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

<passage>:
by JAMES Mac CREIGH descendant of the first Earthmen to land. Svan was the leader making the final plans—plotting them a bit too well. turned. The OD nodded. "I'll have a blank log if this keeps up," he said. Lowry lifted his eyebrows. "Oh? But after all, they're human beings, just like us—" "Not any more. Four or five generations ago they were. Lord, they don't "Acclimation," Lowry said scientifically. "They had to acclimate themselves to Venus's climate. They're friendly enough." of us. I was in town yesterday, and I talked with some of the natives. They think there will be hordes of immigrants from Earth, now that we know Venus is habitable. And there's some sort of a paltry underground group that is spreading the word that the immigrants will drive the native Venusians—the descendants of the first expedition, that is—right down into the mud. Well—" he laughed—"maybe they will. voice rasped: "Officer of the Deck! Post Number One! Instruments even while he was giving orders, the warning light flickered suddenly "You see?" their own mouths you have heard it. The Council was right." The younger of the two women sighed. She might have been beautiful, in spite of her dead-white skin, if there had been a scrap of hair on her head. "Svan, I'm afraid," she said. "Who are we to decide if this is a good thing? Our parents came from Earth. Perhaps there will be trouble at first, if colonists come, but we are of the same blood." Svan laughed harshly. " They The other woman spoke unexpectedly. "The Council was right," she agreed. "Svan, what must we do?" Svan raised his hand, thoughtfully. "One moment. Ingra, do you still object?" The younger woman shrank back before the glare in his eyes. She looked authorized—murder?" ship. It will be set by means of this dial—" he touched a spot on the He grinned triumphantly, looking from face to face. The grin off a writing tablet on the table next him. He took a pencil and made a mark on one of them, held it up. "We will let chance decide who is to do the work," he said angrily. "Is there anyone here who is afraid? There will be danger, I think...." No answer. Svan jerked his head. "Good," he said. "Ingra, bring me that bowl." Silently the girl picked up an opaque glass bowl from the broad arm left. She shook them out and handed the bowl to Svan, who was rapidly creasing the six fatal slips. He dropped them in the bowl, stirred it with his hand, offered it to the girl. "You first, Ingra," he said. She reached in mechanically, her eyes intent on his, took out a slip and held it without opening it. The bowl went the rounds, till Svan himself took the last. All eyes were on him. No one had looked at their slips. uncertainty. Impatiently, he crackled: "Look at the slips!" Though he had willed his eyes away from it, his fingers had rebelled. Instinctively they had opened the slip, turned it over and over, striving to detect if it was the fatal one. They had felt nothing.... And his eyes saw nothing. The slip was blank. He gave it but a second's glance, then looked up to see who had won the lethal game of chance. A traitor! his subconscious whispered. be the one who had drawn the fatal slip. He could insist on inspecting Masked by the table, his hand, still holding the pencil, moved swiftly beneath the table, marked his own slip. In the palm of his hand, Svan held up the slip he had just marked in for deceptively flimsy-looking pistols at their hips, stood before the He half turned in the broad front seat next to the driver, searching the faces of the others in the car. Which was the coward? he wondered. Ingra? Her aunt? One of the men? The right answer leaped up at him. They all are , he thought. Not one of them understands what this means. They're afraid. He clamped his lips. "Go faster, Ingra," he ordered the girl who was driving. "Let's get this done with." She looked at him, and he was surprised to find compassion in her eyes. Silently she nodded, advanced the fuel-handle so that the clumsy A proton-bolt lanced across the road in front of them. In the silence that followed its thunderous crash, a man's voice bellowed: "Halt!" The girl, Ingra, gasped something indistinguishable, slammed on the brakes. A Venusian in the trappings of the State Guard advanced on them from the side of the road, proton-rifle held ready to fire again. complicated gesture. "Do you understand?" "By heaven, yes, I understand! You are the swine that caused this—" He strove instinctively to bring the clumsy rifle up, but Svan was He hurled his gross white bulk at the guard, bowled him over against answer in his stolid face. "Don't joke about it," he said. "Suppose the natives were dangerous. Spy-rays! They've been prohibited for the last three hundred years." out now. Must have been the guard. They're on the wrong side to be said. "They won't be expecting anyone to come from behind the ship—we were wise to circle around. Now, you know what you must do?" Ingra nodded, while the others remained mute. "We must circle back again," she parroted. "We are to wait five minutes, then drive the car into the swamp. We will create a commotion, attract the guards." Aloud, he said, "You understand. If I get through, I will return to the Abruptly he swallowed, reminded of the bomb that was silently counting off the seconds. "Go ahead," he ordered. "I will wait here." "Svan." The girl, Ingra, leaned over to him. Impulsively she reached for him, kissed him. "Good luck to you, Svan," she said. "Good luck," repeated the others. Then silently the electric motor of Was it an error that the girl should die with the others? There was an instant of doubt in his steel-shackled mind, then it was driven away. Perhaps she was loyal, yet certainly she was weak. And since he could not know which was the one who had received the marked slip, and feared to admit it, it was better they all should die. figures of sentries, and knew that these would be the ship's own. They would not be as easily overcome as the natives, not with those he reckoned. His fingers went absently to the pouch in his wide belt, closed on the slip of paper. He turned it over without looking at it, wondering who had drawn the first cross, and been a coward. Ingra? One of the men? He became abruptly conscious of a commotion behind him. A ground car was racing along the road. He spun around and was caught in the glare of its blinding driving-light, as it bumped to a slithering stop. for you. We must flee!" swinging at his side, he made a dozen floundering steps before onto the hard, charred earth of the clearing. Only then did he hear the feel the pain seeping into him from his hideously racked body.... callously to Lowry, who had just come up. "It won't last long, though. Lowry, a bewildered expression on his beardless face, held out the two The surgeon, seeing the shudder, grasped his shoulder. They had it coming...." He paused thoughtfully, staring at a piece of paper between his fingers. "This is the only part I don't get," he said. "What's that?" Lowry craned his neck. "A piece of paper with a cross on The surgeon shrugged. "He had it clenched in his hand," he said. "Had slowly, displayed the other side. "Now what in the world would he be

<question>:
Who drew the fatal slip?

<options>:
A Svan
B Ingra
C Toller
D Ingra's aunt

<answer>:

A