Sweat oozed out of Larkin as the memory came back to him.
"But, damn it, we don't have to go through with this test. We're not Martians—"
"We propose to do business with them. This is the way they test our fitness to do business with them. They make the rules here."
A snarl was in his son's voice. "But we don't have to obey them!"
"What is this discussion?" Malovar spoke softly, in Martian.
"I am explaining to my son what is happening here," Larkin said.
"Your son?" Something very close to surprise showed on the wrinkled, bleak face. "Is this man your son?"
"He is," Larkin answered. There was no apology and no attempt at explanation in his voice. He stated a fact, and if it damned him, then it damned him. The interpretation of that fact he left up to the Martian ruler.
Malovar seemed not to find that interpretation difficult. For an instant, the eyes of the Martian went to the younger Larkin, weighing and testing him. Malovar's face grew bleak indeed as if his eyes saw the surface and what was under the surface and found none of it to his liking. Then his eyes came back to the trader.