by Isaac Asimov
David looked at the men. They looked at him.
Finally one of the farmboys thrust out a hard hand. "Good show, farmboy."
It was calmly said, but it meant acceptance, and it broke the log jam.
Bigman yelled a triumph, jumped six feet into the air, and sank slowly down, with legs twiddling under him in a maneuver no ballet dancer, however expert, could have duplicated under Earth gravity. The others were crowding close now. Men who had addressed David only as "Earthie" or "You," or not at all, were clapping him on the back and telling him he was a man Mars could be proud of.
Bigman shouted, "Men, let's continue the checkup. Do we need Griswold to show us how?"
They howled back, "No!"
"Then how about it?" He vaulted into his car.
"Come on, farmboy," they yelled at David, who jumped into what had been Griswold's car fifteen minutes before and set it in motion.
Once again the call of "Sand awa-a-a-ay!" shrilled and ululated through the Martian wisps.
The news spread by sand-car radio, leaping across the empty spaces between the glass-enclosed stretches of farm lands. While David maneuvered his vehicle up and down the corridors between the glass walls, word of Griswold's end made its way across all the expanse of the farm.
The eight remaining farmboys of what had been Griswold's sub-section gathered together once again in the dying ruddy light of Mars's sinking sun and retraced the early-morning drive back to the farm dome. When David returned, he found himself already notorious.
There was no formal evening meal that day. It had been eaten out in the desert before the return, so in less than half an hour of the completion of the checkup, men had gathered before the Main House, waiting.
There was no doubt that by now Hennes and the Old Man himself had heard of the fight. There were enough of the "Hennes crowd," that is, men who had been hired since Hennes had become foreman and whose interests were tied thoroughly to those of Hennes, to insure the fact that the news had spread in that direction. So the men waited with pleased anticipation.
It was not that they had any great hate for Hennes. He was efficient and no brute. But he was not liked. He was cold and aloof, lacked the quality of easy mixing which had marked earlier foremen. On Mars, with its lack of social distinctions, that was a serious shortcoming and one which the men could not help but resent. And Griswold himself had been anything but popular.
All in all, it was more excitement than the Makian farm had seen in three Martian years, and a Martian year is just one month short of being two Earth-years long.
When David appeared, a considerable cheer went up and way was made for him, though a small group well to one side looked glum and hostile.
Inside, the cheers must have been heard, for Makian, Hennes, Benson, and a few others stepped out. David walked up the foot of the ramp which led to the doorway and Hennes moved forward to the head of the ramp, where he stood, looking down.
David said, "Sir, I have come to explain today's incident."
Hennes said evenly, "A valuable employee of the Makian farms died today as the result of a quarrel with you. Can your explanation remove that fact?"
"No, sir, but the man Griswold was beaten in fair fight."
A voice called out from the crowd, "Griswold tried to kill the boy. He forgot to have the weight-rods included in the boy's car by accident," There were several scattered squawks of laughter at the final sarcastic word.
Hennes paled. His fist clenched. "Who said that?"
There was silence, and then from the very front of the crowd a small, subdued voice said, "Please, teacher, it wasn't I." Bigman was standing there, hands clasped before him, eyes looking modestly down.
The laughter came again, and this time it was a roar.
Hennes suppressed fury with an effort. He said to David, "Do you claim an attempt on your life?"
David said, "No, sir. I claim only a fair fight, witnessed by seven farmboys. A man who enters a fair fight must be willing to come out as best he can. Do you intend to set up new rules?"
A yell of approval went up from the audience. Hennes looked about him. He cried, "I am sorry that you men are being misled and agitated into actions you will regret. Now get back to your work, all of you, and be assured that your attitude this evening will not be forgotten. As for you, Williams, we will consider the case. This is not the end."
He slammed back into Main House and, after a moment's hesitation, the rest followed him.
David was called to Benson's office early the next day. It had been a long night of celebration, which David could neither avoid nor break away from, and he yawned prodigiously as he stooped to avoid hitting the lintel.
Benson said, "Come in, Williams." He was dressed in a white smock and the air in the office had a characteristic animal odor that came from the cages of rats and hamsters. He smiled. "You look sleepy. Sit down."
"Thanks," said David. "I am sleepy. What can I do for you?"
"It's what I can do for you, Williams. You're in trouble and you could be in worse trouble. I'm afraid you don't know what conditions on Mars are like. Mr. Makian has the full legal authority to order you blasted if he believes the death of Griswold can be considered murder."
"Without a trial?"
"No, but Hennes could find twelve farmboys who would think his way easily enough."
"He'd have trouble with the rest of the farmboys if he tried to do that, wouldn't he?"
"I know. I told Hennes that over and over again last night. Don't think that Hennes and I get along. He's too dictatorial for me; too fond, by far, of his own ideas, such as that private detective work of his which I mentioned to you the other time. And Mr. Makian agreed with me completely. He must let Hennes take charge of all direct dealings with the men, of course, which is why he didn't interfere yesterday, but he told Hennes afterward, to his face, that he wasn't going to sit by and see his farm destroyed over a stupid rascal such as Griswold, and Hennes had to promise to let the matter stew for a while. Just the same, he won't forget this in a hurry, and Hennes is a bad enemy to have here."
"I'll have to risk it, won't I?"
"We can run the risk to a minimum. I've asked Makian if I may use you here. You could be quite useful, you know, even without scientific training. You can help feed the animals and clean the cages. I could teach you how to anesthetize them and make injections. It won't be much, but it will keep you out of Hennes's way and prevent disruption of farm morale which is something we can't afford now, as you should know. Are you willing?"
With the utmost gravity David said, "It would be rather a social comedown for a man who's been told he's an honest-to-goodness farmboy now."
The scientist frowned. "Oh, come now, Williams. Don't take seriously what those fools tell you. Farm-boy! Huh! It's a fancy name for a semi-skilled agricultural laborer and nothing more. You'd be silly to listen to their upside-down notions of social status. Look, if you work with me you might be helping to work out the mystery of the poisonings; help avenge your sister. That's why you came to Mars, wasn't it?"
I'll work for you," said David.
"Good." Benson's round face stretched in a smile of relief.
Bigman looked through the door cautiously. He half whispered, "Hey!"
David turned around and closed the cage door. "Hello, Bigman."
"Is Benson around?"
"No. He's gone for the day."
"Okay." Bigman entered, walking carefully, as though to prevent even an accidental contact between his clothing and any object in the laboratories.
. "Don't tell me you have something against Benson."
"Who, me? No. He's just a bit-you know." He tapped his temple a few times. "What kind of a grown man would come to Mars to fool around with little animals? And then he's always telling us how to run the planting and harvesting. What does he know? You can't learn anything about Mars farming in some Earth college. At that, he tries to make himself seem better than we are. You know what I mean? We have to
slap him down sometimes."
He looked gloomily at David. "And now look at you. He's got you all spiffed out in a nightgown, too, playing nursemaid to a mouse. Why do you let him?"
"It's just for a while," said David.
"Well." Bigman pondered a moment, then thrust out his hand awkwardly. "I want to say good-by."
David took it. "Leaving?"
"My month's up. I have my papers so now I'll be getting a job somewhere else. I'm glad I met up with you, Earthie. Maybe when your own time's up we can meet again. You won't want to stay under Hennes."
"Hold on." David did not release the little fellow's hand. "You'll be going to Wingrad City now, won't you?"
'Till I find a job. Yes."
"Good. I've been waiting for this for a week. I can't leave the farm, Bigman, so will you do an errand for me?"
"You bet. Just name it."
"It's a little risky. You'd have to come back here."
"All right. I'm not afraid of Hennes. Besides, there are ways for us to meet he doesn't know a thing about. Fve been on Makian farms a lot longer than he has."
David forced Bigman into a seat. He squatted next to Mm, and his voice was a whisper. "Look, there's a library at the corner of Canal and Phobos streets in Wingrad City. I want you to get some book films for me along with a viewer. The information that will get you the proper films is in this sealed____________________ "
Bigman's hand clawed out sharply, seizing David's right sleeve, forcing it upward.
"Here, what are you doing?" demanded David.
"I want to see something," panted Bigman. He had bared David's wrist now, holding it, inner surface upward, watching it breathlessly.
David made no move to withdraw it. He watched Ms own wrist without concern. "Well, what's the idea?"
"Wrong one," muttered Bigman.
"Really?" David took his wrist away from Bigman's clutch effortlessly and exposed the other wrist. He held them both before Mm. "What are you looking for?"
"You know what I'm looking for. I thought your face was familiar ever since you came here. Couldn't place it. I could kick myself. What kind of an Earth-man would come here and be rated as good as any native farmboy in less than a month? And I have to wait for you to send me to the library at the Council of Science before I tumble."
"I still don't understand you, Bigman."
"I think you do, David Starr." He nearly shouted the name in Ms triumph.
8. Night Meeting
David said, "Quiet, man!"
Bigman's voice sank. "I've seen you in video reels often enough. But why don't your wrists show the mark? I've heard all the members of the Council were marked."
"Where did you hear this? And who told you the library at Canal and Phobos is the Council of Science?"
Bigman flushed. "Don't look down at the farmboy, mister. I've lived in the city. I've even had schooling."
"My apologies. I didn't mean it that way. Will you still help me?"
"Not until I understand about your wrists."
"That's not hard. It's a colorless tattoo that will turn dark in air, but only if I want it to."
"How's that?"
"It's a matter of emotion. Each human emotion is accompanied by a particular hormone pattern in the blood. One and only one such pattern activates the tattoo. I happen to know the emotion that fits."
David did nothing visibly, but slowly a patch on the inner surface of his right wrist appeared and darkened. The golden dots of the Big Dipper and Orion glowed momentarily and then the whole faded rapidly.
Bigman's face glowed and his hands came down for that automatic smack against his boots. David caught Ms arms roughly.
"Hey," said Bigman.
"No excitement, please. Are you with me?"
"Sure I'm with you. I'll be back tonight with the stuff you want and I'll tell you where we can meet.
There's a place outside, near the Second Section____________________ "
He went on, whispering directions.
David nodded. "Good. Here's the envelope."
Bigman took it and inserted it between his hip boot and thigh. He said, "There's a pocket on the inside top of the better-quality hip boots, Mr. Starr. Do you know that?"
"I do. Don't look down at this farmboy, either. And my name, Bigman, is still Williams. That leaves just one last statement. The Council librarians will be the only ones who will be able to open that envelope safely. If anyone else tries, he'll be hurt."
Bigman drew himself up. "No one else will open it. There are people who are bigger than I am. Maybe you think I don't know that, but I do. Just the same, bigger or not, nobody, and I mean nobody, will take this from me without killing me. What's more, I wasn't thinking of opening it myself, either, if you've given that any thought."
"I have," said David. "I try to give all possibilities some, thought, but I didn't give that one very much."
Bigman smiled, made a mock pass with his fist at David's chin, and was gone.
It was almost dinnertime when Benson returned. He looked unhappy and his plump cheeks were drooping.
He said listlessly, "How are you, Williams?"
David was washing his hands by dipping them into the special detergent solution which was universally used on Mars for this purpose. He withdrew his hands into the stream of warm air for drying, while the wash water flushed away into the tanks where it could be purified and returned to the central supply. Water was expensive on Mars and was used and reused wherever possible.
David said, "You look tired, Mr. Benson."
Benson closed the door carefully behind him. He blurted it out. "Six people died yesterday of the poisoning. That's the highest number yet for a single day. It's getting worse all the time and there's nothing we seem to be able to do."
He glowered at the lines of animal cages. "All alive, I suppose."
"All alive," said David.
"Well, what can I do? Every day Makian asks me if I have discovered anything. Does he think I can find discoveries under my pillow in the morning? I was in the grain bins today, Williams. It was an ocean of wheat, thousands and thousands of tons all set for shipment to Earth. I dipped into it a hundred times. Fifty grains here; fifty grains there. I tried every corner of every bin. I had them dip twenty feet down for samples. But what good is it? Under present conditions it would be a generous estimate to suppose that one out of a billion grains is infected."
He nudged at the suitcase he had brought with him. "Do you think the fifty thousand grains I've got here have the one in a billion among them? One chance in twenty thousand!"
David said, "Mr. Benson, you told me that no one ever died on the farm here, even though we eat Martian food almost exclusively."
"Not as far as I know."
"How about Mars as a whole?"
Benson frowned. "I don't know. I suppose not or I would have heard of it. Of course life isn't as tightly organized here on Mars as it is on Earth. A farmboy dies and usually he is simply buried without formality. There are few questions." Then, sharply, "Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking that if it were a Martian germ, people on Mars might be more accustomed to it than Earth people. They might be immune."
"Well! Not a bad thought for a non-scientist. In fact, it's a good idea. I'll keep it in mind," He reached up to pat David's shoulder. "You go on and eat. We'll begin feeding the new samples tomorrow."
As David left, Benson turned to his suitcase and was lifting out the carefully labeled little packets, one of which might hold the all-important poisoned kernel. By tomorrow those samples would be ground, each little pile of powder carefully mixed and painstakingly divided into twenty sub-samples, some for feeding and some for testing.
By tomorrow! David smiled tightly to himself. He wondered where he would be tomorrow. He even wondered if he would be alive tomorrow.
The farm dome lay asleep like a giant prehistoric monster curled upon the surface of Mars. The residual fluorescents were pale glimmers against the dome
roof. Amid the silence the ordinarily unheard vibrations of the dome's atmospherics, which compressed Martian atmosphere to the normal Earth level and added moisture and oxygen from the quantities supplied by the growing plants of the vast greenhouses, sounded in a low grumble.
David was moving quickly from shadow to shadow with a caution that was, to a large extent, not necessary. There was no one watching. The hard composition of the dome was low overhead, bending rapidly to the ground, when he reached Lock 17. His hair brushed it.
The inner door was open and he stepped inside. His pencil flashlight swept the walls within and found the controls. They weren't labeled, but Bigman's directions had been clear enough. He depressed the yellow button. There was a faint click, a pause, and then the soughing of air. It was much louder than it had been on the day of the checkup, and since the lock was a small one designed for three or four men rather than a giant one designed for nine sand-cars, the air pressure dropped much more quickly.
He adjusted his nosepiece, waited for the hissing to die away, the silence indicating pressure equilibrium. Only then did he depress the red button. The outer section lifted and he stepped out.
This time he was not trying to control a car. He lowered himself to the hard, cold sands and waited for the stomach-turning sensations to pass as he accustomed himself to the gravity change. It took scarcely two minutes for that to happen. A few more gravity-change passages, David thought grimly, and he would have what the farmboys called "gravity legs."
He rose, turned to get his bearings, and then found himself, quite involuntarily, frozen in fascination!
It was the first time he had ever seen the Martian night sky. The stars themselves were the old familiar ones of Earth, arranged in all the familiar constellations. The distance from Mars to Earth, great though it was, was insufficient to alter perceptibly the relative positions of the distant stars. But though the stars were unchanged in position, how vastly they were changed in brilliance.
