"But we'll stay alive to speculate about it, and some day maybe they'll
figure how to get a man across space. And then we'll know what died up
there."
There was a chance, Michelson knew, but a very slim one, that something
might go wrong. The rocket might crash on the Earth somewhere. But no
one else probably even dared to think about it. None of them were as
old nor as tired as Michelson. A lot of people would die. Just in case
the Martians might have something in the way of gases as deadly as the
G-agent, the population had been supplied with hypos of antidote, gas
masks, and suiting. But still, so many people would die. However such a
thing was very highly improbable.
They drank again.
Engstrand put his hand on Michelson's bowed shoulders. "Again you've
done a magnificent job, old friend." His voice was low. "Three weeks
ahead of schedule. That time advantage may have saved us all. God
knows what the Martians are getting ready to send now!"
"One thing we can be thankful for," Schauffer said. "No spies. No
worry about security, no saboteurs. Of course the Martians are lucky
too--or were--in that respect." He looked thoughtfully into his
glass. "The Martians did us a favor really. They created world unity.
A psychologist couldn't have predicted it. But think of that--since
the war with Mars, no human being has ever tried to sabotage anything
directed at defeating the Martians!"
"It's natural enough. This time it's humans against--well--God knows
what! But nothing human." Engstrand poured himself another drink. "No
human being has had anything to identify with in the enemy's camp.
You're right, Major. In a way, the Martians did us a favor. And now
we'll do them one--one last favor. They're too damn evil to live, and
they'll sure be glad, somewhere in their guts, to be finished off!"