The Terrible Answer Read online

of what might occur during the sleeping hours. Hehad read the Primary Report, brought back by the pioneer expedition.These people were entirely harmless. Also they were possessed ofremarkable stamina. They had stood for days, watching the firstexpedition, grinning at it, without nourishment of any kind.

  Maybe they live off the atmosphere, Smith told himself dreamily. At anyrate, they were ideal specimens to use as the foundation stones of anempire. He lay back, thinking of Larkin; he did not like Larkinpersonally, but he had to admire the steel in the man; the unswervingdetermination that had made him what he was.

  His mind drifted back to the things of beauty around him. The far purpleridges had changed now, as a light bloomed behind them to gleam likeazure through old crystal. Then the two moons shot over the horizon;huge silver bullets riding the thin atmosphere.

  The oldest planet. Had it ever been great? Were the bones of any deadcivilizations mouldering beneath this strange yellow soil? Smith closedhis eyes while the cool Martian breezes soothed his face. Greatness.What was greatness after all? Merely a matter of viewpoint perhaps.

  Smith got up and moved slowly toward his tent. Out in the shadows hecould feel the grins of the Martians. "Goodnight," he called.

  But there was no answer.

  * * * * *

  "I put them out there," Cleve said. "It seemed as good a place as any."

  "Fine," Larkin rumbled. He wore boots and britches and a big,wide-brimmed hat. He had on soft leather gloves. He looked like anempire builder.

  The Martians were standing around grinning at the pile of shovels lyingin the fuzz-bush. The Martians seemed interested and appeared tocommunicate with one another in some imperceptible manner.

  Larkin shoved through the circle of green men, pushing rudely. Hestopped, picked up one of the shovels; thrust it toward a Martian. TheMartian took it in his hands.

  "It's very important that you _tell_ them--that you don't show them,"Cleve said. "You must not do any of the work yourself."

  "I'll handle it," Larkin snapped. "Now, you--all of you! Grab a shovel.Pick 'em up, see? Pick 'em up! We've got work to do. A ditch to dig."

  Larkin's pantomime was a universal language. "We start the ditch here.Right here--you fella! Get digging! And put your back into that shovel.Hit hard or maybe it gives the whip--understand?" Larkin made athreatening motion toward the lash coiled at his belt.

  Smith, already on the scene, turned as Evans and Dane arrived carryingundefined plastic. They snapped the cylinders and chairs appeared;chairs--and a table upon which Carter and Lewis, bringing up the rear,placed a pitcher of beer, glasses and a box of cigars.

  Cleve, the psychologist, looked with satisfaction upon the string ofMartians manipulating the shovels. "All right," he said. "Let's sitdown. Pour the beer, one of you."

  "Allow me," Smith said. He fought to straighten the smile bending hislips. He picked up the pitcher and poured beer into the glasses. It allseemed so absurd; these grim-faced men acting out an asinine tableau.

  Cleve caught the smile. "I wish you'd take this seriously," he said."It's a mighty touchy and important business."

  "Sorry," Smith said, raising his glass. "Here's to empire."

  Larkin was striding up and down the line of straining Martians. Thescowl had become a part of him.

  _It's getting him_, Smith marveled. _Act or no act, he likes it.Experiment or not, he's in his element._

  The six men sat drinking their beer and watching Larkin. But only Clevewas aware of the skill with which the man worked. The gradualapplication of pressure; the careful moving forward from bog to bog withthe path of retreat always open. From sharpness to brusqueness. From thebrusque to the harsh. From the harsh to the brutal.

  "Will you tell me," Smith asked, "why we have to sit here drinking likea pack of fools? I don't like beer."

  "I'm not enjoying it, either," Cleve said. "But you can certainlyunderstand that the roles must be set right from the beginning. Theymust understand we are their masters, so we must conduct ourselves inthat manner. Never any sign that could be interpreted as compromise."

  Larkin, satisfied with the progress of the entirely useless ditch, cameto the table and raised a glass of beer. He wiped the foam from hismustache and asked, "What do you think?" directing the question towardCleve.

  * * * * *

  The latter regarded the sweating Martians with calculating eyes. "It'sgoing entirely as I predicted. The next step is in order, I believe."

  "You think it's safe?"

  "I'm certain of it."

  Smith, studying Larkin, saw the latter smile, and was again struck byits quality.

  _Whatever the test, Larkin's for it, even above the call of scientificexperimentation._

  Larkin was uncoiling the whip from his belt. He strode toward thefast-deepening ditch. He selected a subject. "You--fella. You're lazy,huh? You like to gold-brick it? Then see how you like this!" He laid thewhip across the green shoulders of the Martian.

  The Martian winced. He raised an arm to shield off the whip. Again itcurled against his flesh. He whimpered. His grin was stark, inquiring.

  "Hit that shovel, you green bastard!" Larkin roared.

  The Martian understood. So did the other Martians. Their musclesquivered as they drove into their work.

  Larkin came back, smiling--almost dreamily, Smith thought. Cleve said,"Excellent. I'd hardly hoped for such conformity. Hardly expected it."

  "You mean," Smith asked, "that this little scene can be projected from adozen to a hundred? From a hundred to a thousand--?"

  "From this little plot to the whole, surface of the planet," Cleve said."The mass is nothing more than a collection of individuals. Control theindividual and you've got the mob. That is if you follow through withthe original method. Set the hard pattern."

  "Then we're in--is that it? They've passed every test with flyingcolors."

  "I'm sure they will," Cleve said, frowning. "But we must be thorough."

  "There's still another test?"

  "Yes. The test of final and complete subservience. It must be provenbeyond all doubt that they know their masters."

  "You don't think they're aware yet that we _are_ their masters?"

  "I'm sure they know. It only remains to be proven." Cleve glanced up atLarkin. "Maybe this is as far as we should go today. We've mademarvelous progress."

  That characteristic wave of Larkin's hand; the gesture of the empirebuilder brushing away mountains. "Why wait? I want to get this thingover with. You said yourself they're under our thumb."

  Cleve pondered, staring at the Martians. "Very well. There's really noreason to wait."

  Larkin smiled and turned toward the diggers, only half visible now fromthe depths of the ditch. He walked forward, appearing to exercise morecare, this time, in the selection of his subject. Finally, he pointed atone of the Martians. "You--fella! Come here!"

  Several of them looked at one another a trifle confused. "You--damn it!What are you waiting for?"

  One of them climbed slowly from the trench. While he was engaged in sodoing, Smith noticed two things. He saw the look of rage, simulated orotherwise, that came into Larkin's face. And he saw Cleve's fingerstighten on the edge of the table.

  Larkin had a gun in his fist; a roar in his voice. "When I talk--youjump! Get that? All of you!"

  He fired three bullets into the Martian's brain. The latter slumpedgrinning to the ground. Larkin, his breath coming jerkily, stood poisedon the balls of his feet. The men at the table sat frozen--waiting.Around them--on the plain--some two hundred Martians stood motionless.

  _The final test_, Smith thought. _To prove they're cattle._

  * * * * *

  A full minute passed after the echo of the gun faded out. Silence.

  And nothing.

  The Earthmen picked up their breathing where they'd dropped it. Larkin'sbreath exploded in savage voice--triumphant voice. The Martians werehis.

/>   "Come on, some of you! Dig a hole and bury that carrion! And if anybodystill wonders who's boss around here--let him step forward!"

  "They took it!" Cleve whispered. "Glory be--they took it!"

  Four Martians climbed grinning from the trench. They faced Larkin andstood as though awaiting instructions.

  "Dig there," Larkin said.

  They went stolidly to work and Larkin pocketed his gun, making thepocketing a gesture of contempt.

  "You see," Cleve said, with the tone of one explaining an abstractproblem, "we were at somewhat of a disadvantage because they areincapable of