"Impossible," said Monk, blanching. "I'm going to live here—for good."
"Then you'll have to adjust to our way," said the captain grimly. "You'll have to learn our way of doing things and cooperate a hundred percent. And the first thing you'll have to do is take a work assignment—"
"Work?" Monk gasped. "Why should I? You can't force me to work for you—"
"Remember Captain John Smith, Mr. Monk? He said the same thing to his colonists that I'm going to say to you now. If you don't work—you don'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 is dirty, physical labor. We have a thousand minerologists, chemists, geologists, botanists, physicists, meteorologists, and a lot more technical people at work on this planet. They can use all the help they can get. Don't worry about that!"
"But I'm Fletcher Monk!" the industrialist said. "I won't go grubbing around this filthy place! You can't enslave me like some chain-gang prisoner—"
"You'll do what you have to do," said the captain, "and you'll probably even like it. There's a wonderland outside this door," he said enthusiastically. "A crazy, wild, improbable wonderland, where we never see a rain-fall, where the plants grow scarlet, and clouds chase you down the street! We're uncovering marvelous things here. We have to 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.