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.] Duane's hand flicked to his waist and hung there, poised. His dis-gun remained undrawn. The tall, white-haired man—Stevens—smiled. "You're right, Duane," he said. "I could blast you, too. Nobody would win that way, so let's leave the guns where they are." to walk up to them, then reconsidered and hurried off. Neither man paid any attention. Duane said, "Do I have to kill you?" It was only a question as he asked it, without threatening. A muted alarm bell sounded through the P.A. speakers, signaling a "Not at all," he said. He took the measure of his slim, red-headed opponent. Taller, heavier, older, he was still no more uncompromisingly belligerent than Duane, standing there. "Not at all," he repeated. Already his hand was streaking toward the grip of his dis-gun, touching it, drawing it forth. But the white-haired man was faster. His arms swept up and pinioned Duane, holding him impotent. "Don't be a fool," he grated. "Duane—" The P.A. speaker rattled, blared something unintelligible. Neither man heard it. Duane lunged forward into the taller man's grip, sliding down to the floor. The white-haired man grappled furiously to keep his hold on Peter's gun arm, but Peter was slipping away. Belatedly, Stevens went for his own gun. He was too late. Duane's was out and leveled at him. " Now Duane screwed his eyes tight together and grimaced. When he opened them again there was alertness and clarity in them—but there was also bafflement. Duane shook his head confusedly. "I don't know anything," he said. "I—I don't even know my own name." "Duane, Duane," a man's heavy voice said. "That won't wash. Don't play dumb on me." "Duane?" he said. "Duane...." He swiveled his head and saw a dark, squat man frowning at him. "Who are you?" Peter asked. The dark man laughed. "Take your time, Duane," he said easily. "You'll "I won't," Andrias promised, grinning. Then, as the girl left the room, the smile dropped from his face. "You play rough, Duane," he observed. "I thought you'd have trouble with Stevens. I didn't think you'd find it necessary to put him out of the way so permanently. Well, no matter. If you had to kill him, it's He looked at the man named Andrias. There was an instant's doubt in Andrias' eyes, then it flashed away. He bent closer, peered at Duane. "I almost think—" he began. "Duane here is resisting arrest," Andrias said. "Take him along. We'll fix up the charges later." "You can't do that," Duane said wearily. "I'm sick. If you've got forgetting of the happenings of a lifetime. He'd heard of it—but never dreamed it could happen to him! My name, it seems, is Peter Duane , he thought. And they tell me that "Who's this man Andrias?" Duane whispered to the nearest guard. "You'll have plenty of chance for talking later." But the chance was a long time in coming. Duane found himself, an hour later, still in the barred room into which he'd been thrust. The guards had brought him there, at Andrias' order, and left him. That had been that of the nurse. Of all the people he'd met since awakening in that hospital bed, only she seemed warm and human. The others were—brutal, deadly. It was too bad, Duane reflected, that he'd failed to remember her. She'd seemed hurt, and she had certainly known him by first name. But perhaps she would understand. Duane sat down on a lumpy, sagging bed and buried his head in his hands. Dim ghosts of memory were wandering in his mind. He tried to conjure them into stronger relief, or to exorcise them entirely. Andrias is secretly " Duane could remember the scene clearly. Could almost see the sharp, aquiline face of the man who had spoken to him. But there memory stopped. thousand yards in the direction the gun was aimed.... And that memory ended. Duane got up, stared at his haggard face in the cracked mirror over the bed. " They say I'm a killer just such a psychological trick to overawe those who came to beg favors of him. Muslini, or some such name. The trick failed to work. Duane had other things on his mind he walked the thirty-foot length of the room, designed to imbue him with a sense The guard had remained just inside the door, at attention. Andrias Duane said, without expression, "No." Dark red flooded into Andrias' sallow face. His jaws bunched angrily and there was a ragged thread of incomplete control to his voice as he spoke. "I'll have your neck for this, Duane," he said softly. Duane looked at the man's eyes. Death was behind them, peeping out. Mentally he shrugged. What difference did it make? Andrias exhaled a deep breath. You could see the tension leave him, the Duane said, "You're ready, then...." He took time to think it over, but he knew that no thought was own hands were diving for the twin heat guns that hung at his waist. Duane saw his danger, and reacted. His foot twisted around Andrias' ankle his hands at the other's throat gripped tighter. He lunged him. His head made an audible, spine-chilling thud as it hit the carpeted floor. Duane got up, retrieving the two heat guns, and stared at him. " They tell me I killed Stevens the same way But Andrias was not dead, though he was out as cold as the void beyond would not keep him from the rocket's lethal cargo! When Andrias came to.... An idea bloomed in Duane's brain. He looked, then, at unconscious Andrias—and the idea withered again. Duane's fingers Duane's head, butting Andrias in the face, had drawn a thick stream of crimson from his nostrils, turned his sharp nose askew. No guard of Andrias' would have been deceived for an instant, looking He stood up and looked around. He had to act quickly. Already Andrias' he saw the man grimace and an arm flopped spasmodically on the floor. Consciousness was on its way back. Duane touched the heat gun he'd thrust into his belt drew it and held it poised, while he sought to discover what was in his own mind. He'd Andrias now, in cold blood, with so much to gain and nothing to lose? ," Duane thought. " Whatever they say, I'm not a killer! " Duane eyed the length of the room. Thirty feet—it would take him a couple of seconds to run it at full speed. Was that fast enough? There was only one way to find out. Quick suspicion flared in his eyes, then certainty as he saw Andrias huddled on the floor. He opened his mouth to cry out— But Duane's arm was around his throat, and he had no breath to spare. Duane's foot lashed out and the door slammed shut Duane's balled left fist came up and connected with the guard's chin. Abruptly the man slumped. Duane took a deep breath and let the man drop to the floor. But he paused only a second now he had two unconscious men on his hands and then, the fact of Andrias' unconsciousness might not be noticed.

<question>:
Why did Andrias feel uncertain?

<options>:
A He wasn't sure if people would follow his orders
B He was afraid he might not get the cargo
C He wasn't sure whether Duane had lost his memory or not
D He wondered how deadly Duane was

<answer>:

C