Collie licked sandy lips. He wished he had a good slug of whiskey inside him. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll be off. Give me fifteen minutes an’ start yourselves. Good luck to us all.’

  Ivanovitch rumbled something in his throat, and O’Neill clamped his shoulder briefly. Lois came to stand before them. He could just see the tremble of her lips in the starlight. ‘God be with you,’ she whispered, and her helmet clinked against theirs.

  He couldn’t help a wry grin at how the gesture must look, but it made him feel warm inside. Turning, he started off.

  The stones were rough under him as he snaked down the slope, flowing toward the farther end of the Siberian camp. He went from gully to crag to dune, stopping with his heart a thunder in his ears, peering ahead to see if anything had stirred. The stars were huge and cold above him, even then he was aware of his own littleness beneath that sky. He pulled his mind back to the job. Mission: murder – rip the air from the lungs and the blood from the noses of men he had never seen, men who probably had wives and children waiting for them back on Earth. Mission: survival.

  The scraping of rocks and scratching of drifted sand seemed unnaturally loud. He wondered why the whole planet didn’t wake with a shriek. The captured Siberian superbazooka on his back seemed to tower against the stars, incredible that the guards didn’t spy that walking skyscraper. The ships loomed like armored monsters, they had crossed between worlds and he was going to try and slay those firedrakes!

  No. He didn’t worry too much about his own end of the job. A rocket shell could punch through the light steel hulls, and its explosion would make too big a hole for the self-sealing to heal. Three or four such holes would let out enough air so that men would choke before they could get on their suits. Captain Wayne had shown him last morning (only two days ago?) how to operate the thing, it was childishly simple to a man who had grown up using bows and homemade smoothbore muskets. He had crawled unseen up to his quarry over more difficult terrain. O’Neill had shown him exactly where the UV fence, if there was one, must be planted. A six-foot jump and a thirty-yard dash were nothing to him, even on Mars.

  But the other two – they weren’t scouts or soldiers. A tommy-gun wasn’t the easiest weapon in the world either. It was a terrible thought that his own life rested on men who might fail.

  Well—

  He was almost up to the little mound where the alarm was buried. He lay flat, his dirt-rubbed suit and equipment another part of the dim landscape, and peered ahead. He could just see starlight shimmer along one machine-gun barrel. The tautness in him, the need for action, grew almost unendurable. God! What was keeping the others?

  He gathered himself, crouching inside his skin, biting his jaws together as he waited.

  The searchlight glare was a blow. He yelled, throwing up an arm as it found his eyes. A gun clattered, kicking up dust around him. He scrambled up and tried to run. The light and the bullets followed him. The amplified voice was like a roar of judgment.

  ‘Surrender! Surrender or be killed! You are taken!’

  He dropped to his hands and knees, sobbing, knowing he could not outrun a bullet. The firing ceased. Turning, he tried to unlimber his bazooka. A warning spurt of lead ate at the dust.

  The light came from the nose of one ship. Beyond its white glare was only darkness, but he thought he could see other beams probing. And here they came, suited figures trotting from the night with guns pointed at his belly. He raised his hands and stood waiting.

  One of the Siberians jerked a thumb toward the ships, while the other stood well aside, covering him. He slogged toward prison with a dry weeping in him.

  As he neared the airlock, he saw O’Neill and Ivanovitch, also under guard. The Russian was cursing, a glimpse of his face showed him blind with rage and bafflement. Collie couldn’t make out O’Neill’s visage, but even through the heavy suit it could be seen how his shoulders were bent.

  ‘They’re out after Lois,’ he said tonelessly. ‘A bunch of them just ran by, headed for her.’

  ‘But how did they—’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.’

  Presently the girl was brought back. She moved wearily, breathing hard. She must have tried to flee, but they had run her down. One of her captors had abnormally long legs.

  A man gestured at the retractable ladder. They went up it and stood in the airlock. The usual blindness engulfed them as moisture froze on suits and helmets. Hands fumbled at Collie, trying to get his suit off. He batted them aside. ‘I can undress myself, he said dully.

  He felt strangely helpless and without dignity, standing there in the one-piece undergarment. A good dozen men clustered about them, similarly clad. Ivanovitch growled, bear-like, and doubled his fists. Someone else grinned at him: a dark fellow, big as he, but with four arms, one pair behind the other.

  Something of the numbness lifted from Collie as he was urged down a short corridor. He looked about him. The ship had the same metallic bleakness as his own, though here it was unrelieved by the murals which Feinberg had painted to while away the trip. The men around were about half of white, half of Oriental stock, and all had sidearms. They revealed several mutations: the long legs, the size and double arm, the supple extrajointed fingers, and probably many more which didn’t show on the outside. A crew of favorables, just like the Americans. But there were some differences which seemed neither handicap nor asset: a hairless skull, oddly placed ears and nose, long webbed toes on one set of bare feet. The Siberians must have been less fussy.

  The prisoners were shown up a companionway and into a small anteroom where a motionless sentry slanted his rifle. An order was barked, and most of the company left. The four-armed man and a Mongoloid whose quick deft movements suggested superhuman reaction-speed remained. The sentry knocked on the door, a voice answered, and the door was opened. Collie led the way inside.

  It was obviously the bridge, though a desk and cabinet had been installed to make an office of it. A searchlight battery, hastily erected to shine through the vision ports, together with some electronic apparatus Collie didn’t recognize, took most of the remaining space. His eyes went to the man behind the desk.

  That one smiled. ‘Come in, please,’ he said. ‘Be seated, if you wish, though I am afraid we have only the floor to sit on. Colonel Boris Byelinsky of the Siberian Khanate, at your service.’

  XIII

  Collie paused for a long while, studying this man who held their lives between his fingers. He seemed to be around forty, though the shaven head and the broad features gave him a curiously ageless look. His stocky form was at ease but remained flawless in the gray-green uniform. The eyes were small and blue, not unkindly, and the mouth was sensitive. He spoke English with a rather mechanical perfection, no real accent of any kind to give it color.

  ‘I think I know your names already,’ he said after a pause. ‘Collingwood, O’Neill, Grenfell and Ivanovitch – yes, I rather suspected it would be you four who came. But do sit down. I assure you, we have no harmful intentions.’

  Slowly, Collie lowered himself till he was hunkering on the floor. The stunned feeling was leaving him, he began really to see what an unimaginable catastrophe this was, and he fought not to tremble. His voice wouldn’t remain steady: ‘Yeah. After you tried to kill us all!’

  ‘No, no,’ Byelinsky shook his head. ‘You were the ones who thought of killing. Our men were only supposed to disable your rocket and then, when you emerged to investigate, capture you. It would be criminal to waste such stock as yours, which is so rare and precious a thing these days. Of course,’ he finished gently, ‘if necessary, we will shoot to kill, but I hope that the necessity will not arise.’

  Why?’ It was a whisper in O’Neill’s throat. ‘Why fight at all? Faith, we’d no mind to harm you if you wished to colonize.’

  ‘That,’ said Byelinsky, ‘is a question of national policy. You might almost say the problem is philosophical.’ He gestured at the searchlights. ‘Please do not think us altogether incompetent. When our men came back with their story of failure, we knew we could expect a visit from you, and guessed pretty closely what its nature would be. So we made preparations. We have a person aboard with ears at least as sensitive as yours, Miss Grenfell, and it was a simple matter to install this microphone pickup so that he could hear every sound outside for a kilometer or more. There were armed, suited men waiting just inside the air lock, and these lights to pick you out. It was as simple as that.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Collie looked at the floor. As simple as that. And he’d walked right into it. He, the great scout, the hunter, the expert, he’d blundered into it like a bear into a deadfall. He clenched his fists and felt tears sting his eyes. This was no place for him, he wasn’t fit to meet the world, he wanted to go home.

  ‘There remains the problem of your comrades,’ said Byelinsky. ‘But several possibilities for dealing with them occur to me. We have at least one gun which can shell them from a good range. Once their ship is holed, they will soon have to surrender. However, I would prefer a more workmanlike method. One which did not destroy so much good equipment.’

  Lois was still standing. Her voice rose almost to a scream.

  ‘What do you want? Why are you doing it? We haven’t harmed you. Haven’t you had enough war? Don’t you know what it did to Earth?’

  ‘It is rather late to discuss large issues,’ said Byelinsky. ‘However, I think history has proven that two wholly different ways of thought cannot long co-exist. Sooner or later, one will begin to dominate the other, which then has no choice but violence. The Khanate has adapted a radically different solution from yours to the problems facing us all. It is a way which will seem hard to most. They will naturally tend to follow the softer, easier, half-hearted way of the west. But since that is no solution at all, but merely means ruin in the end, it must go.’

  A muscle jumped in the angle of O’Neill’s jaw. ‘It seems I’ve heard that song before,’ he muttered. ‘Just what do you Siberians propose to do?’

  ‘Face the facts,’ answered Byelinsky. ‘Acknowledge that man’s whole evolution has taken a new course. It is not a course that I, personally, am very happy about. I agree that the last war was suicidal stupidity, and that the issues it was fought over mean nothing when there are no men left. Nevertheless, it is now true that man’s heredity is, on the whole, ruined, and that there is no chance of restoring the old norm. Therefore, if intelligent life is to survive at all, it must be protected. It must not be allowed to lose what few good genes, even improved genes, that are left, in a great sea of malformed types. You made a feeble attempt in that direction yourselves, but under your social system it just will not work. Another approach – regrettably, a forcible one – must be tried.’

  ‘In other words,’ said O’Neill slowly, ‘what you’re doing is setting up the old master-slave system. A little clique of aristocrats and a big mass of degraded serfs.’

  ‘Those are emotional words,’ said Byelinsky. ‘The best solution for man at large seems to be his controlled evolution into specialized species. Naturally, such a system cannot be democratic, which is admittedly a shame.’ He looked out into the Martian darkness, and for a minute his face was strangely bitter. ‘I recall how it once was, before the war. Do you not think I would trade my life to have that back? But it cannot be.’ Turning to them, briskly: ‘The importance of Mars as a place for colonization and research is fully recognized by the Khan. Since we are convinced that your view of the problem is misguided and can only lead to disaster for the entire race, we do not intend that you shall have this planet.

  ‘A single military base here, equipped for aerial attack, could hold Mars against all corners – interplanetary logistics being what it is. Naturally, America will not know that we are here, and will not know what is destroying her ships. Our best socio-economic mathematicians estimate that two more such attempts at most will be made, thereafter Mars will be given up and the moon used as an alternate. One which is, of course, not nearly so satisfactory, in spite of being closer.’

  ‘Look,’ said Lois, with a hopeless kind of pleading in her voice, ‘you’re being blind. We know the facts as well as you do. Our idea is to learn more facts, though. Learn enough genetics to change things.’

  Byelinsky smiled, a curiously sad smile. ‘Believe me, the Khanate scientists considered that approach carefully,’ he replied. ‘It was felt that the probability of success is too low to justify the enormous cost in time, materials, labor, and intellectual effort. For the same investment, we could be certain of large results in our own more modest plan. And mankind is one, you know; national sovereignty is an insane myth. We will not long permit other states to waste resources belonging to all humanity on visionary schemes.’

  ‘If we try, and fail,’ said O’Neill, ‘we’ll still have remained free. What’s the use of the race surviving, if it’s going to be in an anthill society where even the masters are slaves?’

  ‘You see,’ said Byelinsky. ‘I told you we could not argue basic philosophy. You and I will never agree, because at bottom it is an emotional and not a rational question.’ He shook his head. ‘But to my mind, there is something healthy about a will to survive at all costs, and something wrong about your clinging to abstract symbols which will have no meaning if man becomes extinct.’

  Ivanovitch raised his shaggy head and asked a question in Russian. Byelinsky answered in English: ‘As for what will happen to you, I repeat that you need have no fear as long as you behave yourselves – or at least refrain from misbehaving too badly. You will be well treated, and when we get back to Siberia you will be received with honor.’

  ‘As breedin’ stock!’ snapped Collie.

  ‘Why, yes.’ Byelinsky grinned. ‘And just what is your objection to that?’ He got up when they had been quiet for a while. ‘I will bid you goodnight, then,’ he said. ‘If you have any needs or desires, do not hesitate to ask your guards. They all speak Russian, at least.’

  Down the ladder, then, and through a hall and a couple of rooms where bunks were crowded close together. Near the waist of the ship, a door was opened by the Oriental, who bowed them through. It clanged behind them with a terribly final note.

  Lois looked around her, and slow amazement grew in her eyes. ‘Why—’ she breathed at last. ‘Why, it’s like a – suite!’

  ‘It is one,’ grunted O’Neill. ‘Saints, this is better quarters than they give their crew.’ He cocked one cybrow. ‘It looks as if their main idea in coming to Mars was to capture us alive. Which suggests that if we cooperate, we can become privileged characters in Siberia.’

  ‘Yeah,’ muttered Collie. ‘Reckon we can.’

  There were four small rooms and a tiny bath, but after their own ship the space and fittings were overwhelming. Light folding bunks, tables and chairs, indirect illumination, even rugs on the floor. Collie noticed a microviewer and a good collection of film books in English, and when he opened a drawer there were some games. Inside a closet hung the unbelievable luxury of clean clothes. The door leading out, he found, was now locked, but a shutter opening from the inside covered a grille. Looking through this, he noticed a guard, who came over and stood courteously waiting. Collie closed the shutter in his face.

  ‘Well,’ said Ivanovitch heavily, ‘w’y not use de t’ings? Lois, you want de first bat’?’

  She nodded and took a dress from the closet and went into the cubicle. A squeal of delight came through the door: ‘It’s got a shower!’

  ‘How the deuce can they afford the water?’ asked Collie.

  ‘Oh, that can be recovered easily enough,’ said O’Neill. He took a restless turn about the room. ‘But still, this gilt-edged cattle pen takes plenty of room and weight. You know, even with two ships, and even without having brought as much machinery and stuff as we, I doubt if the Siberian force can be more than fifteen men as of now. They must plan on leaving some here, in our installations.’ His lean face tightened, and he drove one fist into his open palm. ‘By all the saints! Collie, Misha, if we could get away, get word to Captain Wayne of just how the situation is— I believe we could take over!’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Collie. ‘Get away – how?’

  ‘That I don’t know,’ said O’Neill roughly. ‘But we’ve got to. One of us, at least.’ He looked at the others. They had stretched out on bunks and their muscles were loose with weariness. ‘Unless,’ he said, very slowly, ‘you don’t want to. I imagine a stud in Siberia would live pretty well, at that.’

  ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ said Collie, turning his eyes from the gaunt fanatic face. He didn’t want to argue now. He didn’t even want to think about it. He just wanted to wash up and turn in and sleep for a week.

  XIV

  A guard brought in breakfast while another stood by to cover him. The food was ordinary space-rations, but at least it was hot, and Collie devoured his share blissfully. He still felt the drowsy remoteness of a long night’s sleep and the ending of tension within him, and when the guards were gone he blinked amiably at O’Neill’s restless prowling. Ivanovitch had gone back to bed and was snoring thunderously; Lois sat quietly on the edge of her bunk and watched the Irishman as he paced.

  ‘Hell take it!’ O’Neill swung around finally to glare at Collie. ‘We’ve got to escape. We’ve got to get word back to our ship.’

  ‘Uh, yeah, but how?’ The hillman yawned and stretched himself. ‘Look, Tom, we’re here in a shipful of armed men. We’d have to hike across the desert, which means an airsuit. Not just any suit, but our own pers’nal ones, tailored to fit our pers’nal bodies. You tell me how we do all this.’