“I don’t care if ‘t just has t’ be painted pairple. ‘Tisn’t going t’ appear on my fields.”

“ Your fields?”

“Yup, mine,” was the cool response. “I’ve got veto pow’r here same as you have. Y’ can’t do anything ‘thout my say-so-and y’ won’t get it f’r this. In fact, I want y’ t’ clear that thing out o’ here, altogether. Got no use f’r ‘t.”

Allen dismounted and faced his brother, “You agreed to let me have this plot to experiment on, veto-free, and I’m holding you to that agreement.”

“All right, then. But keep y’r domned machine out o’ the rest o’ the fields.”

The Earthman approached the other slowly. There was a dangerous look in his eyes. “Look, George, I don’t like your attitude-and I don’t like the way you’re using your veto power. I don’t know what you’re used to running on Ganymede, but you’re in the big time now, and there are a lot of provincial notions you’ll have to get out of your head.”

“Not unless I want to. And if y’ want t’ have ‘t out with me, we’d better go t’ y’r office. Spatting before the men ‘d be bad for discipline.”

The trip back to Central was made in ominous silence. George whistled softly to himself while Allen folded his arms and stared with ostentatious indifference at the narrow, twisting plotway ahead. The silence persisted as they entered the Earthman’s office. Allen gestured shortly towards a chair and the Ganymedan took it without a word. He brought out his ever-present green-leaf cigar and waited for the other to speak.

Allen hunched forward upon the edge of his seat and leaned both elbows on his desk. He began with a rush.

“There’s lots to this situation, George, that’s a mystery to me. I don’t know why they brought up you on Ganymede and me on Earth, and I don’t know why they never let us know of each other, or made us co-managers now with veto-power over one another-but I do know that the situation is rapidly growing intolerable.

“This corporation needs modernization, and you know that. Yet you’ve been wielding that veto-power over every trifling advance I’ve tried to initiate. I don’t know just what your viewpoint is, but I’ve a suspicion that you think you’re still living on Ganymede. If you’re still in the sticks,-I’m warning you-get out of them fast. I’m from Earth, and this corporation is going to be run with Earth efficiency and Earth organization. Do you understand?”

George puffed odorous tobacco at the ceiling before answering, but when he did, his eyes came down sharply, and there was a cutting edge to his voice.

“Airth, is it? Airth efficiency, no less? Well, All’n, I like ye. I can’t help it Y’r so much like me, that disliking y’ would be like disliking myself, I rackon. I hate t’ say this, but y’r upbringing’s all wrong.”

His voice became sternly accusatory, “Y’r an Airthman. Well, look at y’. Airthman’s but half a man at best, and naturally y’ lean on machines. But d’ y’ suppose I want the corporation to be run by machines-just machines ? What’re the men t’ do?”

“The men run the machines,” came the clipped, angry response.

The Ganymedan rose, and a fist slammed down on the desk, “The machines run the men, and y” know it. Fairst, y’ use them; then y’ depend on them; and finally y’r slaves t’ them. Over on y’r pracious Airth, it was machines, machines, machines-and as a result, what are y’? I’ll tell y’. Half a man!”

He drew himself up, “I still like y’. I like y’ weU enough f wish y”d lived on Gannie with me. By Jupe ‘n’ domn, ‘twould have made a man o’ y’.”

“Finished?” said Allen.

“Rackon so!”

“Then I’ll tell you something. There’s nothing wrong with you that a life time on a decent planet wouldn’t have fixed. As it is, however, you belong on Ganymede. I’d advise you to go back there.”

George spoke very softly, “Y’r not thinking o’ taking a punch at me, are y’?”

“No. I couldn’t fight a mirror image of myself, but if your face were only a little different, I would enjoy splashing it about the premises a bit.”

“Think y’ could do it-an Airthman like you? Here, sit down. We’re both getting a bit too excited, I rackon. Nothing’!! be settled this way.”

He sat down once more, puffed vainly at his dead cigar, and tossed it into the incinerator chute in disgust.

“Where’s y’r water?” he grunted.

Allen grinned with sudden delight, “Would you object to having a machine supply it?”

“Machine? What d’ y’ mean?” The Ganymedan gazed about him suspiciously.

“Watch! I had this installed a week ago.” He touched a button on his desk and a low click sounded below. There was the sound of pouring water for a second or so and then a circular metal disk beside the Earthman’s right hand slid aside and a cup of water lifted up from below.

“Take it,” said Allen.

George lifted it gingerly and drank it down. He tossed the empty cup down the incinerator shaft, then stared long and thoughtfully at his brother, “May I see this water feeder o* y’rs?”

“Surely. It’s just under the desk. Here, I’ll make room for you.”

The Ganymedan crawled underneath while Allen watched uncertainly. A brawny hand was thrust out suddenly and a muffled voice said, “Hand me a screwdriver.”

“Here! What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. Nothing ‘t all. Just want t’ investigate this contraption.”

The screw-driver was handed down and for a few minutes there was no other sound than an occasional soft scraping of metal on metal. Finally, George withdrew a flushed face and adjusted his wrinkled collar with satisfaction.

“Which button do I press for the water?”

Allen gestured and the button was pressed. The gurgling of water sounded. The Earthman stared in mystification from his desk to his brother and back again. And then he became aware of a moistness about his feet.

He jumped, looked downwards, and squawked in dismay, “Why, damn you, what have you done?” A snaky stream of water wriggled blindly out from under the desk and the pouring sound of water still continued.

George made leisurely for the door, “Just short-caircuited it. Here’s y’r screw-driver; fix ‘t up again.” And just before he slammed the door, “So much f’r y’r pracious machines. They go wrong at the wrong times.”

The sounder was buzzily insistent and Allen Carter opened one eye peevishly. It was still dark.

With a sigh, he lifted one arm to the head of his bed and put the Audiomitter into commission.

The treble voice of Amos Wells of the night shift squawked excitedly at him. Allen’s eyes snapped open and he sat up.

“You’re crazy!” But he was plunging into his breeches even as he spoke. In ten seconds, he was careening up the steps three at a time. He shot into the main office just behind the charging figure of his twin brother.

The place was crowded;-its occupants in a jitter.

Allen brushed his long hair out of his eyes, “Turn on the turret searchlight!”

“It’s on,” said someone helplessly.

The Earthman rushed to the window and looked out. The yellow beam reached dimly out a few feet and ended in a muddy murkiness. He pulled at the window and it lifted upwards grittily a few inches. There was a whistle of wind and a tornado of coughing from within the room. Allen slammed it down again and his hands went at once to his tear-filled eyes.

George spoke between sneezes, “We’re not located in the sandstorm zone. This can’t be one.”

“It is,” asserted Wells in a squeak. “It’s the worst I’ve ever seen. Started full blast from scratch just like that. It caught me flat-footed. By the time I closed off all exits to above, it was too late.”

“Too late!” Allen withdrew his attention from his sand-filled eyes and snapped out the words, “Too late for what?”

“Too late for our rolling stock. Our rockets got it worst of all. There isn’t one that hasn’t its propulsives clogged with sand. And that goes for our irrigation pumps and the ventilating system. The generators below are safe but everything else will have to be taken apart and put together again. We’re stalled for a week at least. Maybe more.”

There was a short, pregnant silence, and then Allen said, “Take charge. Wells. Put the men on double shift and tackle the irrigation pumps first. They’ve got to be in working order inside of twenty-four hours, or half the crop will dry up and die on us. Here-wait, I’ll go with you.”

He turned to leave, but his first footstep froze in midair at the sight of Michael Anders, communications officer, rushing up the stairs.

“What’s the matter?”

Anders spoke between gasps, “The damned planet’s gone crazy. There’s been the biggest quake in history with its center not ten miles from Aresopolis.”

There was a chorus of “What?” and a ragged follow-up of blistering imprecations. Men crowded in anxiously;-many had relatives and wives in the Martian metropolis.

Anders went on breathlessly, “It came all of a sudden. Aresopolis is in ruins and fires have started. There aren’t any details but the transmitter at our Aresopolis labs went dead five minutes ago.”

There was a babel of comment The news spread out into the furthest recesses of Central, and excitement waxed to dangerously panicky proportions. Allen raised his voice to a shout.

“Quiet, everyone. There’s nothing we can do about Aresopolis. We’ve got our own troubles. This freak storm is connected with the quake some way-and that’s what we have to take care of. Everyone back to his work now-and work fast. They’ll be needing us at Aresopolis damned soon.” He turned to Anders, “You! Get back to that receiver and don’t knock off until you’ve gotten in touch with Aresopolis again. Coming with me, George?”

“No, rackon not,” was the response. “Y’ tend t’ y’r machines. I’ll go down with Anders.”

Dawn was breaking, a dusky, lightless dawn, when Allen Carter returned to Central. He was weary-weary in mind and body-and looked it. He entered the radio room.

“Things are a mess. If-”

There was a “Shhh” and George waved frantically. Allen fell silent. Anders bent over the receiver, turning tiny dials with nervous fingers.

Anders looked up, “It’s no use, Mr. Carter. Can’t get them.”

“All right. Stay here and keep y’r ears open. Let me know if anything turns up.”

He walked out, hooking an arm underneath his brother’s and dragging the latter out.