflex which brought his arm around to slap the straining to break loose and kill him. Bo's mind wavered back toward life. He opened the valves wide on his tanks, and his thermostatic capacitors pumped heat back into him. For born again. Born, spewed out of an iron womb into a hollowness of stars and cold, to lie on naked rock while the enemy hunted him. Bo shuddered and wanted to scream again. Slowly he groped back toward awareness. His frostbitten back tingled sleepy. His eyelids felt heavy, strange that they should be so heavy on an asteroid. He wanted terribly to sleep.

<question>:
What did these companions from his solitude think of Bo in return?

<options>:
A They thought nothing of him at all.
B They felt sorry for him.
C They were mildly entertained by him.
D They were deathly afraid of him.

<answer>:

A