"Who are the Masters?" asked Dark curiously, between mouthfuls. "And what sort of work do you do for them?" "They're the people who run the hydroponic farm. They're normal men, like you--I mean, like you would be if you weren't swollen up and pale like the bodies that are thrown in the vats. "Old Beard knows; he's very wise. He calls the Masters 'Marscorp.' I don't know why, but it seems that before I lost my memory I knew a language where _corp_ meant _body_. Like _corpse_, you know. Maybe it has something to do with the bodies they put in the vats. "Old Beard says that the Masters are developing Martian foods that we can eat without dying, and he must be right, because sometimes they bring down some hard foods and make some of us eat them instead of gelatin. But those who eat the hard foods always die, so I don't suppose they've succeeded yet, except some of the Toughs. Some of the Toughs have eaten the hard food without dying, sometimes, but they got pretty sick. And then--" "Hold on! Wait a minute!" exclaimed Dark, holding up a restraining hand. "I know what Marscorp is, and I'm not surprised they're behind it. But I'm trying to digest all this you're throwing at me." Happy fell silent, reluctantly, and Dark cogitated deeply. Happy fidgeted, anxious to speak but afraid to interrupt Dark's thoughts. And then Shadow reappeared. Shadow appeared out of nowhere, and made gestures at Happy. Happy glanced at Dark, timidly. At last, he gained courage to speak. "Shadow tells me--" he began, then cringed when Dark looked up in surprise. Dark gestured to him to go on. "Shadow tells me," said Happy, "that Old Beard wants to see you. Will you go with us to Old Beard?" "Certainly," agreed Dark. "From what you tell me, I'm rather anxious to meet Old Beard, too." He followed Happy and the alternately visible and invisible Shadow along the paths that twisted among the vats for some distance. At last they ducked into some luxuriant foliage that hung over to form a bower above the space between two vats. Old Beard sat there, in a corner of the dimness, pale eyes fixed silently on the trio. Old Beard was not so very old. He appeared to be in robust middle age, although his skin was very pale from long existence underground. His hair and heavy beard were long and untrimmed, and were a deep iron-gray. "Thank you for coming," said Old Beard in a deep, resonant voice that bespoke strength and bore an undertone of bitter determination. "It is safer for me not to move around too much in the open except at certain hours." "I was glad to come, because I'm sure you can help me and I may be able to help you, too," said Dark. "I'm Dark Kensington." "So Shadow told me. I find this extremely interesting." "You've heard of me, then?" asked Dark. Old Beard laughed, deeply. "More interesting than that," he said. "Once, before I was marooned here and Happy's people came to know me as Old Beard, I had a name of my own."