II

"The fools!" he thought. "What do they want here?"

He watched the ship land in a fury of splashing jets, just outside

the city, but he did not go to it. He was not in a mood to see his

fellowmen. They would come to him in the morning, searching out the

lone human in this Martian city. He did not think he would wait for

them. In the morning he would take a trip to some outlying settlement

where the need of minerals was great: For a few days he would trade

there.

He was sitting in his chair outside his store deciding which of the

various Martian villages he would visit in the morning when he saw the

three humans approaching through the twilight. Astonished, he rose to

his feet. They hadn't waited for the morning. They had come to him now,

before night.

Three burly spacemen, big enough and obviously willing to cut a throat

or rape a woman, were coming toward him. No Martian guided them but

they seemed to know where they were going. They came directly toward

him. As they approached, he saw they carried _Kell_ guns, the vicious

little weapons that spurted a stream of explosive bullets like water

out of a hose. The sight of the guns startled him. He had forgotten

that such weapons existed, or that men used them.

He heard the voices of the men as they approached. Harsh, brutal

voices, the language all rough consonants. He had forgotten too, the

sound of men. The language spoken by the Martians was all soft vowel

sounds, gentle words breathed so easily that they seemed to brush only

the surface of the aural mechanism and hardly seemed ever to reach the

mind beneath.

"There he is!" The men saw him now, came straight toward him.

He rose to his feet. He would greet them politely, like a gentleman, if

it killed him.

"You--Are you Larkin?"

"Yes." He advanced with hand outstretched. "Gentlemen, it is certainly

a privilege to see you. Won't you come in?" He gestured toward the

temple wing that served as his store.

"Naw!" There was no effort at answering politeness in the harsh voice.

"We come to get you. Come on with us."

"Come to get me?"

"Yeah. The boss wants you. Mr. Docker."

"I don't believe I know a Mr. Docker. What does he want?"

"To see you. Come along."

Larkin found himself marching ahead of the three men toward the ship

that lay at the edge of the city. No Martian made a move to interfere.

No Martians were on the streets, none were visible. He did not doubt

that they watched him from the windows of the houses along the streets,

but they made no effort to inquire what was happening.

What could they do, even if they had wanted to help him? To the best of

his knowledge, the only weapons they had were knives.

What were knives against _Kell_ guns? Why should the Martians help him,

an alien among them?

Docker was a big man with a red face that perpetually showed the red

coloration of hidden anger. He had full, thick lips, the avid lips of

a greedy man. Whatever these lips tasted or drank, they wanted more of

it, all of it. His eyes confirmed his lips. Here was a man who wanted

the world with an iron fence around it. Or better still, the solar

system, with a big sign saying--KEEP OUT. THIS IS ALL MINE. He looked

up as Larkin entered the cabin, glanced up at the men with him.

"He's clean," one of the men said.

"Okay, you can leave. Set down, Larkin." Docker's eyes went back to the

papers on his desk.

Larkin sat down. There seemed nothing else to do. He was very much

aware that his situation here was ticklish. Docker finished with the

papers. He looked up. His eyes were bold, confident, and arrogant.

"Larkin, we're taking over the distribution of all minerals used for

soil enrichment on Mars."

* * * * *

Larkin felt shock rise in him. He held it under control. His hands

clenched into fists. "By whose authority?" His voice had acid in it.

"Whose authority?" For an instant, Docker looked astonished. "Why, Roy

said--" He caught himself. The astonishment turned into swift anger

which showed as a tide of red creeping over his face. "By our own

authority!" His fist pounded on the desk, emphasizing the words.

"You do not have the sanction of the Martian government?"

"What government is there on Mars?" Docker demanded. "The whole cursed

planet is split into a hundred different tribes that do not even know

the meaning of the word government."

"Yes, I know," Larkin said.

Docker spoke the truth, or part of it. There was no central government

on the red planet. Yet there was a central authority, of a sort. It

centered here in this city of Sudal, in the person of a despot named

Malovar. Larkin did not pretend to understand the system but he knew

that far-ranging desert tribes followed Malovar's orders, at least to a

degree. Malovar's orders and Martian law and custom.

"What about Earth Government?" Larkin questioned.

"Earth Government can go to hell!" Docker answered. "They have no

control over Mars. Why do you bring up such questions? I told you we

were taking over distribution of mineral fertilizers on this planet.

That's enough authority for you or for anybody else." Again the fist

banged on the desk.

Larkin looked at the fist and was silent. The fist impressed him not

at all but the situation did impress him. There was a question he

wanted to ask but he was afraid he knew the answer without asking. He

started to ask it, then hastily changed his mind.

"How do you know the Martians will buy from you?"

"They buy from you, don't they? They've been buying from you for seven

years. They'll buy from us." He sounded very sure of himself, like a

man who has a plan all made, a plan which he knows will work.

"Ah!" Larkin sighed and was silent. True, the Martians had bought from

him, but there was a price which he had to pay for doing business

here, a price which Docker and his men might not relish paying. Larkin

tried to imagine the consequences of their refusal to pay that price.

His imagination failed him. These Martians had forgotten a great many

things that humans had not yet learned. Larkin thought again of the

question he wanted to ask, and again put off asking it.

"What prices do you intend to charge for your minerals?"

A grin that had relish in it showed on Docker's face. "Our prices will

be fair. Of course, we expect to show a profit."

"Suppose the Martians can't pay your prices?"

"To hell with that!" Docker snorted. "We're not transporting minerals

all the way to Mars just to give them away. They'll pay all right.

They'll pay or they won't eat." He smacked his lips with obvious

relish. A situation in which people paid his prices or did not eat

pleased him.

Larkin was silent. There was still the question he did not want to ask.

"You seem to have everything worked out to the last detail," he said.

"We have," Docker nodded agreement. "Roy's a genius along those lines."

Again he caught himself as if the name had slipped out unintentionally.

Roy? A thought came into Larkin's mind. He put it out. What he was

thinking was impossible. He writhed inwardly. He was going to have to

ask the question he had tried to avoid.

"Why have you come to me?"

A smile appeared on Docker's face. "Because you are the only trader

who has been able to win the complete confidence of the Martians."

"I see," Larkin said.

"So we have a use for you," Docker continued. "You tell us how you have

won the confidence of these Martians and we'll cut you in on the deal.

We'll see that you are adequately paid. Any price within reason."

"Ah." Larkin was again silent. "But I thought you indicated that the

Martians will have no choice except to deal with you. Under those

circumstances why do you need me?"

Docker's smile lost none of its easy sureness. "We prefer to do things

the easy way, so nobody gets hurt. Since you are here and know the

ground, it'd make sense for you to throw in with us."

"So I am the easy way?" Larkin said.

"Well--"

"You go to hell!" Larkin said. He got to his feet, turned toward the

door. Surprisingly, no effort was made to stop him.

"We'll see you in the morning," Docker said.

"It won't do you any good."

Larkin walked out of the ship. No effort was made to stop him. He moved

slowly across the desert toward the city.

There was nothing about this situation that he liked. Least of all he

liked the fact that Docker seemed to know a lot about him. How could

that be? No one on Earth remembered him or knew about him. At the

thought, sadness came up in him, replacing the smouldering anger. It

would be nice to have someone to stand beside him now, someone fighting

shoulder to shoulder with him. The word Roy came into his mind again.

He quickly put it aside. Let dead dreams lie. But Docker had used the

word twice. What did Docker mean? Larkin shrugged off this line of

thinking.

There was almost no question in his mind as to what he was going to

do. If he took Docker's offer, and tried to trim the Martians, he knew

beyond the shadow of a doubt what old Malovar would do. The temper of

the Martian ruler--chieftain, high priest--he had all these titles and

more--was certain. Malovar brooked no cheating of his people.

But, of course, Malovar did not know about this offer of Docker's.

Larkin was glad of that. He did not want Malovar even to guess what was

in the minds of the men in the ship.

Entering his store, Larkin started in surprise. Seated in a soft chair

at the back was Malovar.

* * * * *

The Martian ruler was old, how old only Malovar and the gods of Mars

knew. His skin was wrinkled, his face was a bleak mask that looked as

if it had never formed a smile. Except for the curious metal staff

that he held across his lap, the Martian ruler wore no insignia of his

office. His clothing was a simple tunic like the togas of the ancient

Romans. He was smoking a thin reed pipe, the only luxury he ever

permitted himself, and the rich flavor of Martian tobacco was heavy in

the room. With him was one attendant, an elder of the tribe.

Larkin bowed. "I am honored, sire." It was not too unusual for Malovar

to pay him a visit. The ruler went from the greatest mansion to the

humblest hut at will.

"Come sit, my friend." The Martian's voice was as gentle as the passing

of a soft breeze but Larkin knew that this breeze would turn into a

tornado in an instant. He sat down. Silently, Malovar extended his

tobacco pouch. Silently Larkin took it.

"A ship landed this afternoon, my friend," Malovar said.

"Yes," Larkin agreed.

"You have been to talk to your countrymen."

It was a simple statement. Larkin writhed inwardly but attempted no

denial. "How did you know?"

"I have ways of knowing. Tell me, are they scientists, or explorers, or

traders? Or some other breed of that curious creature--the human being?"

"They--" Larkin hesitated. How much did he dare reveal? This Martian

had most penetrating and discerning eyes. "They hope to trade."

"Ah." Malovar was quiet for a long time. "My friend, you have been here

and I have known you for seven years. During this time I have been

pleased to call you friend."

"I have been honored." Larkin spoke. "They have been most enjoyable

years." Why was this feeling of sweat suddenly appearing on his body?

The room was cool almost to the point of being chilly now that the

night had come.

"You have helped many of us. Seekin was in here this afternoon--"

"It was nothing," Larkin said, embarrassed.

"Many times you have done this deed which you call _nothing_," Malovar

continued. "I just wanted you to know that I was aware of some of these

instances."

"It is good of you to mention them," Larkin said. He did not like this

sparring, this talk that seemed to go nowhere.

"I wanted you to know that at the next time of the testing these deeds

which you call _nothing_ will be taken into consideration," Malovar

said.

Sweat broke out all over Boyd Larkin.

"They will be given due weight, but they will _not_ sway the scales in

your favor against other possible deeds."