We liked it that way. Understand me--we didn't accept it, we didn't knuckle under with waiting murder in our hearts--we _liked_ it. We were grateful just to be left alone again. We were happy we hadn't been wiped out like the upstarts the rest of the Universe thought us to be. When they let us keep our own solar system and carry on a trickle of trade with the outside, we accepted it for the fantastically generous gift it was. Too many of our best men were dead for us to have any remaining claim on these things in our own right. I know how it was. I was there, twenty years ago. I was a little, pudgy man with short breath and a high-pitched voice. I was a typical Earthman. * * * * * We were out on a God-forsaken landing field on Mars, MacReidie and I, loading cargo aboard the _Serenus_. MacReidie was First Officer. I was Second. The stranger came walking up to us. "Got a job?" he asked, looking at MacReidie. Mac looked him over. He saw the same things I'd seen. He shook his head. "Not for you. The only thing we're short on is stokers." You wouldn't know. There's no such thing as a stoker any more, with automatic ships. But the stranger knew what Mac meant. _Serenus_ had what they called an electronic drive. She had to run with an evacuated engine room. The leaking electricity would have broken any stray air down to ozone, which eats metal and rots lungs. So the engine room had the air pumped out of her, and the stokers who tended the dials and set the cathode attitudes had to wear suits, smelling themselves for twelve hours at a time and standing a good chance of cooking where they sat when the drive arced. _Serenus_ was an ugly old tub. At that, we were the better of the two interstellar freighters the human race had left. "You're bound over the border, aren't you?" MacReidie nodded. "That's right. But--" "I'll stoke." MacReidie looked over toward me and frowned. I shrugged my shoulders helplessly. I was a little afraid of the stranger, too. The trouble was the look of him. It was the look you saw in the bars back on Earth, where the veterans of the war sat and stared down into their glasses, waiting for night to fall so they could go out into the alleys and have drunken fights among themselves. But he had brought that look to Mars, to the landing field, and out here there was something disquieting about it. He'd caught Mac's look and turned his head to me. "I'll stoke," he repeated.