Larson bawled out an ungentlemanly, "Don't be so smug! Comin' all the
way here I bet they've got some secret weapon."
Venard said curtly, "Contact them! I suggest we tell them we'll give
them their Zharkon the First's blasted brain. I'm beginning to get
brains on the brain!"
They hurried to a nearby room containing an inner-S.S.C communication
set. The Martian medic nervously switched through to S.S.C. control
study. "This is Yhongar in the Transplant Wards," he said. "Lieutenant
Venard of the Guards and an--er--Mr. Larson have defeated the Jovian,
as you probably know. Director Bronlen, are you all right, sir?"
Director Bronlen's austere face swam into view, changed now. It was
the face of a man who has learned the ultimate meanings of slavery and
freedom of thought. It smiled with new hope, and with gentle, but firm
strength. "Everything is all right now, Yhongar. However, two Martian
warships have been reported just outside S.S.C."
"Yes, Director Bronlen," said the Martian. "They intend to attack
S.S.C. in an attempt to obtain the brain of Zharkon I. Lieutenant
Venard says we should give them the brain. Lieutenant Venard, could
you explain to S.S.C. Director H. Bronlen the reason for this proposed
action?"
Venard hesitated, flushed weakly. "I--really don't know, exactly, that
is. A Martian subversive, Jhongan, working with the Allies, said to
give the Martian High Priests every possible assistance in obtaining
the Brain. He said that if the replacement in the present Zharkon is
accomplished, complete peace would return to the System."
Bronlen's face remained puzzled, groping. "There must be some
explanation. We owe you and Sergeant Larson an infinite debt of
gratitude, but unless some logical reason is given for this unorthodox
procedure, I'm afraid--"
Vale stepped forward. "I think I can explain Jhongan's purpose in
wanting this transplantation to succeed."
"I.Q. Saunders," smiled Venard wryly.
"Speak," said Bronlen. "But hurry. The Martians are preparing to
attack. For all we know, they may have developed some kind of
atomic-penetrator."
"Well," began Vale, "the fanatical Zharkonian Royalists thought
they had all authentic Martian historical documents destroyed and
forgotten. But they didn't. Their own interpretation of history is
based on primitive myth, legends of race and ancestor worship--the old
war gods of slaughter and conflict, the hero-worship of victorious
armies and of individuals killed in battle. Greatly similar to the old
Nazi and Norse ideologies. So, naturally, they didn't want the newly
conditioned masses acquainted with _true_ Martian history which is just
the opposite, being one of steady progress and peaceful aims designed
for the betterment of all peoples. But Jhongan's underground faithfuls
on Mars made it a point to preserve key historical Martian documents,
evidently, so that they have known all the time the exact nature of the
thousand-year-old brain of Zharkon I."
She paused, while Venard lit up a para-ette to steady his shaky nerves.
He grinned at her thinly. "I bet you could quote the whole Solar
Encyclopedia," he snapped.
She smiled at him and continued. "The amazing part is that the
Zharkonian leaders forgot real history themselves. Fell for their own
propaganda, which is so often the case. They believe in the myths and
legends they've resurrected--in part. It's obvious they've forgotten or
they certainly wouldn't be attempting this transplantation. You see,
we've studied that incredible double-brain thoroughly in connection
with socio-economic history of Zharkon the First's era. It was one of
the first double-brain experiments and wasn't entirely successful.
There was an uncontrollable influence of the thalamic half over the
cortex half. You see, Zharkon I was beneficently pathological as a
ruler."
"Pathological," exclaimed Director Bronlen.
"Yes. A fanatical pacifist, who went into daily trances and preached
the sacred brotherhood of all races, creeds and colors. But the methods
he used were impractical and revealed unintegration of his brain
sections. So you can see what will happen if that kind of cortex gets
in control of the present militaristic Martian government."
"A pacifist! Fanatical--pathological--" Venard grinned broadly. Larson
laughed hoarsely. The Martian swelled his body sac with pride and
renewed hope. Bronlen's face appeared to glow with admiration for
Vale's analysis, sharpened to sudden decision. "I am going to contact
the Martians immediately," he said. "I'll inform them that rather than
have conflict here within the cloistered halls of science, we'll give
them the brain of Zharkon I--without question. This will probably
inflate their paranoic egos considerably."
The teleaudio faded and almost immediately, several attendants of
as many planetary types in interne's gowns came down the long hall
and took the huge Martian double-brain away to the arrogantly and
triumphantly waiting Martian Priests. Their warships blasted off
without delay, atomic-interplanetary drives at full acceleration,
to transplant the brain into the body of their incapacitated war
leader--to transform him into an incurable, pathological, fanatical
lover of peace at any cost--a mind that regarded war for any cause at
any time more terrible than a cosmic plague.
Meanwhile, the Solar Federation was made acquainted with the real and
far more terrifying threat existing on the obscure, dark and mysterious
world of the Jovians. Panic swept over these worlds, realizing as they
did that there was no way to combat the pure thought power of the
Jovians.
However, the Venusian Sea People had found out via S.S.C. about the
thralldom of that citadel by the Jovian there, and, realizing the
tremendous threat to the System, they retreated into their strange,
deep laboratories to manufacture the memory-crystals by the thousands.
The mystic little globes would enable other than Jovian minds to
achieve a unity of mental strength. In the hands of millions of
Solarians, they would mean inevitable defeat for the outnumbered
Jovians.
* * * * *
At an unspecified date after the Jovian defeat on Luna, in the
synthetic wonderland of Escapeasies and pleasure palaces, terraced
gardens and the magnificent space-view translucent dome of the resort
in Theophilus Crater, three figures stood on the crater's colossal rim.
Venard's arm was around Vale's shoulders as they stared with unshakable
awe into the huge vault of the sky enclosing them in a black and
gigantic hollow, sprinkled with the white dust of the stars. Nearby,
seated on a pneumatic couch with a bottle of _stihn_ in one hand and
a memory-crystal in the other, Louie Larson was realizing an ultimate
kind of hedonistic satisfaction with life.
It was the middle of the Lunar night, and the terrific cold crept in,
even through the laced seams of the dome.
"Go ahead, kiss," said Larson in a bored fashion. "Don't mind me. You
two don't know what love really means, either of you." He was looking
into the memory-crystal from which he never took his eyes. A willowy,
flowery, translucent green body undulated in its misty depths.
Vale smiled boldly up at Venard. Venard managed to shoot a quick grin
at Larson. "I suppose you're going to say that Venusian Sea Woman who
fell for you looks something like Glora Karstedt?"
"Don't joke about pure, cosmic love such as mine," warned Larson
dreamily. "It's a love of pure thought, a spiritual delight. There
never was any Glora Karstedt. I guess you'd call Glora a symbol, a
dream woman. An' I've found the ideal at last, friends. Her name is
Ulolalahr. Her thoughts alone in my mind are pure ecstasy."
Larson arose slowly and austerely and walked to the panel. "This
physical kind of thing is positively disgustin'," he said.
"I don't agree with him at all," said Vale, closing her eyes and
puckering up her lips.
A few seconds later, Venard breathed a long, "Wheeeoooow. What an I.Q.!
Ideally Qualified."