He was serious now. "That's the reason the government wants one so
badly, Nap. They want to get it to their laboratories and find out
everything they can. There only seems to be one possibility, though."
"What's that?"
"If it _is_ alien to the solar system and from a white dwarf's planet,
it might have been brought here deliberately and left as a guinea pig."
I began to say something there but he held up a hand to stop me.
"Possibly an exploring spaceship from the alien planet was looking for
colony sites. When it got to our solar system it left some of these
animals with the idea of coming back in a few thousand years or so to
see if the zloors were able to adapt themselves to the conditions
existing here."
I ran my tongue over suddenly dry lips. "You mean that if the zloors
can live in our solar system, then these more intelligent aliens would
figure they could use our sun system for a colonizing project?"
He nodded.
"Holy Wodo," I said. "No wonder they want some specimens to work on
back on Earth."
He relaxed again. "Well, at the rate we're going, it'll be a long time
before earth laboratories ever have the opportunity to mess around with
our pal the zloor."
* * * * *
I got a chair and sat down facing him and said seriously, "Mike, brief
me on what you and the other fellows have tried."
"You don't have to ask. That goes with membership in the club," he
grinned. "Among other things, we've tried building a steel box around
one of them with the idea of putting wheels on it later."
"That sounds good."
"Uh huh. The trouble was that when the zloor felt like moving he walked
right through the side of the steel box like you or I'd walk through a
wall of tissue paper."
"How about poisoning one?" I rapped. "You could get a dead one back a
lot easier than--"
"They don't poison," he said, "and from what we can figure they're
practically immortal. We have never found a dead one."
"What'd'ya mean, they don't poison?"
"Just that. Nap, that animal can eat _anything_ organic and thrive on
it. Evidently, no poison that nature has ever produced affects it. At
least, none of us have been able to dream one up."
"How about narcotics, something to dope it?"
He shook his head. "To begin with, some of these Martian plants produce
narcotic effects that make the products of our poppy look like food for
babes; but the zloor takes them in its stride. It's _really_ got a cast
iron stomach. We've never been able to locate anything it won't eat and
enjoy eating."
I didn't say anything for a long time. Then, "A Bazook-rifle would kill
one."
"Sure," he said, "and splatter it all around the scenery at the same
time. The laboratories need a _good_ specimen."
There was another long silence. Finally I said, "Why in the name of
Wodo don't they sink into the ground if they weigh as much as all that?"
"They would, only they make a point of walking on rock. That must
be one of the things that limits their spreading even more widely.
They have to be able to forage on ground that supports very little
vegetation."
"You could lift one with a derrick."
He said, "This is the fifth time I've been through this. Every guy that
Westley Marks sends up here asks the same questions. Sure you could
lift it with a derrick if the derrick was big enough. Do you have any
idea of what it'd cost to bring a derrick of that size to Mars?
"And that's not the only thing, either. These zloors are gentle as
lambs, but they hate to be confined against their will. That derrick'd
have to have some awfully strong equipment to keep the zloor from
breaking loose and ambling off. There's other angles there, too.
Suppose your derrick did lift him into the shuttle. When you got the
shuttle up to the space station, how'd you move the zloor from the
shuttle to the station and then from the station to the rocket for
Terra?"
He go up from the bed and went over to a little table to return with a
bottle and a couple of glasses. He poured two drinks and handed me one.
"Here," he said, "you look like you could use a quick one. Have a hair
of a dog that's going to bite kert out of you before you ever leave
Mars."
I grated, "I could stand the rest of it, but what burns me up is that
_makron_ Westley Marks. Here he is getting rich on the project. Besides
what he makes from the government, he's bet every one of us so much
that we'll all be out our life savings when we go back."
"Brother Nap, you have said it," Mike Holiday said feelingly. He tilted
the glass to his lips and drank deeply. I was right behind him.
* * * * *
It was more than two years later when I walked into the office
of Westley Marks. I noted with pleasure that he still looked as
aristocratic as ever.
"Ah," he said, "Mr. _Napoleon_ Prescott. As I recall, the last time we
met you objected to my calling your namesake a 'bust.' Don't tell me
that we have an additional bust in--"