"You cannot doubt," Barnes took up the fraying thread, "that our conquest of these Martians is a very good thing. For them. I ... for _us_, too.... That is our mission in time and space. The first desert shrine--the metal one from which we learned this tongue we speak--is ugly enough proof. Sheaves of manuscript, recording the most disgusting standards and attitudes. And the contents of subsequently found structures--like that one across the canal--show an even greater decline into sensualism and the subjugation of creative energies." The Martian stood quietly, his small-featured face blank and smooth. He was meant to hear all this. "I heard one of our Archaeologists say something about the language of that first shrine--the metal one--being different from all the others." Randolph shifted his great bulk to lean back against the wall. "The others are mostly alike, but this one we learned is totally different." The Martian's eyes flickered. "So what?" Barnes grunted. "Dialects. Same thing at home." "But, I mean they--" "But what? These Martians here speak the language we learned, don't they?" "But--" "Hell! Do you speak _Ahrian_?" "You know I don't." "So when we get through investigating here and move on to other villages, we'll find Martians who speak the other dialects." The Martian said: "Will there be anything else, sirs?" "Not," said Barnes, "unless you would like to try some _noedan_." "No thank you, sir." Randolph and Burke raised their eyehoods humorously. Then they looked a little less amused as Barnes' voice hardened. "You might like it, Martian. Try it." He pulled a tough green wad of _noedan_ from his pouch and tore off a strip. "I think the sooner you Martians get used to doing as we do and liking the things we like, the better off you'll be. Now take this _noedan_ and use it." "Oh, for hell's sake, Barnes--" Randolph put out a hand. "Let him alone. He doesn't want it. It makes him sick." The Intelligence Officer got up from the bar and started for the table, his eyes hard, his aural fronds quivering with emotion. Burke spotted him and seemed to shrug. "You asked for it, kid," he told Randolph. "Give my love to the home worlds. You're through on Mars." "Maybe that's what I wanted," said Randolph. * * * * * The Intelligence Officer halted beside the table and Randolph got up without a word and left with him. Burke and Barnes watched them down the winding clay street, saw them enter a portable teleport booth, one of the several scattered about Kinkaaka to facilitate trips to and from the space-cube. The door closed, the light blinked on and off, then the booth was open again, empty. "On his way back to the home-ship and Parna," grunted Burke, "and I don't know but that I envy him." "You too?" "Yeah. Now that there's no damned Intelligence Officer around, me too." "Disgrace and all?"