The Man Who Hated Mars

To escape from Mars, all Clayton had to do was the impossible. Break out of a crack-proof exile camp—get onto a ship that couldn’t be boarded—smash through an impenetrable wall of steel. Perhaps he could do all these things, but he discovered that Mars did evil things to men; that he wasn’t even Clayton any more. He was only—
“I want you to put me in prison!” the big, hairy man said in a trembling voice.
He was addressing his request to a thin woman sitting behind a desk that seemed much too big for her. The plaque on the desk said:
LT. PHOEBE HARRIS TERRAN REHABILITATION SERVICE
Lieutenant Harris glanced at the man before her for only a moment before she returned her eyes to the dossier on the desk; but long enough to verify the impression his voice had given. Ron Clayton was a big, ugly, cowardly, dangerous man.
He said: “Well? Dammit, say something!”
The lieutenant raised her eyes again. “Just be patient until I’ve read this.” Her voice and eyes were expressionless, but her hand moved beneath the desk.
The frightful carnage would go down in the bloody history of space.
Clayton froze. She’s yellow! he thought. She’s turned on the trackers! He could see the pale greenish glow of their little eyes watching him all around the room. If he made any fast move, they would cut him down with a stun beam before he could get two feet.
She had thought he was going to jump her. Little rat! he thought, somebody ought to slap her down!
He watched her check through the heavy dossier in front of her. Finally, she looked up at him again.
“Clayton, your last conviction was for strong-arm robbery. You were given a choice between prison on Earth and freedom here on Mars. You picked Mars.”