«Ben, have you seen the proposals for a beachhead on Jupiter?»

«Nothing has gone beyond the dream stage. It isn't practical.»

«Space flight wasn't practical a few years ago. Engineers calculate that, by using all we've learned from ocean exploration, plus equipping men with powered suits, it is possible to tackle Jupiter. Don't think that Martians are less clever than we are. You should see their cities.»

«Uh — » said Caxton. «Okay, I still don't see why they would bother.»

«Captain?»

«Yes, Jubal?»

«I see another objection. You know the classification of cultures into “Apollonian” and “Dionysian”.»

«I know in general.»

«Well, it seems to me that even Zuni culture would be called “Dionysian” on Mars. You've been there — but I've been talking with Mike. That boy was raised in an Apollonian culture — such cultures are not aggressive.»

«Mmm … I wouldn't count on it.»

Mahmoud said suddenly, «Skipper, there's evidence to support Jubal. You can analyse a culture from its language — and there isn't any Martian word for “war”. At least, I don't think there is. Nor for “weapon”… nor “fighting”. If a word isn't in a language, then its culture never has the referent.»

«Oh, twaddle, Stinky! Animals fight — ants conduct wars. Do they have words for it?»

«They would have,» Mahmoud insisted, «in any verbalizing race. A verbalizing race has words for every concept and creates new ones or new definitions whenever a new concept evolves. A nervous system able to verbalize cannot avoid verbalizing. If the Martians know what “war” is, they have a word for it.»

«There's a way to settle it,» Jubal suggested. «Call in Mike.»

«Just a moment,» van Tromp objected. «I learned years ago never to argue with a specialist. But I also learned that history is a long list of specialists who were dead wrong — sorry, Stinky.»

«You're right, Captain — only I'm not wrong this time.»

«All Mike can settle is whether he knows a certain word … which might be like asking a two-year-old to define “calculus”. Let's stick to facts. Sven? About Agnew?»

Nelson answered, «It's up to you, Captain.»

«Well … this is among water brothers, Gentlemen. Lieutenant Agnew was our junior medical officer. Brilliant, Sven tells me. But he couldn't stand Martians. I had given orders against going armed once it appeared that Martians were peaceful.

«Agnew disobeyed me — at least we were never able to find his side arm and the men who saw him alive say that he was wearing it. But all my log shows is: “Missing and presumed dead”.

«Two crewmen saw Agnew go into a passage between two large rocks. Then they saw a Martian enter the same way — whereupon they hurried, as Dr. Agnew's peculiarity was well known.

«Both heard a shot. One says that he reached this opening in time to glimpse Agnew past the Martian. And then he didn't see Agnew. The second man says that when he got there the Martian was just exiting, sailed on past and went his way. With the Martian out of the way they could see the space between the rocks … and it was a dead end, empty.

«That's all, gentlemen. Agnew might have jumped that rock wall, under Mars' low gravity and the impetus of fear — but I could not and I tried — and to mention that these crewmen were wearing breathing gear — have to, on Mars — and hypoxia makes a man's senses unreliable. I don't know that the first crewman was drunk through oxygen shortage; I mention it because it is easier to believe than what he reported — which is that Agnew vanished in the blink of an eye. I suggested that he had suffered hypoxia and ordered him to check his breather gear.

«I thought Agnew would show up and I was looking forward to chewing him out for going armed.

«But we never found him. My misgivings about Martians date to that incident. They never again seemed to be just big, gentle, harmless, rather comical creatures, even though we never had trouble and they always gave us anything we wanted, once Stinky figured out how to ask for it. I played down the incident — can't let men panic when you're a hundred million miles from home. I couldn't play down the fact that Dr. Agnew was missing; the ship's company searched for him. But I squelched any suggestion of anything mysterious — Agnew got lost among those rocks, died when his oxygen ran out … was buried under sand drift. I used it to clamp down on always traveling in company, staying in radio contact, checking breather gear. I did not tell that crewman to keep his mouth shut; I simply hinted that his story was ridiculous since his mate did not confirm it. I think the official version prevailed.»

Mahmoud said slowly, «Captain, this is the first I've heard that there was any mystery. And I prefer your “official” version — I' m not superstitious.»

Van Tromp nodded. «That's what I wanted. Only Sven and myself heard that wild tale. But, just the same — » The captain suddenly looked old. « — I wake up in the night and ask myself: “What became of Agnew?”»

Jubal listened without comment. Had Jill told Ben about Berquist and that other fellow — Johnson? Had anyone told Ben about the battle of the swimming pool? It seemed unlikely; the kids knew that the «official» version was that the first task force had never showed up, they had all heard his phone call with Douglas.

Damn it, the only course was to keep quiet and keep on trying to impress the boy that he must not make unpleasant strangers disappear!

Jubal was saved from further soul-searching by Anne's arrival. «Boss, Mr. Bradley is at the door. The one who called himself “senior executive assistant to the Secretary General”. »

«You didn't let him in?»

«No. We talked through the speakie. He says he has papers to deliver to you and that he will wait for an answer.»

«Have him pass them through the flap. This is still the Martian Embassy.»

«Just let him stand outside?»

«Anne, I know you were gently reared — but this is a situation in which rudeness pays off. We don't give an inch, until we get what we want.»

«Yes, Boss.»

The package was bulky with copies; there was only one document. Jubal called in everyone and passed them around. «I am offering one lollipop for each loophole, boobytrap, or ambiguity.»

Presently Jubal broke the silence. «He's an honest politician — he stays bought.»

«Looks that way,» admitted Caxton.

«Anybody?» No one claimed a prize; Douglas had merely implemented the agreement. «Okay,» said Jubal, «everybody witness every copy. Get your seal, Miriam. Hell, let Bradley in and have him witness, too — then give him a drink. Duke, tell the desk we're checking out. Call Greyhound and get our go-buggy. Sven, Skipper, Stinky — we're leaving the way Lot left Sodom … why don't you come up in the country and relax? Plenty of beds, home cooking, no worries.»

The married men asked for rain checks; Dr. Mahmoud accepted. The signing took rather long because Mike enjoyed signing his name, drawing each letter with artistic satisfaction. The remains of the picnic had been loaded by the time all copies were signed and sealed, and the hotel bill had arrived.

Jubal glanced at the fat total, wrote on it: «Approved for payment — J. Harshaw for V. M. Smith,» and handed it to Bradley.

«This is your boss's worry.»

Bradley blinked. «Sir?»

«Oh, Mr. Douglas will doubtless turn it over to the Chief of Protocol. I'm rather green about these things.»

Bradley accepted the bill. «Yes,» he said slowly, «LaRue will voucher it — I'll give it to him.»

«Thank you, Mr. Bradley — for everything!»