"What reason?" demanded David.

Benson looked embarrassed. He moved one hand slowly over his head, smoothing the sparse strands of light hair that did not manage to hide the pink streaks of hairless skull that lay between. He said, "None that I could convince the Council of Science with. None that I could even present to Mr. Makian. But I believe I'm right."

"Is it anything you would care to talk about?"

"Well, I don't know. Frankly, it's been a long time since I've spoken to anyone but farmboys. You're a college man obviously. What did you major in?"

"History," said David promptly. "My thesis concerned the international politics of the early atomic age."

"Oh." Benson looked disappointed. "Any courses in science at all?"

"I had a couple in chemistry; one in zoology."

"I see. It occurred to me that I might be able to convince Mr. Makian to let you help me in my laboratory. It wouldn't be much of a job, especially since you have no scientific training, but it would be better than what Hennes will have you doing."

"Thank you, Mr. Benson. But about the Martians?"

"Oh yes. It's simple enough. You may not know it but there are extensive caves under the Martian surface, perhaps several miles under. So much is known from earthquake data, or, rather, Marsquake data. Some investigators claim they are merely the result of natural water action in the days when Mars still had oceans, but then radiation has been picked up that has its source beneath the soil and which can't have a human source but must have some intelligent source. The signals are too orderly to be anything else.

"It makes sense, really, if you stop to think about it. In the youth of the planet there was sufficient water and oxygen to support life, but with a gravity only two fifths that of Earth, both substances leaked slowly away into space. If there were intelligent Martians, they must have been able to foresee that. They might have built huge caverns well underneath their soil, into which they could retire with enough water and air to continue indefinitely, if they kept their population stable. Now suppose these Martians found that their planet's surface was harboring intelligent life once more-life from another planet. Suppose they resented it or feared our eventual interference with them. What we call food poisoning might be bacteriological warfare."

David said thoughtfully, "Yes, I see your point."

"But would the Syndicate? Or the Council of Science? Well, never mind. I'll have you working for me soon, and perhaps we'll be able to convince them yet."

He smiled and held out a soft hand which was swallowed up in David Starr's large one.

"I think they'll be letting you out now," Benson said.

They did let him out, and for the first time David had the chance to observe the heart of a Martian farm. It was domed, of course, as the city had been. David had been sure of that from the instant he had regained consciousness. You couldn't expect to be breathing free air and living under Earth-strength gravity unless you were within a powered dome.

Naturally the dome was much smaller than that of a city. At its highest it was only about one hundred feet, its translucent structure visible in all its details, strings of white fluorescent lights outdoing the translucent glimmer of the sunlight. The whole structure covered about half a square mile.

After the first evening, however, David had little time to extend his observations. The farm dome seemed full of men and they all had to be fed three times a day. In the evenings particularly, with the day's work done, there seemed no end to them. Stolidly he would stand behind the chow table while farmboys with plastic platters moved past him. The platters, David found out eventually, were manufactured especially for Martian farm use. Under the heat of human hands they could be molded and closed about the food at such times as it was necessary to carry meals out to the desert. Molded so, they kept the sand out and the heat in. Within the farm dome they could be flattened out again and used in the usual way.

The farmboys paid David little attention. Only Bigman, whose lithe frame slipped among the tables replacing sauce bottles and spice containers, waved to him. It was a terrible drop in social position for the little fellow, but he was philosophical about it.

"It's only for a month," he had explained one time in the kitchen, when they were preparing the day's stew and the head cook had left on his own business for a few minutes, "and most of the fellows know the score and are making it easy for me. Of course there's Griswold, Zukis, and that bunch: the rats that try to get somewhere by licking Hennes's boots. But what in Space do I care? It's only a few weeks."

Another time he said, "Don't let it bother you about the boys not cottoning to you. They know you're an Earthman, see, and they don't know you're pretty good for an Earthman, like I do. Hennes is always poking about after me, or else Griswold is, to make sure I don't talk to them, or else they would have heard the facts from me. But they'll get wise."

But the process was taking time. For David, it remained the same: a farmboy and his platter; a dollop of mashed potatoes, a ladle of peas, and a small steak (animal food was much scarcer on Mars than plant food, since meat had to be imported from Earth). The farmboy then helped himself to a sliver of cake and a cup of coffee. Then another farmboy with another platter; another dollop of mashed potatoes, another ladle of peas, and so on. To them, it seemed, David Starr was just an Earthman with a ladle in one hand and a large-tined fork in the other. He wasn't even a face; just a ladle and a fork.

The cook stuck his head through the door, his little eyes peering piggily over the sagging pouches" beneath. '"Hey, Williams. Rattle your legs and get some food into the special mess."

Makian, Benson, Hennes, and any others who were considered especially worthy in point of view of position or of length of service dined in a room by themselves. They sat at tables and had the food brought to them. David had been through this before. He prepared special platters and brought them into the room on a wheeled service table.

He threaded his way quietly through the tables, beginning with the one at which Makian, Hennes, and two others sat. At Benson's table he lingered. Benson accepted his platter with a smile and a "How are you?" and proceeded to eat with relish. David, with an air of conscientiousness, brushed at invisible crumbs. His mouth managed to get itself close to Benson's ears and his lips scarcely moved as he said, "Anyone ever get poisoned here at the farm?"

Benson started at the sudden sound of words and looked quickly at David. As quickly he looked away, tried to appear indifferent. He shook his head in a sharp negative.

"The vegetables are Martian, aren't they?" murmured David.

A new voice sounded in the room. It was a rough yell from the other end of the room.

"By Space, you long Earth jackass, get a move on!"

It was Griswold, Ms face still stubbled. He must shave sometimes, David thought, since the stubble never grew longer, but no one ever seemed to see it shorter, either.

Griswold was at the last table to be visited. He was still mumbling, his anger boiling over.

His lips drew back. "Bring over that platter, dish-jockey. Faster. Faster."

David did so, but without hurry, and Griswold's hand, with the fork in it, jabbed quickly. David moved more quickly, and the fork clanged sharply against the hard plastic of the tray.

Balancing the tray in one hand, David caught Griswold's fist with the other. His grip grew tight. The other three at the table pushed back their chairs and rose.

David's voice, low, icy, and dead level, sounded just high enough to be heard by Griswold. "Drop it and ask for your ration decently, or you'll have it all at once."

Griswold writhed, but David maintained his hold. David's knee in the back of Griswold's chair prevented the farmboy from pushing away from the table.

"Ask nicely," said David. He smiled, deceptively gentle. "Like a man with breeding."

Griswold was panting harshly. The fork dropped from between his numbed fingers. He growled, "Let me have the tray."

"Is that all?"

"Please." He spat it out.

David lowered the tray and released the other's fist from which the blood had been crushed, leaving it white. Griswold massaged it with his other hand and reached for his fork. He looked about him, mad with fury, but there was only amusement or indifference in the eyes that met his. The farms on Mars were hard; each man had to care for himself.

Makian was standing. "Williams," he called.

David approached. "Sir?"

Makian made no direct reference to what had just occurred, but he stood there for a moment, looking carefully at David, as though he were seeing him for the first time and liked what he saw. He said, "Would you like to join the checkup tomorrow?"

"The checkup, sir? What is that?" Unobtrusively he surveyed the table. Makian's steak was gone, but his peas remained behind and the mashed potatoes were scarcely touched. He had not the grit, apparently, of Hennes, who had left a clean platter.

"The checkup is the monthly drive through all the farm to check on the plant rows. It's an old farm custom. We check on possible accidental breaks in the glass, on the condition and workings of the irrigation pipes and farm machinery, also on possible poaching. We need as many good men as possible out on the checkup."

"I'd like to go, sir."

"Good! I think you'll do." Makian turned to Hennes, who had been listening throughout with cold and unemotional eyes. "I like the boy's style, Hennes.

We may be able to make a farmboy out of him.

And, Hennes____________________ " His voice sank and David, moving away, could no longer catch it, but from the quick hooded glance Makian cast in the direction of Griswold's table, it could not have been very complimentary to the veteran farmboy.

David Starr caught the footstep inside his own partitioning and acted even before he was fully awake. He slipped off the far side of the bed and underneath. He caught the glimpse of bare feet glimmering whitely in the pale light of the residual fluorescents shining through the window. The residuals were allowed to burn in the farm dome during the sleeping period to avoid darkness too inconveniently black.

David waited, heard the rustle of the sheets as hands probed uselessly through the bed, then a whisper. "Earthman! Earthman! Where in Space____________________ "

David touched one of the feet and was rewarded by a sudden withdrawal and a sharp intake of breath.

There was a pause and then a head, shapeless in the dusk, was near his. "Earthman? You there?"

"Where else would I be sleeping, Bigman? I like it here under the bed."

The little fellow fumed and whispered peevishly, ''You might have squeezed a yell out of me and then I would have been in the stew to my ears. I've got to talk to you."

"Now's your chance." David chuckled softly and crawled back into bed.

Bigman said, "You're a suspicious space bug for an Earthman."

"You bet," said David. "I intend living a long life."

"If you're not careful, you won't."

"No?"

"No. I'm foolish to be here. If I'm caught, I'll never get my reference papers. It's just that you helped me when I could use it, and it's my turn to pay back. What was it you did to this louse, Griswold?"

"Just a little mixup in the special mess."

"A little mixup? He was raving mad. It was all Hennes could do to hold him back."

"Is this what you came to tell me, Bigman?"

"Part of it. They were behind the garage just after Eghts-out. They didn't know I was around, and I didn't tell them. Anyway, Hennes was yanking the stuffings out of Griswold; first for starting something with you when the Old Man was watching; and second, for not having the sand to finish once he had started it. Griswold was too mad to talk sense. Near as I could judge, he was just gargling something about how he would have your gizzard. Hennes said____________________ " He broke off. "Listen, didn't you tell me that Hennes was all clear as far as you were concerned?"

"He seems so."

"Those midnight trips-''

"You only saw him once."

"Once is enough. If it was legitimate, why can't you give me the straight stuff?"

"It's not mine to give, Bigman, but it all seems legitimate."

"If that's the case, what's he got against you? Why doesn't he call off his dogs?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when Griswold finished talking, Hennes said he was to hold off. He said you would be out on checkup tomorrow and that would be the time. So I thought I'd come and warn you, Earthman. Better stay off checkup."

David's voice remained unflurried. "Checkup would be time for what? Did Hennes say?"

"I didn't hear past that. They moved away and I couldn't follow, or I would have been out in the open. But I assume it's pretty plain."

"Maybe. But suppose we try to find out for sure exactly what they're after."

Bigman leaned close, as though he were trying to extract a reading from David's face despite the gloom. "How do you mean?"

David said, "How do you suppose. I'll be at the checkup and give the boys a chance to show me."

"You can't do that," gasped Bigman. "You couldn't handle yourself on a checkup against them. You don't know anything about Mars, you poor Earthman you."

"Then," said David phlegmatically, "it could mean suicide, I suppose. Let's wait and see." He patted Bigman on the shoulder, turned over, and went to sleep again.