"Do I have to be around them?"
"They're your own race. How else can you work with them? Your whole training is designed with that in mind. When we've taught you all we can, then you will --"
"They're your own race. How else can you work with them? Your whole training is designed with that in mind. When we've taught you all we can, then you will --"
"Can you identify it now?"
Peter reflected. He thought hard, concentrating deeply. His small face wrinkled up. Doctor Bish waited patiently by his desk, arms folded. The automatic heating system clicked on for the night, warming the room with a soft glow that drifted gently around them.
"I know!" Peter exclaimed suddenly.
"What was it?"
"The animals in the biology lab. It was the same smell. The same smell as the experimental animals."
They glanced at each other, the robot doctor and the promising young boy. Both of them smiled, a secret, private smile. A smile of complete understanding.
"I believe I know what you mean," Doctor Bish said. "In fact, I know exactly what you mean."
Some Kinds of Life
"Joan, for heaven's sake!"
Joan Clarke caught the irritation in her husband's voice, even through the wall-speaker. She left her chair by the vidscreen and hurried into the bedroom. Bob was rooting furiously around in the closet, pulling down coats and suits and tossing them on the bed. His face was flushed with exasperation.
"What are you looking for?"
"My uniform. Where is it? Isn't it here?"
"Of course. Let me look."
Bob got sullenly out of the way. Joan pushed past him and clicked on the automatic sorter. Suits bobbed by in quick succession, parading for her inspection.
It was early morning, about nine o'clock. The sky was bright blue. Not a single cloud was visible. A warm spring day, late in April. The ground outside the house was damp and black from the rains of the day before. Green shoots were already beginning to poke their way up through the steaming earth. The sidewalk was dark with moisture. Wide lawns glittered in the sparkling sunlight.
"Here it is." Joan turned off the sorter. The uniform dropped into her arms and she carried it over to her husband. "Now next time don't get so upset."
"Thanks." Bob grinned, embarrassed. He patted the coat. "But look, it's all creased. I thought you were going to have the darn thing cleaned."
"It'll be all right." Joan started up the bed-maker. The bed-maker smoothed out the sheets and blankets, folding them in place. The spread settled carefully around the pillows. "After you've had it on awhile it'll look just lovely. Bob, you're the fussiest man I know."
"Sorry, honey," Bob murmured.
"What's wrong?" Joan came up to him and put her hand on his broad shoulder. "Are you worried about something?"
"No."
"Tell me."
Bob began to unfasten his uniform. "It's nothing important. I didn't want to bother you. Erickson called me at work yesterday to tell me my group is up again. Seems they're calling two groups at once now. I thought I wouldn't get jerked out for another six months."
"Oh, Bob! Why didn't you tell me?"
"Erickson and I talked a long time. 'For God's sake!' I told him. 'I was just up.' 'I know that, Bob,' he said, 'I'm sorry as hell about it but there's nothing I can do. We're all in the same boat. Anyhow, it won't last long. Might as well get it over with. It's the Martian situation. They're all hot and bothered about it.' That's what he said. He was nice about it. Erickson's a pretty good guy for a Sector Organizer."
"Erickson and I talked a long time. 'For God's sake!' I told him. 'I was just up.' 'I know that, Bob,' he said, 'I'm sorry as hell about it but there's nothing I can do. We're all in the same boat. Anyhow, it won't last long. Might as well get it over with. It's the Martian situation. They're all hot and bothered about it.' That's what he said. He was nice about it. Erickson's a pretty good guy for a Sector Organizer."
Bob looked at his watch. "I have to get down to the field by noon. Gives me three hours."
"When will you be back?"
"Oh, I should be back in a couple of days -- if everything goes all right. You know how these things are. It varies. Remember last October when I was gone a whole week? But that's unusual. They rotate the groups so fast now you're practically back before you start."
Tommy came strolling in from the kitchen. "What's up, Dad?" He noticed the uniform. "Say, your group up again?"
"That's right."
Tommy grinned from ear to ear, a delighted teenage grin. "You going to get in on the Martian business? I was following it over the vidscreen. Those Martians look like a bunch of dry weeds tied together in a bundle. You guys sure ought to be able to blow them apart."
Bob laughed, whacking his son on the back. "You tell 'em, Tommy."
"I sure wish I was coming."
Bob's expression changed. His eyes became hard like gray flint. "No, you don't, kid. Don't say that."
There was an uncomfortable silence.
"I didn't mean anything," Tommy muttered.
Bob laughed easily. "Forget it. Now all of you clear out so I can change."
Joan and Tommy left the room. The door slid shut. Bob dressed swiftly, tossing his robe and pajamas on the bed and pulling his dark green uniform around him. He laced his boots up and then opened the door.
Joan had got his suitcase from the hall closet. "You'll want this, won't you?" she asked.
"Thanks." Bob picked up the suitcase. "Let's go out to the car." Tommy was already absorbed at the vidscreen, beginning his schoolwork for the day. A biology lesson moved slowly across the screen.
Bob and Joan walked down the front steps and along the path to their surface car, parked at the edge of the road. The door opened as they approached. Bob threw his suitcase inside and sat down behind the wheel.
"Why do we have to fight the Martians?" Joan asked suddenly. "Tell me, Bob. Tell me why."
Bob lit a cigarette. He let the gray smoke drift around the cabin of the car. "Why? You know as well as I do." He reached out a big hand and thumped the handsome control board of the car. "Because of this."
"What do you mean?"
"The control mechanism needs rexeroid. And the only rexeroid deposits in the whole system are on Mars. If we lose Mars we lose this." He ran his hand over the gleaming control board. "And if we lose this how are we going to get around? Answer me that."
"Can't we go back to manual steering?"
"We could ten years ago. But ten years ago we were driving less than a hundred miles per hour. No human being could steer at the speeds these days. We couldn't go back to manual steering without slowing down our pace."
"Can't we do that?"
Bob laughed. "Sweetheart, it's ninety miles from here to town. You really think I could keep my job if I had to drive the whole way at thirty-five miles an hour? I'd be on the road all my life."
Joan was silent.
"You see, we must have the darn stuff -- the rexeroid. It makes our control equipment possible. We depend on it. We need it. We must keep mining operations going on Mars. We can't afford to let the
Martians get the rexeroid deposits away from us. See?"
Martians get the rexeroid deposits away from us. See?"
"Darling, the walls of our houses wouldn't maintain an even temperature without kyron. Kryon is the only non-living substance in the system that adjusts itself to temperature changes. Why, we'd -- we'd all have to go back to floor furnaces again. Like my grandfather had."
"And the year before it was lonolite from Pluto."
"Lonolite is the only substance known that can be used in constructing the memory banks of the calculators. It's the only metal with true retentive ability. Without lonolite we'd lose all our big computing machines. And you know how far we'd get without them."