Docker's smile lost none of its easy sureness. "We prefer to do things the easy way, so nobody gets hurt. Since you are here and know the ground, it'd make sense for you to throw in with us."
"So I am the easy way?" Larkin said.
"Well—"
"You go to hell!" Larkin said. He got to his feet, turned toward the door. Surprisingly, no effort was made to stop him.
"We'll see you in the morning," Docker said.
"It won't do you any good."
Larkin walked out of the ship. No effort was made to stop him. He moved slowly across the desert toward the city.
There was nothing about this situation that he liked. Least of all he liked the fact that Docker seemed to know a lot about him. How could that be? No one on Earth remembered him or knew about him. At the thought, sadness came up in him, replacing the smouldering anger. It would be nice to have someone to stand beside him now, someone fighting shoulder to shoulder with him. The word Roy came into his mind again. He quickly put it aside. Let dead dreams lie. But Docker had used the word twice. What did Docker mean? Larkin shrugged off this line of thinking.
There was almost no question in his mind as to what he was going to do. If he took Docker's offer, and tried to trim the Martians, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt what old Malovar would do. The temper of the Martian ruler—chieftain, high priest—he had all these titles and more—was certain. Malovar brooked no cheating of his people.
But, of course, Malovar did not know about this offer of Docker's. Larkin was glad of that. He did not want Malovar even to guess what was in the minds of the men in the ship.