The foxholes of Mars
He liked it the better for that. Civilian clothes felt strange against his skin.

He whisked briskly along the sidewalk, taking the turns aimlessly when it split at the pedestrian cloverleafs. He looked at the passing faces with frank inquisitiveness, as if he were at a zoo. He just wanted to enjoy the feeling of anonymity for a little while. He knew what he was going to do afterwards. There were his friends—and there were the animals. The fortunes of his friends were to be advanced.

Beside the next cloverleaf was a speaker, and a little crowd. There had been a good deal of that sort of stuff since the truce. Curiously he listened, recognized the weakness of the words. They were sloshed with ideas, tainted with unprofitable, poorly-selected hatreds. The call to action was tinged by an undercurrent of bitterness that argued inaction would be better. They were civilized words, and therefore useless to one who wanted to become an animal trainer on a galactic scale. What a zoo he'd have some day—and every single beast in it advertised as intelligent!

Other words and phrases began to ooze up into his mind: "Thinkers! Listen to me ... cheated of what you deserve ... misled by misled men ... the galactic run-around ... this engineered truce ... the creatures who used the war to consolidate their power ... the Cosmic Declaration of Servitude ... life—to lose ... liberty—to obey ... and as for the pursuit of happiness—happiness is a light-millenium ahead of all of us ... our universal rights.... Free Martia! Terra for All! Revenge...."

These unspoken words, he felt, were the harbingers of leadership. Alexander had done it. Hitler had done it. Smith had done it. Hrivlath had done it. The Neuron had done it. The Great Centaur had done it. All murderers—for only murderers won. He saw the brilliant light-years of his future ahead, endlessly. He saw no details, but it was all of the same imperial color. Never again would he hesitate. Each moment would decide something. Each of his future actions would drop like a grain of sand from an ancient hour glass, inevitable as time.

Profound excitement seized him. The scene around him grew and grew until he seemed at the center of a vast, ominous, spellbound crowd that filled the galaxy. The faces of his friends were close, eager and confident. And from a great distance, as if from beyond the stars, he seemed to see his own face staring back at him, pale, skull-eyed, and insatiably hungry.

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