 What kind of person is Ledman?
THE HUNTED HEROES By ROBERT SILVERBERG The planet itself was tough enough—barren, desolate, forbidding; enough to stop the most adventurous and dedicated. Nothing but what had stopped us could stop a sandcat: sand in the delicate mechanism of the atomic engine. We knew the pay was poor, but we had felt it a sort of obligation, something we could do as individuals to keep the industries of radioactives-starved Earth going. I stopped, slipped out of the geiger harness, and lowered myself ponderously to the ground. We had no ties on Earth that couldn't be broken without much difficulty. I was neatly bound in thin, tough, plastic tangle-cord, swathed from chin to boot-bottoms, my arms imprisoned, my feet caught. And tangle-cord is about as easy to get out of as a spider's web is for a trapped fly. It had been spun on us only a short time ago, I realized. He wore an outmoded, bulky spacesuit and a fishbowl helmet, all but the face area opaque. I thought I knew everyone on sparsely-settled Mars. "Walk," the stranger said, waving the tanglegun to indicate the direction. Earth needed radioactives, and the only way to get them was to get out and look. And that started the chain of events that led Val and me to end up as a madman's prisoners, on Mars. With every source of uranium mined dry on Earth, we had tried other possibilities. Project Sea-Dredge was trying to get uranium from the oceans. It's a stopgap effort, just to keep things moving until Project Sea-Dredge starts functioning. After we walked on a while, a Dome became visible up ahead. It slid up over the crest of a hill, set back between two hummocks on the desert. For a puzzled moment I thought it was our Dome, the settlement where all of UranCo's Geig Corps were located, but another look told me that this was actually quite near us and fairly small. A one-man Dome, of all things! "The name is Gregory Ledman." He herded us off to one side of the airlock, uttered a few words keyed to his voice, and motioned us inside when the door slid up. When we were inside he reached up, clumsily holding the blaster, and unscrewed the ancient spacesuit fishbowl. No chairs, no tape-player, no decoration of any sort.
 He is upset and lashing out because he feels betrayed
 He is upset and lashing out because he feels betrayed  He has violent tendancies and hates his old company  He has always been a nutcase  He has been untrustworthy his whole life