Illustrated by KOSSIN
Everyone supported the Martian
program—until it struck home!
Johnny Stark, directorof the department of InterplanetaryRelations forMars' Settlement One, reread thefinal paragraph of the note whichhe had found on his desk, uponreturning from lunch earlier inthe day.
His eye flicked rapidly overthe moistly smeared Martianscrawl, ignoring the bitternessdirected at him in the first paragraphs.He was vaguely troubledby the last sentences. But hehadn't been able to pin the feelingdown.
... Our civilization predatesthat of Earth's by millions ofyears. We are an advanced, peacefulrace. Yet, since Earth's firstrocket landed here thirteen yearsago, we have been looked upon asfreaks and contemptuously called'bug-men' behind our backs! Thisis our planet. We gave of our far-advancedknowledge and sciencefreely, so that Earth would be abetter place. We asked nothingin return, but we were rewardedby having forced upon us foreignideas of government, religion,and behavior. Our protests havebeen silenced by an armed-policeand punitive system we've neverbefore needed. Someday you willawaken to this injustice. On thatday in your life, you have mysympathy and pity!
Stark knew that the Settlement'sInvestigations Lab couldreadily determine the identity ofthe Martian who had written thenote. But he hesitated to send itover. Under the New System,such troublemakers were banishedto the slave-labor detailsof the precious-earth mines tothe North.
Crumpling the note in suddendecision, Stark dropped it intothe office incendiary tube. Themorning visi-report had shownthat there were more than 17,000workers at the mines. Only fivehad been Earthlings. Let thearmed-police system find theMartian through their own channels.It wasn't his job.
A glance at the solar clockon the far wall reminded himthere was still time for one moreinterview before the last bell, sohe impatiently signaled his secretaryto send in the waitingcouple.
Ordinarily, he liked his workand time meant little to him. Hehad jumped from interpreter todirector in the ten years sincethe department had been created.But this day was different.
Stark was to announce his engagementat the Chief's monthlydinner party that evening andtime had seemed to drag sincehis lunch with Carol.
When the door opened, he roseand nodded to the plump, freckle-facedgirl who entered. Thegirl topped five feet by one ortwo inches, but she was no tallerthan the Martian man who followedher at the prescribed fourfeet.
After the girl had seated herself,Stark and the Martian satdown. Stark opened the folder,which his secretary had placed onhis desk earlier.
"Your names are Ruth andRalph Gilraut? And you wantpermission to move into HousingPerimeter D?" It was merely aformality, since the informationwas in the folder.
When the girl nodded, Starkplaced a small check mark in thespace beside her name. Then heturned to the Martian.
The large, single red eye setdeep in the Martian's smooth,green forehead above the twobrown ones blinked twice beforehe answered.
He spoke deliberately. "As isrequired of all Martians underthe New System, I have takenthe name of one of the earlyEarthlings to write and pronounce."The large red eye blinkedagain. "My wife would like tomove into Housing Perimeter D.By regulation, I respect herwish."