“But, Buster, why do they do this? Why don’t they let us find out about these things in our own good time? Why don’t they let us work out our own salvation? Why do they insist on us following in their footsteps?”
“Because,” said Buster, “they know that they are right.”
So that was it. A strait-laced dogmatism that in itself portrayed the character and the nature of the Martian race. His guess concerning Elmer’s motives then were right, Lathrop knew. The wrong way of thought. A racial illogic that denied there might be many paths to truth. Coupled, perhaps, with an overdeveloped sense of rigid duty to fellow races. There were Earthly parallels.
“Busybodies,” Lathrop summed it up.
“What was that?” asked Buster.
“Skip it,” Lathrop told him. “It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.”
“There are many things,” said Buster, sadly, “that I don’t understand. Maybe Elmer does, but I don’t think he does. It doesn’t bother him. That’s because he’s a Ghost and I’m only a robot. You see, he’s sure he’s right. I can’t be sure. I wish I could be. It would make things easier.”
The Earthman grinned at the robot, flipped the gun.
“You Earthmen think differently,” Buster went on. “Your minds are limber. You never say a thing is right until you’ve proven it. You never say a thing’s impossible until you’ve proven that. And one right, so far as you are concerned, isn’t the only right. To you it doesn’t matter how you do a thing just so you get it done.”
“That, Buster,” said Lathrop gently, “is because we’re a young race. We haven’t gotten hidebound yet. Age may give a race a different viewpoint, an arrogant, unswerving viewpoint that makes it hard to get at truth. The Martians should come to us straightforward, explain the situation. They shouldn’t try to propagandize us. The human race, from bitter experience, hates propaganda, can spot it a mile away. That’s why we’re suspicious of the Preachers, make things so tough for them.”