Larkin strode back to the table. "Glad we got it over with," he said. "Now we _know_. Cleve can head back for Earth tomorrow. Initial supplies will come to about twenty million, I estimate. The rest of us can stay here and really drive these beggars. Get the foundations dug; get the rock down from the hills." "A planet in glorious resurrection," said Dane, the poet of the group. "They've got the grave dug," Cleve observed. "They're waiting for orders." "Such cattle," Evans muttered. Larkin strode back to the grave. He pointed. "Him--body into the grave. Snap into it. We've got work to do." The Martians put the body into the grave. Then a tall, green man appeared behind Larkin. He put his arms around Larkin's body. Another Martian took the gun from Larkin's pocket. And they pushed the screaming Earthman down into the grave. Smith sprang to his feet. "For God's sake!" "Sit down, you fool!" Cleve hissed. "Do you want to die? We've miscalculated. Something's wrong." The big Martian was standing on Larkin. The others threw in the soil. Larkin, now beyond sanity, was gibbering like an animal. Smith sat down. The Earthman presented a frozen tableau. Soon the gibbering could no longer be heard and the big Martian stepped out of the grave. "Leave everything," Cleve whispered. "Get up very casually and walk back to the ship. Get inside it." "May God help us," Dane quavered. "Shut up! Act natural." They went back and got into the ship while the Martians stood patiently about waiting for something to happen. Their patience was rewarded when the ship arose on a great flaming tail from the surface of the planet. It was a sight worth waiting for. THE END Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from _If Worlds of Science Fiction_ July 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.