Johnny Stark, director of the department of Interplanetary Relations for Mars’ Settlement One, reread the final paragraph of the note which he had found on his desk, upon returning from lunch earlier in the day.

His eye flicked rapidly over the moistly smeared Martian scrawl, ignoring the bitterness directed at him in the first paragraphs. He was vaguely troubled by the last sentences. But he hadn’t been able to pin the feeling down.

_ ... Our civilization predates that of Earth’s by millions of years.
We are an advanced, peaceful race. Yet, since Earth’s first rocket
landed here thirteen years ago, we have been looked upon as freaks
and contemptuously called ‘bug-men’ behind our backs! This is our
planet. We gave of our far-advanced knowledge and science freely, so
that Earth would be a better place. We asked nothing in return, but
we were rewarded by having forced upon us foreign ideas of
government, religion, and behavior. Our protests have been silenced
by an armed-police and punitive system we’ve never before needed.
Someday you will awaken to this injustice. On that day in your life,
you have my sympathy and pity!_

Stark knew that the Settlement’s Investigations Lab could readily determine the identity of the Martian who had written the note. But he hesitated to send it over. Under the New System, such troublemakers were banished to the slave-labor details of the precious-earth mines to the North.

Crumpling the note in sudden decision, Stark dropped it into the office incendiary tube. The morning visi-report had shown that there were more than 17,000 workers at the mines. Only five had been Earthlings. Let the armed-police system find the Martian through their own channels. It wasn’t his job.

A glance at the solar clock on the far wall reminded him there was still time for one more interview before the last bell, so he impatiently signaled his secretary to send in the waiting couple.

Ordinarily, he liked his work and time meant little to him. He had jumped from interpreter to director in the ten years since the department had been created. But this day was different.

Stark was to announce his engagement at the Chief’s monthly dinner party that evening and time had seemed to drag since his lunch with Carol.

When the door opened, he rose and nodded to the plump, freckle-faced girl who entered. The girl topped five feet by one or two inches, but she was no taller than the Martian man who followed her at the prescribed four feet.

After the girl had seated herself, Stark and the Martian sat down. Stark opened the folder, which his secretary had placed on his desk earlier.

“Your names are Ruth and Ralph Gilraut? And you want permission to move into Housing Perimeter D?” It was merely a formality, since the information was in the folder.

When the girl nodded, Stark placed a small check mark in the space beside her name. Then he turned to the Martian.

The large, single red eye set deep in the Martian’s smooth, green forehead above the two brown ones blinked twice before he answered.

He spoke deliberately. “As is required of all Martians under the New System, I have taken the name of one of the early Earthlings to write and pronounce.” The large red eye blinked again. “My wife would like to move into Housing Perimeter D. By regulation, I respect her wish.”

[Illustration]

Stark placed a check mark by the Martian’s name. He wiped the smudge of ink off his hand and said, “You both know, of course, that Perimeter D is reserved for couples who have intermarried and are about to have offspring?”

The girl and the Martian nodded, and the girl passed Stark a medical report. Stark looked over the report and then made a notation on a small pink slip.

He said, “This permit certifies that you are eligible to move from Perimeter E to Housing Perimeter D. It also certifies that your husband has no record as a troublemaker.” Stark looked at the girl. “You understand that you may visit your friends in Perimeter E, but, by law, they will not be allowed to enter Perimeter D to visit you. And, of course, the new law clearly states that neither of you may visit Earthlings in Housing Perimeter A, B or C.”

The girl looked down at her hands. Her voice was almost inaudible. “My husband and I are familiar with the advantages and disadvantages listed under the section pertaining to intermarriage in the new law, Mr. Stark. Thank you.”

Stark rose as they left. For a brief moment, he thought he had detected a sense of rebellion in their attitude. But that was not possible.

The new law provided equality for all. And his department had been created to iron out relations between the two races--excepting complaints originated by troublemakers for the purpose of weakening the New System. In such cases, Investigations had stepped in and the Martian or Earthling troublemaker had been sent to the rare-earth mines.

The reddish light filtering in through the quartz and lead wall of his office showed that it was almost time for the last bell.

On the street below, shoppers were streaming out of the stores on their way to the various housing perimeters.

Earthlings were climbing into their speedy little jet cars for the short trip to the recently modernized inner perimeters. Martians were waiting for the slower auto buses. The traffic problem had been solved, under the New System, by restricting the use of the Martian-built jet cars to persons living in the inner perimeters.

As Stark watched, a black jet car impatiently hurtled out of the line of traffic, bowled through a crowd of Martians waiting for an auto bus, and skidded to a stop at the curb in front of the building.

A tall girl got out. The red evening glow reflecting from her golden hair, made her breathing globe almost amber. Male Martians and Earthlings alike turned to stare in appreciation as she pushed her way through the crowd to the building’s compressor lock. Carol was that kind of girl.