Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
THE MOONS OF MARS the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] Every boy should be able to whistle, except, of course, Martians. But this one did! couldn't be sure if he were carrying it, or it carrying him . corners of his small mouth. He nodded grave agreement. "Been after butterflies, I see. I'll bet you didn't get any. This is the wrong season." The house he went into was over in that crumbling section which forms a curving boundary line, marking the limits of those frantic and ugly original mine-workings made many years ago by the early colonists. It seems that someone had told someone who had told someone else that here, a mere twenty feet beneath the surface, was a vein as wide as , mind you—gold. Back in those days, to be a colonist meant to be a rugged individual. And to be a rugged individual meant to not give a damn one way or another. And to not give a damn one way or another meant to make one hell of a mess on the placid face of Mars. There had not been any gold found, of course, and now, for the most part, the mining shacks so hastily thrown up were only fever scars of a sickness long gone and little remembered. A few of the houses were still occupied, like the one into which the Martian boy had just disappeared. So his All Martians are as tone-deaf as a bucket of lead. realization that youth has slipped quietly away downstream in the middle of the night, and left nothing but frightening rocks of middle age to show cold and gray in the hard light of dawn, was like the A few knickknacks of the locality stood about on two tables and a shelf, bits of rock with streak-veins of fused corundum and a rough divan kind of thing made of discarded cratings which had probably been hauled here from the International Spaceport, ten miles "Nothing," I answered. "Except that Martians are supposed to be "There isn't any Martian lady." "There has to be, doesn't there?" I said it with little sharp Martian father and a human, Earthwoman mother. compared to a human male the Martian isn't anything you'd want around coated with honey. "So?" he said. "Wanted, isn't he?" He nodded. "But a lot of good that'll do. He's holed up somewhere back on Earth." "No," I said. "He's right here. I just saw him." I had idly listened to a little half-breed Martian boy whistling part of the William Tell Overture, and it had led me to a wanted killer I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to get a lead on him and got nowhere. If he was hiding in any of the places I went to, then he was doing it with mirrors, for on Mars an Authority Card is the big quite to penetrate. You don't look into those. Not if you're anything more than a ghoul, you don't. Not finding him wasn't especially alarming. What was alarming, though, was not finding the Earthwoman and her little half-breed Martian son when I went back to the tumbledown shack where they lived. It was empty. She had moved fast. She hadn't even left me a note saying good-by. That night I went into the Great Northern desert to the Haremheb Reservation, where the Martians still try to act like Martians. It was Festival night, and when I got there they were doing the dance to the two moons. At times like this you want to leave the Martians alone. With that thought in mind, I pinned my Authority Card to my put on centuries ago by the ancient aborigines of North America. There was one important exception, however. Instead of a central fire, the Martians dig a huge circular trench and fill it with dried roots of the belu tree and set fire to it. Being pitch-like, the gnarled fragments burn for hours. Inside this ring sit the spectators, and in the exact center are the dancers. For music, they use the drums. The dancers were both men and women and they were as naked as Martians instant—before anyone observed me—I stood motionless and watched the sinuously undulating movements, and I thought, as I have often thought before, that this is the one thing the Martians can still do beautifully. Which, in a sad sort of way, is a commentary on the way things have gone since the first rocket-blasting ship set down on these purple sands. the appearance of being done deliberately by a Martian sand-artist. "Power sign of the Earthmen," he muttered. "Not necessarily," I said. "I'm not here for trouble. I know as well as you do that, before tonight is finished, more than half of your men Martian features. Or, if you want to turn it around and look at the him. His wrinkled hand took it, pinched it, held it up close to a lamp hanging from one of the ridge poles. His eyes squinted at it for a long moment before he handed it back. "I have never seen this Earthman," he said. I nodded. "For murder." "Murder." He spat the word. "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not that important any more." His old eyes hated me with an intensity I didn't relish. drawn-back, great, sucking breath. For, somewhere outside, somewhere near that dancing circle, in perfect time with the lively beat of the only bores a Martian. I got up and went out of the tent. can you have in one lifetime, anyway?" Card. Assuming you know what it means, I'm asking you where he is." he's dead, see? Dead. Just a Martian. Not fit for anything, like all Martians. Just a bum who fell in love with an Earthwoman and had the guts to marry her. Do you understand? So somebody murdered him for it. Ain't that pretty? Ain't that something to make you throw back your head and be proud about? Well, ain't it? And let me tell you, Mister, whoever it was, I'll get him. I'll get him! " said to me, "But not for the murder of a Martian, eh? Martians are not that important any more." of speed and savagery combined and those who moved to its frenetic as anybody's. After a long while she looked up into my eyes. "His name was Tahily," she said. "He had the secret. He knew where the gold vein was. And soon, in a couple of years maybe, when all the prospectors were gone and he knew it would be safe, he was going to stake a claim and go after it. For us. For the three of us." I sighed. There wasn't, isn't, never will be any gold on this planet. But who in the name of God could have the heart to ruin a dream like that? It was desert country, of course. There wasn't any chance of tailing him without his knowledge and I knew it. I also knew that before long he'd know it, too. And he did—but he didn't let me know he did until choice. And I thought I knew the reason for his going. Several times in the past, there have been men who, bitten with the fever of an idea that somewhere on this red planet there must be gold, have done prospecting among the ruins of the old temples. He had probably heard that there were men there now, and he was carrying out with the thoroughness of his precise little mind the job he had set himself of finding the killer of his daddy. I took a short-cut over the rag-cliffs and went down a winding, sand-worn path. The temple stones stood out barren and dry-looking, like breast bones from the desiccated carcass of an animal. For a moment I stopped and stared down at the ruins. I didn't see the boy. He was somewhere down there, though, still swinging his butterfly net and, probably, still whistling. I stopped in my tracks from the shock of it. Yes, I knew from whom it had come, all right. But I didn't know why.

<question>:
Where is the gold in Mars?

<options>:
A There is no gold in Mars
B Under the Haremheb Reservation
C In the city of Deimos and Phobos
D Prospectors mined it already

<answer>:

A