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

<passage>:
Spacemen Die at Home Forty days of heaven and forty nights of hell. That's the way it's stars? And yet, at the same time, to be filled with a terrible, gnawing fear—a fear locked in my mind during the day and bursting out like an evil jack-in-the-box at night. I must tell you, Laura. and skin-tight. I was worshiping him and hating him at the same time, for I was thinking: He's already reached Mars and Venus. Let him leave Jupiter and the others alone! Let us be the first to land somewhere! Let us be the first! Mickey Cameron, sitting next to me, dug an elbow into my ribs. "I don't see 'em, Ben," he whispered. "Where do you suppose they are?" I blinked. "Who?" That was something I didn't have to worry about. My parents had died in a strato-jet crash when I was four, so I hadn't needed many of those Lunar Sands. Lunar Lady was in White Sands now, but liberties, as Charlie said, were as scarce as water on Mars. It doesn't matter Usually Mickey was the same whether in a furnace-hot engine room or a the sons of Earth. like a child's. He'd been sandwiched, evidently, in one of the rear And the left side of his face was streaked with dark scar tissue, the result of an atomic blowup on one of the old Moon ships. I was so Moon?" Charlie's answer was obscured by a sudden burst of coughing. I knew that he'd infinitely prefer to spend his liberty sampling Martian fizzes and Plutonian zombies. want, isn't it? That's what Mickey used to want." Then your last words came back and jabbed me: "That's what Mickey used to want." " "What did she mean, Mickey?" Mickey looked down at his feet. "I didn't want to tell you yet, Ben. "Yes?" "Well, what does it add up to? You become a spaceman and wear a pretty uniform. You wade through the sands of Mars and the dust of Venus. If you're lucky, you're good for five, maybe ten years. Then one thing or another gets you. They don't insure rocketmen, you know." My stomach was full of churning, biting ice. "What are you trying to say, Mickey?" "I've thought about it a long time. They want me for Cargo Supervisor so exciting. I'll just live a lot longer. I'm sorry, Ben." I couldn't answer. It was as if someone had whacked the back of my knees with the blast of a jet. Charlie was muttering under his breath, smoldering like a bomb about to 'copter. At the dinner table he stared glassily at nothing and grated, "Only hit Mars once, but I'll never forget the kid who called himself a medic. Skipper started coughing, kept it up for three days. Whoopin' cough, the medic says, not knowin' the air had chemicals that turned to acid in your lungs. I'd never been to Mars before, but I knew better'n that. Hell, I says, that ain't whoopin' cough, that's lung-rot." That was when your father said he wasn't so hungry after all. Afterward, you and I walked onto the terrace, into the moonlit night, doesn't like to be sentimental, at least not on the outside. As far as maybe I haven't grown up yet?" Anxiety darkened your features. "No, it'd be good to be a spaceman, what ?" You can go into space , I thought, and try to do as much living in ten years as normal men do in fifty. You can be like Everson, who died in a Moon crash at the age of 36, or like a thousand others who lie buried in Martian sand and Venusian dust. Or, if you're lucky, like Charlie—a kind of human meteor streaking through space, eternally alone, never finding a home. Or there's the other path. To stay on this little prison of an Earth old, who awake to the song of birds instead of rocket grumblings, who fill their lungs with the clean rich air of Earth instead of poisonous dust. "I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't mean to make you sad, Ben." tight coughs. Then he pointed to a brown, faded tin box lying on the bed. "I'm He shook his head stiffly, staring at nothing. "Maybe. Anyway, I'm gonna get off the Shuttle this time, make one more trip to Mars. Tell you what. There's a little stone cafe on Mars, the Space Rat , just off Chandler Field on the Grand Canal. When you get to Mars, take a look inside. I'll probably be there." He coughed again, a deep, rasping cough that filled his eyes with tears. "Not used to this Earth air," he muttered. "What I need's some Martian climate." Suddenly that cough frightened me. It didn't seem normal. I wondered, drugged. I shook the thought away. If Charlie was sick, he wouldn't talk about going to Mars. The medics wouldn't let him go even as far as Luna. We watched him leave, you and Mickey and I. "When will you be back?" you asked. "What's the matter, Ben? Still sore? I feel like a heel, but I'm just "No. I got a couple of possibilities. Could get a berth on the , the new ship being finished at Los Angeles. They want me, too, for the Moon Patrol, but that's old stuff, not much better than teaching. I want to be in deep space." someone to tell me one of the old stories about space, a tale of courage that would put fuel on dying dreams. "Can't a spaceman marry, too?" have to be a spaceman forever. I could try it for a couple of years, then teach." "Would you, Ben? Would you be satisfied with just seeing Mars? Wouldn't "Do you think I'd dare have children, Ben? Mickey told me what happened on the Cyclops . There was a leak in the atomic engines. The ship was was—" out there on the Odyssey where you belong. We got a date on Mars, remember? At the Space Rat Canal." That's what he'd say. "Oh God," I moaned, "what shall I do?" inform you of death of Charles Taggart, Chief Jetman...." Then there was a Latin name which was more polite than the word "lung-rot" and the metallic phrase, "This message brought to you by courtesy of United Nations Earth-Luna Communication Corps." I stood staring at the cylinder. Charles Taggart was dead. I pressed the stud again. "... regret to inform you of death of I hurled the cylinder at the wall. It thudded, fell, rolled. The broken voice droned on. You ran to it, shut it off. "I'm sorry, Ben, so terribly—" Then, finally, I fingered his meager possessions—a few wrinkled photos, some letters, a small black statue of a forgotten Martian god, a gold service medal from the Moon Patrol. , I thought. You'd dream of sitting in a dingy stone dive on the Grand Canal with sand-wasps buzzing around smoky, stinking candles. A bottle of luchu juice and a couple of Martian girls with dirty feet for company. And a sudden cough that would be the first sign of lung-rot. To hell with it! I walked into your living room and called Dean Dawson on the visiphone. Do you know why he wanted to reach Mars? Do you know why he didn't want to die in the clean, cool air of Earth? It was because he wanted to die nearer home. His home, Laura, was the ? on Mars, the Space Rat , just off Chandler Field on the Grand Canal.

<question>:
What is lung-rot?

<options>:
A Lung-rot is a disease caused by chemicals in the Martian atmosphere.
B Lung-rot is tuberculosis.
C A disease that presents like whooping cough.
D Lung-rot is Martian slang for pneumonia.

<answer>:

A