They spent much of that night in going over their plans. Ketrik had
no misapprehensions about landing on Mars; he could do that despite
Vaajo's patrols. Turibek presented the real problem.
Carefully he perused the tele-strip recordings from Mark's operatives,
E-39 and EV-5. There had only been two reports, and they were brief.
"This last one was sent two weeks ago," Mark said, "and I haven't been
able to contact them since. The channel's dead. I'm afraid it means
their hide-out was discovered!"
Ketrik studied the rough map Mark had made, showing the location of the
hide-out in the K'Mari Range, and its position from Turibek.
"This will help. I'll try to get over there, see if anything's left of
their sending equipment. Then I want to make a try for the city. If
I can get inside of Turibek, and maybe get a line on this scientific
thing they're working up ... I was at Turibek eight years ago, and know
it fairly well."
"Here's a photo-static air view," Mark said. "Afraid it doesn't show
much."
"It shows one thing," Ketrik said, studying the film. "Dar Vaajo's had
a wall built completely around the city. That wasn't there eight years
ago! And those towers stationed around the wall--what do you suppose
they are?"
"Control towers. That's an electronic wall! And you'll observe there's
another within the city itself, surrounding that group of buildings
which must be the laboratories. Ketrik--if you ever get in there...."
His voice dwindled away in doubt.
"You don't think I can do it? I don't either, Mark--not as an Earthman!"
"Come. We'll fix that."
They passed through endless corridors, arrived finally at a large
white-enameled room. It was complete with operating tables,
instruments, plastics, ray-lamps--everything necessary to Earth's
espionage system.
Ketrik stripped piecemeal, allowed every inch of his superbly muscled
body to be subjected to the stinging Ulmo lamps. Gradually under
the hot rays, the very pigmentation of his skin changed to the deep
reddish-copper of a Martian. Mark proved himself an expert at this.
Even the insides of Ketrik's ears did not escape the ray.
"Don't worry," Mark told him. "This will all wear off eventually."
"Yes? How long?"
"In about two years! Now, your eyes. You never saw a Martian with gray
eyes. Look up just a moment."
A few drops of liquid, a harmless vegetable composition, changed
Ketrik's eyes to a muddy golden color.
"Those bangs have got to come off!" Mark went to work in earnest. Ten
minutes under another ray, and Ketrik's unruly hair was transformed
into tight, crisp curls in keeping with the Martian fashion. His
features presented the hardest problem, but Mark worked miracles with
the plastics and equipment.
At last the job was done. When Ketrik surveyed himself in the mirror
he saw a tall, somewhat arrogant Martian of the middle class, with
slightly flaring nostrils, bulging cheek-bones and lips curving in a
thin, cruel smile. He nodded, more than satisfied.
Mark consulted his wrist-chrono. "Four hours until dawn. Better grab a
few hours' sleep, it may be your last for a while."
"Sure, but I'll rest better if I know one thing. Where's my ship?"
"My guards moved it secretly to the underground repair locks. Right
now it's undergoing as radical a change as I just performed on you."
Mark smiled. "When you leave Earth, it will be in a slow-powered ore
freighter ostensibly bound for the Moon!"
* * * * *
An hour before the dawn, Mark wakened Ketrik. But Mark hadn't been idle
in those hours. He handed the other a small, compact instrument.
"Here's a Scanner disc I just finished assembling. It only works within
a very short range, but you may have need of it."
They took the swift tube-car across the city and arrived at the
spaceport amidst surprising activity. A Callistan freighter had just
berthed. Bright lights were trained upon it, men and trucks were moving
about handling the cargo.
"I planned it for this hour," Mark explained, "because now less
attention will be drawn to you. We can't be too careful." He pointed to
a dark, far corner of the field where a clumsy bulk rested. "Believe it
or not, that's your ship. The exterior's been changed but that's all.
You still have the Frequency Tuner." They paused for a moment in solemn
thought. "I can't impress upon you too much, Ketrik, what this--"
"That's right, Mark, you can't. So let's not mention it." Ketrik was
brusque. "Believe me, son, I know what I'm up against."
"Send _any_ news at all as to what Dar Vaajo's up to. If I learn
that, I can rouse the people of Earth to preparedness in spite of the
Council." He thrust out his hand. "I'll say goodby now--and good luck!"
Ketrik said simply, "You'll be hearing from me, Mark." He moved across
the field, keeping to the shadows, the collar of his space tunic turned
up. He wondered how many of the men working about this field were
Martian "Specials." Some of them, surely. If he, an Earthman, could be
molded into Martian guise, Dar Vaajo could certainly perform the same
miracle in reverse and probably had.
He reached his ship undetected. All was dark and quiet. The hull, he
noticed, had been painted solid black. He entered and flicked on the
lights. Mark was right, nothing on the inside had been changed.
He explored the ship to make sure. Then he moved forward to the
control-console, remembering that this was supposed to be a clumsy Moon
freighter. The rockets roared. The ship moved with slow acceleration up
the step locks, to finally catapult into the stratosphere.
And five minutes later, just as he was clearing Earth's gravity, he
heard the voice behind him:
"Well, Ketrik, at last! Really--I thought you were never going to make
it!"
Ketrik had long since learned caution in these matters. He turned
slowly now and was glad he did. The first thing he saw was the gun--a
powerful weapon, an electro. The fist wrapped around it looked firm and
experienced. Ketrik's gaze went to the man's face.
It was the Captain of the Guard, the same captain who had met him at
his landing eight hours before. The man was cold-eyed now. He kept a
few paces away from Ketrik.