"I used an alias for reasons of my own. Now I'm telling you my real
name. Monk."
The man shrugged and wrote something on the manifest.
"I don't expect you to cheer," said Monk sarcastically. "But you could
show some reaction."
"What does that mean?"
Monk flushed. "Don't tell me you've never heard of me. I'm _Fletcher
Monk_. I _own_ half of this place."
"So?"
"What do you mean 'so?' My firm controls thirty percent of the mineral
rights of the Colony. We ship you practically all of your Earth
supplies. We can buy or sell this place at the drop of a quotation!"
"Listen, bud." The young man seemed annoyed. "If you're trying to
impress me, forget it. And if you're threatening my job, you can take
it!"
"Insolence!" Monk raged. "Who's your commanding officer? I want to see
him right away!"
"My pleasure," the official grinned. "Hey, Gregorio!" he called to the
man at the desk behind him. "Call Captain Moore. Gentleman here wants
a word with him."
* * * * *
Monk took a seat while the other passengers went through the initial
formalities. He sat there, fuming, until a tall man with an untrimmed
beard entered the room. He took off his helmet and spoke briefly to
the young man at the front desk, then looked over at Monk and came to
his side.
"Mr. Monk?" he said. "I'm Captain Moore."
"Nice to meet you, Captain. I've just had a little conversation with
your official greeter." He smiled, man-to-man. "Not a very friendly
chap."
"We forget a lot about manners up here," said the captain, not smiling
back. "We're kept pretty busy."
* * * * *
"I realize that, of course," said the industrialist. "But I would
expect a little common courtesy--"
"You'll _earn_ the right to courtesy out here, Mr. Monk," the captain
snapped. "The Mars Colony lives on labor, and that's our first
consideration. Courtesy comes about last on our list. We're in a
battle here, twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes a day. We've
got to fight to keep alive, and we've got to wrestle with a whole new
planet if we want to unearth its secrets. Courtesy is a distinct
privilege on Mars, Mr. Monk."
Monk bristled. "I don't quite get your meaning, Captain," he said
indignantly. "But don't expect to pull rank or a holy attitude on me.
In case you didn't realize it, I'm in a position to exert a great deal
of influence over your little colony--and don't think I won't use it!"
The captain shrugged. "Use it," he said. "Go on. See if your influence
really holds up here. Remember, Mr. Monk--you came to us of your own
volition, and you can always turn around and go back."
"Impossible," said Monk, blanching. "I'm going to live here--for
good."
"Then you'll have to adjust to _our_ way," said the captain grimly.
"You'll have to learn our way of doing things and cooperate a hundred
percent. And the first thing you'll have to do is take a work
assignment--"
"Work?" Monk gasped. "Why should I? You can't force me to work for
you--"
"Remember Captain John Smith, Mr. Monk? He said the same thing to his
colonists that I'm going to say to you now. If you don't work--you
don't eat."
"But what could I do? I'm no scientist. I'm no--"
"There's plenty to do," the captain interrupted. "And most of it is
dirty, physical labor. We have a thousand minerologists, chemists,
geologists, botanists, physicists, meteorologists, and a lot more
technical people at work on this planet. They can use all the help
they can get. Don't worry about that!"
"But I'm _Fletcher Monk_!" the industrialist said. "I won't go
grubbing around this filthy place! You can't enslave me like some
chain-gang prisoner--"
"You'll do what you have to do," said the captain, "and you'll
probably even like it. There's a wonderland outside this door," he
said enthusiastically. "A crazy, wild, improbable wonderland, where we
never see a rain-fall, where the plants grow scarlet, and clouds chase
you down the street! We're uncovering marvelous things here. We have
to fight and sometimes die to do it, but frankly, we enjoy the work."
He gave Monk his first smile. "Nobody's a prisoner on Mars, Mr. Monk.
We're all volunteers."
He started to leave, but Monk stopped him.
"Wait," he said, licking his lips. "I have one more thing to say." He
lowered his voice. "I can make a deal with you, Captain. A deal like
you never had in your whole life." He patted the brown leather bag.
"Name your price," he said. "And don't be shy about the figure."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I'm talking about, Mr. Moore. Money. Real, hard, Earth
dollars. Just name the amount it would take to buy a few small
creature comforts around this place--and the right to live my own
life."
"You can't buy your way out of working, mister--"
* * * * *
"Don't give me that! You'll sing a different tune when I tell you how
much is in this bag. All you have to do is quote a figure--and it's
yours!"
"Sorry, Mr. Monk," said the captain tersely.
"What do you mean by _sorry_?"
"I'm on a lifetime assignment here, and so are practically all the
members of the Colony. It's a job that can barely be completed in a
lifetime. And the economy we operate under doesn't call for money.
Your dollars are so much excess baggage on Mars."
"What are you talking about?" Monk rasped. "I'm offering you a
fortune. Money is money, you fool!"
"You can paper the walls of your quarters with it," said the officer
sharply. "See if it helps keep out the Martian cold. That's about all
the usefulness it has up here."
Wildly, Fletcher Monk unlocked the bag and dipped inside. His hand
came out with a fistfull of green bills. "Look!" he cried. "I'm not
joking about this! Look at it! Doesn't the sight of it mean anything
to you?"
"It brings back some memories," said the captain smiling. "That's
about all. Now you better go back to the desk and get your quarantine
instructions."
He saluted the industrialist casually, and turned away.
"Okay, Mr. Moneybags," said the young official as the captain left.
"Let's get acquainted."
* * * * *
A year later, Captain Harlan Moore presided at the dedication of the
first fully-equipped hospital erected on the planet Mars. It was an
impressive affair, despite the fact that it took place in a small,
crowded chamber, and that the attending assemblage were still begrimed
by their day's work.
When the ceremonies were completed, Captain Moore made an inspection
of the new medical center, and one of his first stops was the bed-side
of Fletcher Monk.
"We knew he wasn't a well man," said the young physician who stood by
the bed, taking Monk's pulse. He watched as the captain picked up the
chart hooked to the edge of the bed.
"Yes," said Moore. "He was a very sick man when he first came to the
Colony. In more ways than one," he added.
The doctor looked perplexed. "But this illness still surprises me," he
said. "I've examined him almost monthly for the past year, and
frankly, I would have bet on his survival. He began to improve
rapidly--physically, anyway. It might have been the lesser gravity, or
the healthier life." He looked at the captain curiously. "Yet he
wasn't assigned to any over-strenuous duties?"
"You know he wasn't," said the captain. "We don't want anybody to
undertake work they can't handle. His labor was hardly physical. He
worked in the geological and botanical groups, but not in the field.
He did classifying and clerical work."
"Then that wouldn't account for the trouble--"
"Perhaps it does, in a way," The captain bent over the puffy,
chalk-white face of the industrialist, listening to his shallow
breathing. "He was never happy doing it. He had different ideas about
himself than we did. He never understood what we were doing or why."
"It's the greatest mystery of them all," said the physician, shaking
his head.
"What is?"
"The human body. It's incredible how much we've learned about the
physical world, and even the physical features of our own
construction. But there's still a mystery we haven't penetrated--"