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

<passage>:
screamed out to him in a thick, harsh cackle. Yet even as he screamed, through space felt like a game of hounds smoke and the sweet, heavy fumes of Martian Devil's Egg. Here and there, Ben saw moving figures. He could not tell if they were Earthmen, Martians or Venusians. Someone tugged at his greasy coat. He jumped, thinking absurdly that it She cocked her head in mock suspicion. "Somewhere between Mercury and was the dead man's hand. studying criminal reports and photos from the Interplanetary Bureau of Investigation and trying to find recruits like yourself. You know how we operate?" He told her the tales he'd heard. She nodded. "There are quite a few of us now—about a thousand—and a after we got pushed off Mars. We lost a few men in the construction, but with almost every advance in space, someone dies." a red-skinned marionette with pipestem arms and legs, clad in a torn to Hoover City—except dead. The others are physical or psycho rejects who couldn't get clearance if they went back to Earth. They know bring a dead man to life, I'd buy and pay with my soul. a crackdown? And what will you do when Space Corps ships officially reach the asteroids? They can't ignore you then." "Then we move on. We dream up new gimmicks for our crates and take them to Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto. In time, maybe, we'll be pushed out of the System itself. Maybe it won't be the white-suited boys who'll make that first hop to the stars. It could be us, you resisting, he followed. They plunged into shifting layers of smoke and know—if we live long enough. But that Asteroid Belt is murder. You can't follow the text-book rules of astrogation out there. You make up Earthmen—merchant spacemen. your own." through the drone of alcohol-cracked voices. They passed the bar with its line of lean-featured, slit-eyed -breathing Venusians, the first he'd ever seen. They were smoky gray, scaly, naked giants, toads in human shape. unblinking. They certainly didn't look like telepaths, as Ben had heard Half of him was an officer of the Space Corps. Perhaps one single was alive. Under the bright pictures of spacemen were the captions: "A Space Officer Is Honest" "A Space Officer Is Loyal." "A Space Frowning, he sat down—he and the dead man. The Martians were fragile, doll-like creatures with heads too large for their spindly bodies. Their long fingers played upon the strings of their cirillas or crawled over the holes of their flutes like spider legs. Their tune was sad. Even when they played an Earth tune, it still seemed a song of old Mars, charged with echoes of lost voices and forgotten grandeur. For an instant, Ben's mind rose above the haunting vision of the dead waiter. He wet his lips but did not drink. His gaze wandered over the The dead man was real. His name was Cobb. He was stout and flabby and about forty and he hated spacemen. Sometimes the image would be shuffling drunkenly beside him, its lips spitting whiskey-slurred curses. whiteness of death. The large eyes would stare. Blood would trickle You can forget a living man. You can defeat him or submit to him or He stopped alone in a rocketfront bar for a beer. The man named Cobb plopped his portly and unsteady posterior on the stool next to him. "Spacemen," he muttered, "are getting like flies. Everywhere, all you see's spacemen." He was a neatly dressed civilian. Ben smiled. "If it weren't for spacemen, you wouldn't be here." "The name's Cobb." The man hiccoughed. "Spacemen in their white monkey suits. They think they're little tin gods. Betcha you think you're a At the age of five—perhaps in order to dull the memory of his parents' death in a recent strato-jet crash—he'd spent hours watching the night Cobb was persistent: "Damn fools shoulda known enough to stay on Earth. What the hell good is it, jumpin' from planet to planet?" The guy's drunk horror. He spun backward. His head cracked sickeningly on the edge of He sank to the floor, eyes glassy, blood tricking down his jaw. a moment before, he'd been overwhelmed with anger. manslaughter. Under interplanetary law, that would mean ten years in But you'd be through with rockets and space. They don't want new There were old wives' tales of a group of renegade spacemen who operated from the Solar System's frontiers. The spacemen weren't souped-up renegade rigs had supposedly hit the asteroids. Their headquarters was Venus. Their leader—a subject of popular and memory of the dead man's face would haunt him, torment him, follow him as constantly as breath flowed into his lungs. But might not the rumble of atomic engines drown the murmuring dead "You are spacemen?" Ben didn't answer. "They say it is because after women come, they want first thing a thousand vacuum cleaners for dust. What is vacuum cleaner, monsieur ?" faces broke through the smoky veil that enclosed him—reddish balloon faces, scaly reptilian faces, white-skinned, slit-eyed faces, and a chorus of angry murmurs. The patrons of the Blast Inn were like tatter-clad occupants of a house whose walls have been ripped away. The white-clad men charged, neuro-clubs upraised. A woman screamed. The music ceased. The Martian orchestra slunk with feline stealth to a rear exit. Only the giant Venusians remained He stumbled forward. They were using deadly neuro-pistols now, not the , his brain screamed. He heard the hiss. He froze as if yanked to a stop by a noose. His body seemed to be needle had imbedded itself deep in his flesh, knew that the paralyzing his body. body overpowered him. A soft feminine voice spoke to him. "You're wounded? They hit you?" massage and rest, a man could recover from the effects of mortocain at once. "Anti ... anti ..." The words were as heavy as blobs of mercury forced from his throat. "No ... I'm sure ... sure." He felt the pressure of hands on his naked arms and shoulders, transfer itself to his own body. But he heard someone say, "Don't try to talk." It was the same gentle voice he'd heard in the Blast Inn. "Don't talk. Just lie still and things. He realized that the soft rubber mouth of a spaceman's oxygen mask was clamped over his nose. He felt the heat of electric blankets he would taste liquid food and feel a pleasant warmth in his stomach. mist. Always, it seemed, the soft voice was echoing in his ears: "Swallow this now. That's it. You must have food." Or, "Close your eyes. Don't strain. It won't be long. You're getting better." Better , he'd think. "You are better?" the kind voice asked. He lay back then, panting, exhausted. "Why did you save me?" spacemen who operate beyond Mars. You were looking for them in the Blast Inn." He gaped incredulously, struggling to rise from his pillows. "I—don't "The man I killed—did he have a wife?" "Children?" "Two. I don't know their ages." The object was a tri-dimensional photo of a rock-faced man in a merchant spaceman's uniform. He was a giant of a man with a neatly The dead man returned to him. Bloodied lips cursed at him. Glassy eyes knees, his legs numb and useless. The crying of the children was a

<question>:
What did the dead man compare the Spacemen to in disgust?

<options>:
A Bees
B Garbage
C Maggots
D Flies

<answer>:

D