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

<passage>:
apologetically. "She was another official project." "Who?" "Remember Junie O'Brien? The little golden-haired girl on Mars, a mathematical prodigy, but dying of an incurable disease? She collected Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A hayseed Martian among big-planet slickers ... of course he would get into trouble. But that was nothing compared to the trouble he would be in if he did not get into trouble! He would have liked to say it was his suggestion originally, but it would have been too presumptuous. He was talking to an Earthman, who had heard everything already. "Well, hurry up with whatever it is," snapped Peri. "I got a date tonight." "I'll say you do! With a Martian!" Peri narrowed her silver-blue gaze and looked icily at him. "You must Doran's thin sharp face grinned. "You break that date, Peri. Put it off or something. I got this Martian for you, see?" "So? Since when has all Mars had as much spending money as one big-time "Sure, sure. But how much are those boys going to spend on any girl, even a high-level type like you? Listen, I need you just for tonight, see? This Martian is strictly from gone. He is here on official business, but he is a yokel and I do mean hayseed. Like he asked me apparently sopped up half the Atlantic Ocean. Ears trained to listen through the Martian atmosphere shuddered from the racket conducted by Earth's. The passport official seemed to bellow at him. "Pardon me for asking this. The United Protectorates welcome all visitors to Earth and I assure you, sir, an ordinary five-year visa provokes no questions. But since you came on an official courier boat of your planet, Mr. Matheny, regulations force me to ask your business." "Well—recruiting." The official patted his comfortable stomach, iridescent in neolon, and chuckled patronizingly. "I am afraid, sir, you won't find many people Mars, would they?" "Oh, we don't expect immigration," said Matheny shyly. He was a fairly young man, but small, with a dark-thatched, snub-nosed, gray-eyed he asked himself in a surge of homesickness. What the hell is the Martian Embassy here for? He, Peter Matheny, was no more than a peaceful professor of sociodynamics at Devil's Kettle University. Of course, he had advised but he wasn't tired the spaceport would pneumo his baggage to him whenever he did check in. The few Martians who had been to Earth had gone into ecstasies over the automation which put any service you could name on a twenty-four-hour basis. But it would be a long time before Mars had such machines. If ever. The city roared at him. He fumbled after his pipe. that's why the Embassy can't act. I may find it advisable to go outside the law. Please, sir, where can I contact the underworld? He wished gambling were legal on Earth. The Constitution of the Martian Republic forbade sumptuary and moral legislation customary form of challenge on Mars. Here, though, they simply pushed chips toward him. He missed a throw, as anyone would at home: simple sleekly pomaded, dapper in blue pajamas with a red zigzag, a sleighbell cloak and curly-toed slippers. "You're from Mars, aren't you?" he asked in the friendliest tone Matheny had yet heard. "Yes. Yes, I am. M-my name's Peter Matheny. I, I—" He stuck out his a Martian. I am very interested." "There aren't many of us on Earth," agreed Matheny. "Just a small embassy staff and an occasional like me." "I should think you would do a lot of traveling here. The old mother planet and so on." "Trouble with it is, I hear Mars is not so comfortable," said Doran. "I mean, do not get me wrong, I don't want to insult you or anything, but Matheny shuddered. "Good Lord, no!" "Huh? But they make thyle right on Mars, don't they?" "Yes. And it all goes to Earth and sells at 2000 dollars a fifth. But you don't think we'd on Mars. The same principle is what's strangling us on everything. Old Martian artifacts aren't really rare, for instance, but freight charges and the middlemen here put them out of the mass market." the money. We've sold some books and show tapes, of course, but only I Was a Slave Girl on Mars . "Our most prominent novelist was co-opted to ghostwrite that one. "It was our mainstay," admitted Matheny, "but it's been overworked. Martian stamps are a drug on the market. What we'd like to operate is a sweepstakes, but the anti-gambling laws on Earth forbid that." Doran whistled. "I got to give your people credit for enterprise, dollars in Mars—why, we'd probably give him the President's daughter as security. No, the Minister of Ecology has a better-looking one. But who's interested? We haven't a thing that Earth hasn't got more malcontents, oddballs who happen to prefer elbow room and a bill of liberties to the incorporated state—what could General Nucleonics hope to get from Mars?" "I see. Well, what are you having to drink?" Martian. "Ahhh!" said Matheny. "Bless you, my friend." "A pleasure." then?" "Yes. I told you we haven't any tourists. I was sent to hire a business manager for the Martian export trade." "What's wrong with your own people? I mean, Pete, it is not your fault there are so many rackets—uh, taxes—and middlemen and agencies and et cetera. That is just the way Earth is set up these days." Matheny's finger stabbed in the general direction of Doran's pajama top. "Exactly. And who set it up that way? Earthmen. We Martians are babes in the desert. What chance do we have to earn dollars on the scale we need them, in competition with corporations which could buy some contacts.... "No, no, no commission, all done in the interest of interplanetary Mars really needs, get me?—is a confidence man." "A what?" "The best and slickest one on Earth, to operate a world-size con game "Forget that. Please. I spoke out of turn." "Well, you see, maybe a man like that is just what Mars does need. And maybe I have got a few contacts." "What?" Matheny gaped out of the bathroom. do it. I would not want to know anything about it. But I could tell you a phone number." He shrugged and gave the Martian a sidelong glance. "Sure, you may not be interested. But if you are, well, Pete, I was not born yesterday. I want to say yes, immediately, without reservations. And therefore maybe he became overcautious. They had instructed him on Mars to take chances if he must. "I could tell you a thing or two that might give you a better idea," he said slowly. "But it would have to be under security." operating con games." "On Mars, you mean?" "Yes. There never were any Old Martians. We erected the ruins fifty years ago for the Billingsworth Expedition to find. We've been Well, why, but—" "In this case, it helps to be at the far end of an interplanetary haul," said Matheny. "Not many Terrestrial archeologists get to Mars and they depend on our people to—Well, anyhow—" "I will be clopped! Good for you!"

<question>:
What is Peter’s backstory?

<options>:
A Undercover recruiter posing as a college professor
B College professor on a personal mission to improve Mars’ economy by looking for business opportunities
C A con man pretending to recruit on Earth, but using special skills to win money at Earth’s casinos
D A high official on Mars sent to Earth to gain information

<answer>:

B