 What did the dead man compare the Spacemen to in disgust?
With never a moment to rest, the pursuit through space felt like a game of hounds and hares ... or was it follow the leader? The place was like an evil caldron steaming with a brew whose ingredients had been culled from the back corners of three planets. Most of the big room lay obscured behind a shimmering veil of tobacco smoke and the sweet, heavy fumes of Martian Devil's Egg. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, Martians or Venusians. He was like a red-skinned marionette with pipestem arms and legs, clad in a torn skivvy shirt and faded blue dungarees. Several times, Ben glimpsed the bulky figures of CO 2 -breathing Venusians, the first he'd ever seen. The Martians were fragile, doll-like creatures with heads too large for their spindly bodies. Even when they played an Earth tune, it still seemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices and forgotten grandeur. He was stout and flabby and about forty and he hated spacemen. "Spacemen," he muttered, "are getting like flies. Everywhere, all you see's spacemen." "Spacemen in their white monkey suits. There, among the grizzled veterans of the old Moon Patrol, he'd found friends who understood his dream and who later recommended his appointment to the U. S. Academy for the Conquest of Space. And a month ago, he'd signed aboard the Odyssey —the first ship, it was rumored, equipped to venture as far as the asteroids and perhaps beyond.
 Flies
 Bees  Garbage  Maggots  Flies