als.

Through broad windows of thick glass (for on Mars many buildings
maintain an atmospheric pressure somewhat higher than the normal
outside pressure) could be seen the north banks of the canal, teeming
with swift pleasure boats and heavily loaded work barges. Down the
long terraces strolled hundreds of people, dressed in garments of
vivid colors and sheer materials suitable to the hot and cloudless
days. Brilliant insects floated on wide diaphanous wings, waiting to
pounce on the opening blossoms.

But the terrestrial agent felt that in this scene of luxury there was
a menace. Out of sight, but instantly available, were frightful
engines of destruction, waiting to be mobilized against the Earth
branch of the human race. And on that distant green planet were people
much like these, unconscious still of the butchery into which they
were being deftly maneuvered by calculating psychologists, expert
war-makers.

His meal completed, Sime sauntered out into the wide, clean streets of
North Tarog. He purchased a desert unionall suit, proof against the
heat of day and cold of night, and a wide-brimmed Martian pith helmet.
Hailing a taxi, he relaxed comfortably in the cushions.

"Nabar mine," he told the driver.

The driver nosed the vehicle up, over the domed roofs of the city and
over the harsh desert landscape. The rounded prow cut through the thin
air with a faint whistling, and the fair cultivated area along the
canal was soon lost to sight.

* * * * *

After half an hour the metal mine sheds grew out of the horizon. But
even from a distance of several miles Sime could see that everything
was not as it should be. There were no moving white specks of the
laborers' white fatigue uniforms against the brown rocks, and no
clouds of dust from the borium refuse pile.

The levitator screws of the taxi sank from their high whine to a
groan, and the wheels came to the ground before the company office. A
man in the Martian army uniform came out. His beetle-browed face was
truculent, and his hand rested on the hilt of his neuro-pistol.

"No visitors allowed!" snapped the guard.

"I'm not exactly a visitor," Sime objected, but making no move to get
out of the taxi. "I'm an engineer sent here by the board of directors
to see why the output of this mine has dropped. Where's Mr. Murray?"

"All settled!" the guard retorted. "Murray's in jail for mismanagement
of planetary resources, and the mi