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

<passage>:
This was Burnett's last trip. Three more Sam Burnett shook his long head, trying to think clearly. Pallid and Burnett didn't move. He stood there in his rumpled white surgical from the ceiling radio hit Burnett. Rice said: "Boyohbody! Two more pick-ups and back to New York. Me for a ten-day drunk!" Burnett peeled the gloves off his huge, red, soft hands, slapped them another in galactic fury, to sidle up behind gutted wrecks of ships, salvaging any bodies still intact after the conflict. Two men. Rice and himself. Sharing a cozy morgue ship with a hundred other men who had forgotten, quite suddenly, however, to talk again. Ten years of it. Every hour of those ten years eating like maggots inside, working out to the surface of Burnett's face, working under the Burnett jerked. Rice's voice clipped through the drainage-preservative Burnett closed his eyes and said a couple of words, firmly. Nothing was He bit his teeth together. You never catch up with the war. You come along when space has settled back, when the vacuum has stopped billion centuries. And they kept dancing without music until you extended the retriever-claw and culled them into the air-lock. That was all the war-glory he got. Nothing but the stunned, shivering all too quickly with men who had once loved laughing. You wondered who all the men were and who the next ones would be. "Sam!" Rice turned swiftly as Burnett dragged himself up the ladder. Red and warm, Rice's face hovered over the body of a sprawled enemy Burnett caught his breath. His eyes narrowed. There was something wrong with the body Burnett rubbed his jaw. "Well?" Rice exploded. His eyes were hot in his young, sharp-cut face, hot and Burnett scowled uneasily and said no. Burnett said, "Lethla?" And then: "Oh, yes! Kriere's majordomo. That Burnett shrugged. More bodies, more people, more war. What the hell. Rice grabbed him by the shoulders. "Snap out of it, Sam. Think! "Look, Rice, you're new at this game. I've been at it ever since the Venus-Earth mess started. It's been see-sawing back and forth since the day you played hookey in the tenth grade, and I've been in the thick of it. When there's nothing left but seared memories, I'll be prowling through the void picking up warriors and taking them back to the good green Earth. Grisly, yes, but it's routine. swept out past Earth in a new war concerning Io. That's out, Rice." Rice stood about three inches below Sam Burnett's six-foot-one. Jaw "You're one hell of a patriot, Sam Burnett!" Burnett reached out with one long finger, tapped it quietly on Rice's days and see how patriotic you feel. All those fine muscled lads bloated and crushed by space pressures and heat-blasts. Fine lads who start out smiling and get the smile burned off down to the bone—" Burnett swallowed and didn't say anything more, but he closed his eyes. "This is my last cargo, Rice. I can't take it any longer. And I don't Rice was going to say something, but he didn't have time. necessary talking. It didn't say anything either, but Burnett knew what Burnett swallowed hard. The body had looked funny. Too dead. Now he Rice sucked in his breath. Burnett forced himself to take it easy. From Rice got it out, finally. "How'd you do it?" he demanded, bitterly. A crazy thought came ramming down and exploded in Burnett's head. You never catch up with the war! But what if the war catches up with you? Prickles of sweat appeared on Rice's face. He swore at the Venusian and Burnett put his shoulder blades against the wall-metal, looking at his feet. When he glanced up, Rice's fresh, animated face was spoiled by the new bitterness in it. Rice said it, slow: Burnett moved his tongue back and forth on his lips silently, his eyes brief exams, returning alien corpses to space later." Rice's voice was sullen. "A set-up for you, huh? Traveling under the Rice didn't move. Burnett moved first, feeling alive for the first time in years. "Sure," said Sam, smiling. "We'll pick him up." "No tricks," said Lethla. Burnett scowled and smiled together. "No tricks. You'll have Kriere on Burnett went up, quick. Almost as if he enjoyed doing Lethla a favor. Rice grumbled and cursed after him. On the way up, Burnett thought about it. About Lethla poised like never knew who it would be. He came out of the quick thoughts when he looped his long leg over Burnett set his teeth together, bone against bone. Help Kriere escape? hard. Venusians weren't blind with malice. Rice and he could come out in the dim corridors of the long years. And their dead lips were stirring to life in Burnett's ears. Not so easily could they be ignored. You may never catch up with the war again. The last trip! Two muscles moved on Burnett, one in each long cheek. The sag in his Lethla exhaled softly. "Cooperation. I like it. You're wise, Earthman." "Very," said Burnett. He was thinking about three thousand eternal nights of young bodies being ripped, slaughtered, flung to the vacuum tides. Ten years of Burnett laughed through his nose. Controls moved under his fingers like loved, caressed, tended by his familiar touching. Looking ahead, he squinted. Burnett cut. Kriere's milky face floated dreamily into a visual-screen, eyes sealed, lips gaping, hands sagging, clutching emptily at the stars. "We're about fifty miles from him, catching up." Burnett turned to Lethla with an intent scowl. Funny. This was the first and the last eliminated. Now: Rice and Burnett against Lethla. Lethla favored Burnett's jaw froze tight. He could feel a spot on his shoulder-blade Burnett slipped from the control console. Rice replaced him grimly. Burnett smiled right back at him. What Kriere didn't know was that he Burnett jabbed a purple-topped stud. The star-port clashed open as it had done a thousand times before but for the first time it was a Burnett inhaled a deep breath. know, Lethla, there's an old saying that only dead men come aboard the Constellation . I believe it." Burnett spun about and leaped. Rice came in fighting, too, but not before something like a red-hot ramrod stabbed Sam Burnett, catching him in the ribs, spinning him back Rice said, "Sam, you shouldn't have done it. You shouldn't have, Sam." "This is the hard way—" "Maybe. I dunno. Kind of nice to think of all those kids who'll never have to come aboard the , though, Rice." His voice be next. Who'd have thought, four days ago—" Something happened to his tongue so it felt like hard ice blocking his mouth. He had a lot more words to say, but only time to get a few of them out: "Rice?" "Yeah, Sam?" Burnett was lying down, not moving, but somehow Rice was going away a million miles. "Ain't I one hell of a patriot, Rice?" He could still see Rice standing over him for a long time, breathing thick and slow. Rice looked down at Burnett and then at the empty shelf at the far end of the room, and then back at Burnett again.

<question>:
What do we learn of the relationship between Rice and Burnett?

<options>:
A They served together in combat
B They are brothers
C They are work colleagues
D They are long time friends

<answer>:

C