ly expected it."

"You mean," Smith asked, "that this little scene can be projected from a
dozen to a hundred? From a hundred to a thousand--?"

"From this little plot to the whole, surface of the planet," Cleve said.
"The mass is nothing more than a collection of individuals. Control the
individual and you've got the mob. That is if you follow through with
the original method. Set the hard pattern."

"Then we're in--is that it? They've passed every test with flying
colors."

"I'm sure they will," Cleve said, frowning. "But we must be thorough."

"There's still another test?"

"Yes. The test of final and complete subservience. It must be proven
beyond all doubt that they know their masters."

"You don't think they're aware yet that we _are_ their masters?"

"I'm sure they know. It only remains to be proven." Cleve glanced up at
Larkin. "Maybe this is as far as we should go today. We've made
marvelous progress."

That characteristic wave of Larkin's hand; the gesture of the empire
builder brushing away mountains. "Why wait? I want to get this thing
over with. You said yourself they're under our thumb."

Cleve pondered, staring at the Martians. "Very well. There's really no
reason to wait."

Larkin smiled and turned toward the diggers, only half visible now from
the depths of the ditch. He walked forward, appearing to exercise more
care, this time, in the selection of his subject. Finally, he pointed at
one of the Martians. "You--fella! Come here!"

Several of them looked at one another a trifle confused. "You--damn it!
What are you waiting for?"

One of them climbed slowly from the trench. While he was engaged in so
doing, Smith noticed two things. He saw the look of rage, simulated or
otherwise, that came into Larkin's face. And he saw Cleve's fingers
tighten on the edge of the table.

Larkin had a gun in his fist; a roar in his voice. "When I talk--you
jump! Get that? All of you!"

He fired three bullets into the Martian's brain. The latter slumped
grinning to the ground. Larkin, his breath coming jerkily, stood poised
on the balls of his feet. The men at the table sat frozen--waiting.
Around them--on the plain--some two hundred Martians stood motionless.

_The final test_, Smith thought. _To prove they're cattle._

* * * * *

A full minute passed after the echo of the gun faded out. Silence.

And nothing.

The Earthmen picked up their breathing where they'd dropp