out an asinine tableau.

Cleve caught the smile. "I wish you'd take this seriously," he said.
"It's a mighty touchy and important business."

"Sorry," Smith said, raising his glass. "Here's to empire."

Larkin was striding up and down the line of straining Martians. The
scowl had become a part of him.

_It's getting him_, Smith marveled. _Act or no act, he likes it.
Experiment or not, he's in his element._

The six men sat drinking their beer and watching Larkin. But only Cleve
was aware of the skill with which the man worked. The gradual
application of pressure; the careful moving forward from bog to bog with
the path of retreat always open. From sharpness to brusqueness. From the
brusque to the harsh. From the harsh to the brutal.

"Will you tell me," Smith asked, "why we have to sit here drinking like
a pack of fools? I don't like beer."

"I'm not enjoying it, either," Cleve said. "But you can certainly
understand that the roles must be set right from the beginning. They
must understand we are their masters, so we must conduct ourselves in
that manner. Never any sign that could be interpreted as compromise."

Larkin, satisfied with the progress of the entirely useless ditch, came
to the table and raised a glass of beer. He wiped the foam from his
mustache and asked, "What do you think?" directing the question toward
Cleve.

* * * * *

The latter regarded the sweating Martians with calculating eyes. "It's
going entirely as I predicted. The next step is in order, I believe."

"You think it's safe?"

"I'm certain of it."

Smith, studying Larkin, saw the latter smile, and was again struck by
its quality.

_Whatever the test, Larkin's for it, even above the call of scientific
experimentation._

Larkin was uncoiling the whip from his belt. He strode toward the
fast-deepening ditch. He selected a subject. "You--fella. You're lazy,
huh? You like to gold-brick it? Then see how you like this!" He laid the
whip across the green shoulders of the Martian.

The Martian winced. He raised an arm to shield off the whip. Again it
curled against his flesh. He whimpered. His grin was stark, inquiring.

"Hit that shovel, you green bastard!" Larkin roared.

The Martian understood. So did the other Martians. Their muscles
quivered as they drove into their work.

Larkin came back, smiling--almost dreamily, Smith thought. Cleve said,
"Excellent. I'd hardly hoped for such conformity. Hard