Monk thought for a moment, then chuckled again. His glee more than overshadowed the inconvenience of his neck-deep burial.
For the rescue would be the last good deed of Stardust Luke's life. In fact, it would be his last deed. Period. The old space rat had out-lived his usefulness. If he persisted in wandering over unexplored Martian terrain he'd probably end up in a freezing or sweltering grave anyway.
So it wouldn't be murder—not exactly. It would only be giving a bit of impetus to what already seemed inevitable.
Monk strained his neck muscles to gaze at the sacks of seed. They would all be his soon. Not half, as now. But all.
He sucked the cool air deep into his lungs.
"Everything's going to be okay," he murmured "—no, not okay, but perfect."
He closed his eyes, at peace with the universe. He could forget the pressure of sand on his chest, forget the heat that was beginning to shower down on his thick, sweat-matted mop of hair. He could imagine himself in a cool, dark bar on Earth, surrounded by smiling women, sipping iced drinks.
"Ahhh," he breathed, opening his eyes.
Then he saw the Aab.