to say to you now. If you don't work--youdon't eat."
"But what could I do? I'm no scientist. I'm no--"
"There's plenty to do," the captain interrupted. "And most of it isdirty, physical labor. We have a thousand minerologists, chemists,geologists, botanists, physicists, meteorologists, and a lot moretechnical people at work on this planet. They can use all the helpthey can get. Don't worry about that!"
"But I'm _Fletcher Monk_!" the industrialist said. "I won't gogrubbing around this filthy place! You can't enslave me like somechain-gang prisoner--"
"You'll do what you have to do," said the captain, "and you'llprobably even like it. There's a wonderland outside this door," hesaid enthusiastically. "A crazy, wild, improbable wonderland, where wenever see a rain-fall, where the plants grow scarlet, and clouds chaseyou down the street! We're uncovering marvelous things here. We haveto fight and sometimes die to do it, but frankly, we enjoy the work."
He gave Monk his first smile. "Nobody's a prisoner on Mars, Mr. Monk.We're all volunteers."
He started to leave, but Monk stopped him.
"Wait," he said, licking his lips. "I have one more thing to say." Helowered his voice. "I can make a deal with you, Captain. A deal likeyou never had in your whole life." He patted the brown leather bag."Name your price," he said. "And don't be shy about the figure."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I'm talking about, Mr. Moore. Money. Real, hard, Earthdollars. Just name the amount it would take to buy a few smallcreature comforts around this place--and the right to live my ownlife."
"You can't buy your way out of working, mister--"
* * * * *
"Don't give me that! You'll sing a different tune when I tell you howmuch is in this bag. All you have to do is quote a figure--and it'syours!"
"Sorry, Mr. Monk," said the captain tersely.
"What do you mean by _sorry_?"
"I'm on a lifetime assignment here, and so are practically all themembers of the Colony. It's a job that can barely be completed in alifetime. And the economy we operate under doesn't call for money.Your dollars are so much excess baggage on Mars."
"What are you talking about?" Monk rasped. "I'm offering you afortune. Money is money, you fool!"
"You can paper the walls of your quarters with it," said the officersharply. "See if it helps keep out the Martian cold. That's about allthe usefulness it has up here."
Wildly, Fletcher Monk unlocked the bag and dipped inside. His handcame out with a fistfull of green bills. "Look!" he cried. "I'm notjoking about this! Look at it! Doesn't the sight of it mean anythingto you?"
"It brings back some memories," said the captain smiling. "That'sabout all. Now you better go back to the desk and get your quarantineinstructions."
He saluted the industrialist casually, and turned away.
"Okay, Mr. Moneybags," said the young official as the captain left."Let's get acquainted."
* * * * *
A year later, Captain Harlan Moore presided at the dedication of thefirst fully-equipped hospital erected on the planet Mars. It was animpressive affair, despite the fact that it took place in a small,crowded chamber, and that the attending assemblage were still begrimedby their day's work.
When the ceremonies were completed, Captain Moore made an inspectionof the new medical center, and one of his first stops was the bed-sideof Fletcher Monk.
"We knew he wasn't a well man," said the young physician who stood bythe bed, taking Monk's pulse. He watched as the captain picked up thechart hooked to the edge of the bed.
"Yes," said Moore. "He was a very sick man when he first came to theColony. In more ways than one," he added.
The doctor looked perplexed. "But this illness still surprises me," hesaid. "I've examined him almost monthly for the past year, andfrankly, I would have bet on his survival. He began to improverapidly--physically, anyway. It might have been the lesser gravity, orthe healthier life." He looked at the captain curiously. "Yet hewasn't assigned to any over-strenuous duties?"
"You know he wasn't," said the captain. "We don't want anybody toundertake work they can't handle. His labor was hardly physical. Heworked in the geological and botanical groups, but not in the field.He did classifying and clerical work."
"Then that wouldn't account for the trouble--"
"Perhaps it does, in a way," The captain bent over the puffy,chalk-white face of the industrialist, listening to his shallowbreathing. "He was never happy doing it. He had different ideas abouthimself than we did. He never understood what we were doing or why."
"It's the greatest mystery of them all," said the physician, shakinghis head.
"What is?"
"The human body. It's incredible how much we've learned about thephysical world, and even the physical features of our ownconstruction. But there's still a mystery we haven't penetrated--"
The captain smiled. "That doesn't sound like you."
"I know," the young physician answered. "But when I see a case likethis--a man breathing his life away for a reason I really can'tunderstand--" The doctor rubbed the back of his head. "I know it'scrazy, and old-fashioned, and doesn't make the least bit of sense inthese scientific times, Captain. But if anyone were to ask me--off therecord, and completely unofficially--I could only give them one honestdiagnosis of this case. I think this man is dying of a broken heart."
THE END
* * * * *
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