"Yes," La Crue's black eyes shone. "Zharkon the Third's corto-brain
half has been irreparably injured. The greatest conquering army in
Solar History is temporarily leaderless."
Venard almost fell, caught himself by grasping La Crue's shoulder.
"Shhhhh," he whispered. "Let me sleep."
"It's no dream," assured La Crue, while Jhongan gloated. "And Jhongan
has a plan concerning the Zharkon. He won't tell me, or anyone else."
"I'll not even tell you, Venard," said Jhongan, "why you are to do what
you are to do. If you are taken prisoner, they might put a thought
recorder on you and find out the truth. That must not happen at any
cost. The Solar System's future is at stake."
"If the Zharkon's brain is really injured, irreparably, why worry any
more?" asked Venard.
"Because a new double-brain is developing in the breeding vats, and
will soon be able to take office. Listen, old friend. The rumor's true
because I was one of the subversives who planted the electron pellet
beneath the Zharkon's throne. My five years of exemplary service to the
Zharkonites was repaid. If the Zharkon dies, there may be temporary
disorganization of the Zharkonistic government machine. During that
brief upheaval, we might just possibly be able to organize resistance
against the Martian hordes, although I don't know where we could find
sufficient weapons, ships, or even capable fighting men. Do you?"
"No," said Venard. "No."
"In the Zharkonian breeding room a new double-brain is being carefully
incubated. The High Priests of Zharkon can easily transfer present
worship from the dying old Zharkon to the new and very embryonic
Zharkon even though it is under age. But the High Priests aren't sure
that during that period of transition, the Allied Worlds of Earth,
Ganymede, Callisto, Mercury, Neptune and the Asterites, may not be able
to manage some kind of devastating revolt. Though that's too much of a
gamble for us. You see, if my plan succeeds, it's absolutely certain
that practically overnight Mars will become a lover of peace, and the
System will return to a Democratic Federation."
"What is the plan?" said Venard impatiently. "Don't tell me you've
found a magic wand somewhere?"
"It isn't really my plan," said Jhongan. "It's _their_ plan--the High
Priests of Zharkon. They're going to Venus. They're going to attempt an
invasion of Solar Science City."
* * * * *
Venard felt a little lost. His brain spun chaotically. "The Martians
can't invade S.S.C. Even their science isn't big enough to crack open
those force fields around S.S.C. That's the greatest fortress ever
built in the System. And according to the original laws concerning
S.S.C., no member or members of an aggressor planet can gain legal
entry into S.S.C. for any reason. So what's the matter with the High
Priests?"
"Nothing, Karl. They're going to try, and maybe they do have some
secret method worked out. Whatever benefits to the System are available
in S.S.C, those Martians are absolutely not entitled to them. The High
Priests of Zharkon will have to force their way into S.S.C."
"Okay," shrugged Venard, "they can't. That settles that. Why do they
want to get into--" He straightened, his eyes narrowed. "I get it.
They want into the hetero-transplant wards. They want to replace the
brain of the injured Zharkon with the one that's preserved in the body
bank in S.S.C. Then no one will ever know that their Zharkon was ever
injured. That's clever--but they can't do it. Don't they know that?"
"They're desperate," said Jhongan. "That Zharkon double-brain in the
S.S.C. body bank has been there for three hundred years. It's perfectly
preserved and has never been injured. It was granted to S.S.C. by the
Martian Democratic Presidium for research purposes."
"Then you want Larson and me to prevent them from getting the brain, or
warn S.S.C. that the Martians are going to try to get it?"
"No," said Jhongan softly. "I hope you believe me. You see, your
assignment is to help the High Priests get that brain out of S.S.C.
Whatever the cost, that brain transplantation must be a success."
Venard said nothing. Through his stunned brain suspicion was creeping
like a cloying disgusting fog. Maybe Jhongan was a counter-spy. And
yet, he knew that couldn't be.
"I wish I could explain why," said Jhongan. "But, as I've said, if the
Martians capture you and clamp a thought recorder on you, they'll know
the truth and will not make the transplantation." Jhongan paused. His
stalked eyes snaked down, probed deeply into Venard's. "Believe me,
old friend," he said with a terrible passion. "This is the great test
of the mutual trust our worlds held with each other before the war.
Believe me, old friend. Say you believe me and will do this thing?"
Venard hesitated only an instant, then said slowly. "I believe you,
Jhongan. We'll do it. But how?"
Jhongan's body sac sunk inward with a sigh of intense relief. "You and
Larson have an advantage. Earth isn't an aggressor nation and therefore
has legal right to enter S.S.C.--if there is some personal reason for
doing so. Larson has that reason. If any person has missing body parts,
he has the privilege of requesting entry into S.S.C. to replace that
missing part."
"You mean, Larson," said Venard. "His missing left hand would give him
entry not only into S.S.C. but directly into the hetero-transplant
wards."
Jhongan bobbed his body sac. "He can probably get into S.S.C. if that
sorrowful institution has retained even that much of its original
purpose. After that, his duty will be to get the double-brain somehow,
and get it outside S.S.C. The High Priests of Zharkon will be outside
trying to get in, if Larson times it right. He can give them the brain.
Whether they'll let him live or not as a reward, I don't know. The
sacrifice will be worth it, to a Guardsman. The High Priests will take
that brain to Mars and transfer it to the dying Zharkon's brain case.
If that is done, I assure you, peace throughout the Solar System will
be only a matter of hours. But you and Larson will have to move fast. I
know that the High Priests are probably heading for Venus right now."
"Sounds incredible," said Venard. "But, Jhongan, I believe you. We'll
do it, of course. But I wish I knew why."
Jhongan said, "This is a point to regard--the reason is quite simple.
You could figure it out, Venard, if you tried hard enough. Therefore,
don't even try to evolve an answer. If you're captured by the Martians,
you must know nothing."
"But if that's the case," said Venard suddenly, "then you--"
* * * * *
The Martian trembled violently. A loud commotion suddenly spilled
through the cave opening. Two men and a woman were leaping toward them.
One wore a tattered Guardsman's uniform. The other man and woman were
dressed in drab civvies.
"They're psychos who've escaped from the sanitarium," yelled La Crue.
"They're Martophobes; they're after Jhongan! Stop 'em."
The mad Guardsman had a long alloy knife which Guardsmen formerly
carried more for uniform decoration than for utilitarian purposes. He
raised it as he leaped at Jhongan. The screaming woman and shouting
man were also headed for Jhongan with clutching hands. The man's eyes
gleamed insanely. The woman screeched, "Martie dog! Dirty, filthy
Martie devil!"
Before either Venard or La Crue could intercept the man with the knife,
he had thrown himself upon Jhongan's unresisting body. With screaming
nerves, Venard saw the knife rise and fall again and again, savagely.
He saw the green life juices spurt like a monstrous fountain. He heard
himself swearing madly as he pulled the death-drenched Guardsman off
Jhongan's twitching body, felt his fists crunch and saw the psycho
topple away, his face crushed in.
Venard and La Crue were leaning over Jhongan's punctured body
sack. "He's dying," said La Crue hoarsely. "They die fast in Earth
atmosphere. There's nothing anyone can do."
A tentacle reached up slowly, wrapped itself around Venard's hand.
Venard heard the funny slurred tones of the Martie say in a dying
whisper, "You promised. Don't fail. Promise you won't fail, Karl, old
friend?"
"Yes," Venard gripped the tentacle. It went lax, plopped lifelessly
down onto the cold damp stone.
"That's his answer," said Venard as he straightened wearily but with a
stony resolution of face.
"Answer?" said La Crue. "To what?"
"I was going to ask him what would happen if he were captured by
Martians. He knows the reason for this plan of helping transplant the
Zharkon's brain. He answered that." He looked down at Jhongan. "He
could have gotten away. He let the psycho kill him. Perhaps it was
better that way. It saved him from having to kill himself."
La Crue, after a long silent moment, said, "How could anyone have
planetary prejudice when a Martie is capable of such magnificent
heroism for all civilized species?"
"They won't, someday," assured Venard, his jaw tense. "Someday, every
species in the system will be judged only by their individual worth
rather than by their physical appearance--thanks to the complete
unselfishness of men like Jhongan."
"Anyway," said La Crue, "we know now that Jhongan's plan must be sound,
if he believed in it so completely."
"Yes," said Venard, "we know now." He saw Larson stagger a little as he
emerged from a tunnel mouth into the cavern with a half-emptied plastic
bottle of _stihn_ in one hand. Hanging on the little man's other arm
was a rather shapely girl. She was looking at Larson with curiosity
more than interest.
When Larson saw Jhongan, dead, the bottle of _stihn_ bounced on the
stone floor. The girl whirled away from him, uttering a sharp cry of
protest that died as she saw Larson's violent reaction.
Then he came up close to Venard, cold sober now, and waited. He was
ready now, ready for anything.