It would have been just right for a Hollywood epic, Temple thought. The rusty ochre emptiness spreading out toward the horizon in all directions, spotted occasionally with pale green and frosty white, the sky gray with but a shade of blue in it, distant gusts of Martian wind swirling ochre clouds across the desert, the spaceship poised on its ungainly bottom, a great silver bowling ball with rocket tubes for finger holes, and the Martians from Earth who had been here on this alien world for seven-hundred-eighty days or twice seven-eighty or three times, and who fought in frenzied eagerness, like savages, to reach the descending gangplank first. Earth chorus: Hey, Martians, any of you guys speak English? Hah-ha, I said, any of you guys.... Where are all them canals I heard so much about? You think maybe they're dangerous? (Laughter) No dames. Hey, no dames.... Who were you expecting, Donna Daunley? What kind of place is Mars with no women? What do they do here, anyway, just sit around and wait for the next rocket? I'm cold. Get used to it, brother, get used to it. Look out, Mars, here I come! Martian chorus: Who won the Series last year, Detroit? Hey, bud, tell me, are dames still wearing those one piece things, all colors, so you see their legs up to about here and their chests down to about here? (Gestures lewdly) Which one of you guys can tell me what it's like to take a bath? I mean a real bath in a real bath tub. Hey, we licked Russia yet? We heard they were gonna send some dames! Dames--ha-ha, you're breaking my heart. Tell me what a steak tastes like. So thick. Me? Gimme a bowl of steamed oysters. And a dame. Dames. Girls. Women. Females. Chicks. Tomatoes. Frails. Dames. Dames. Dames.... They did not seem to mind the cold, these Earth-Martians. Temple guessed they never spent much time out of doors (above ground, for there were no buildings?) because all seemed pale and white. While the sun was weaker, so was the protection offered by a thinner atmosphere. The sun's actinic rays could burn, and so could the sand-driving wind. But pale skins could not be the result of staying indoors, for Temple noted the lack of man-made structures at once. Underground, then. The Earth-Martians lived underground like moles. Doing what? And for what reason? With what ultimate goal, if any? And where did those men who did not remain on Mars go? Temple's head whirled with countless questions--and no answers. Shoulder to shoulder with Arkalion, he made his way down the gangplank, turning up the collar of his jumper against the stinging wind. "You got any newspapers, pal?" "Magazines?" "Phonograph records?" "Gossip?" "Newsfilm?" "Who's the heavyweight champ?" "We lick those Commies in Burma yet?" "Step back! Watch that man. Maybe he's your replacement." "Replacement. Ha-ha. That's good."