BRUTE HENNESSEY PLODDED WESTWARD through the Xanthe Desert, naked, wearing no marsuit, his head bare to the thin, oxygen-poor Martian air. The two small moons shone in the star-spangled sky above the lone figure, casting fantastic shadows on the sands.
But this was not the stupid, shambling Brute Hennessey of a few months past. He walked surely and proudly
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