Three burly spacemen, big enough and obviously willing to cut a throat or rape a woman, were coming toward him. No Martian guided them but they seemed to know where they were going. They came directly toward him. As they approached, he saw they carried _Kell_ guns, the vicious little weapons that spurted a stream of explosive bullets like water out of a hose. The sight of the guns startled him. He had forgotten that such weapons existed, or that men used them. He heard the voices of the men as they approached. Harsh, brutal voices, the language all rough consonants. He had forgotten too, the sound of men. The language spoken by the Martians was all soft vowel sounds, gentle words breathed so easily that they seemed to brush only the surface of the aural mechanism and hardly seemed ever to reach the mind beneath. "There he is!" The men saw him now, came straight toward him. He rose to his feet. He would greet them politely, like a gentleman, if it killed him. "You--Are you Larkin?" "Yes." He advanced with hand outstretched. "Gentlemen, it is certainly a privilege to see you. Won't you come in?" He gestured toward the temple wing that served as his store. "Naw!" There was no effort at answering politeness in the harsh voice. "We come to get you. Come on with us." "Come to get me?" "Yeah. The boss wants you. Mr. Docker." "I don't believe I know a Mr. Docker. What does he want?" "To see you. Come along." Larkin found himself marching ahead of the three men toward the ship that lay at the edge of the city. No Martian made a move to interfere. No Martians were on the streets, none were visible. He did not doubt that they watched him from the windows of the houses along the streets, but they made no effort to inquire what was happening. What could they do, even if they had wanted to help him? To the best of his knowledge, the only weapons they had were knives. What were knives against _Kell_ guns? Why should the Martians help him, an alien among them? Docker was a big man with a red face that perpetually showed the red coloration of hidden anger. He had full, thick lips, the avid lips of a greedy man. Whatever these lips tasted or drank, they wanted more of it, all of it. His eyes confirmed his lips. Here was a man who wanted the world with an iron fence around it. Or better still, the solar system, with a big sign saying--KEEP OUT. THIS IS ALL MINE. He looked up as Larkin entered the cabin, glanced up at the men with him. "He's clean," one of the men said. "Okay, you can leave. Set down, Larkin." Docker's eyes went back to the papers on his desk. Larkin sat down. There seemed nothing else to do. He was very much aware that his situation here was ticklish. Docker finished with the papers. He looked up. His eyes were bold, confident, and arrogant. "Larkin, we're taking over the distribution of all minerals used for soil enrichment on Mars." * * * * *