Bryce Walton

“ Marties appeared in hundreds of openings with H-guns poised, nervously, uncertainly; anxiety mucous flowed from pulsing pores.
"Sing!" laughed Venard wildly. He didn't feel quite sane, and he didn't care. "Earth isn't dead. Not while you can still sing, you're not dead, and your song will live forever!"
His wild laughter rang carelessly and madly up the towering heights of the partly-repaired corridor, down the lengths of it both ways, through the open oval door beyond which torture flames still glittered and shadowed, dehumanized bodies curled. ”

“ He was back in the body bank ... alone ... with the Jovian. Black fury burst once more against his reeling mind, but through it rose the faintest of echoes: "Give him hell, Karl!"
Energy, strength, courage, power flooded through him. Still, there was no reality, no visible enemy, no material hall with body banks and mosaic walls and solid plastic floors. Out of a black sea bobbed a cloudy sphere of coruscating evil hate. Venard leaped, his body bending through an arc of torture. He had the sphere in his dripping hands, holding it high. ”

“ Louie Larson's beady black eyes bulged, sweat popped out of his pallid skin and trickled down through the bristles of his dirt-caked beard. "You—you're gonna use that?"
"Suicide, that's better than the experimental ward, isn't it? Kewpie Doll, sometimes you leave the experimental wards alive, but no one would ever guess you had once been human. They work on the genes, son. And they're devilishly clever." He gripped the memory-crystal. ”

“ These creatures must die as men. "The Terran Anthem hasn't been sung for a long time. Sing!"
There was magnetic driving power in his words. The Marties were trembling with indecision. Appendages were creeping toward H-guns. Venard made a threatening gesture with the memory-crystal. And the appendages stopped creeping—for a little while.
"The Terran Anthem!" yelled Venard again. There was a reckless, sardonic smile on his face that Larson had never expected to see again. "We'll sing ourselves to sleep. These Martie scum think our courage is gone, our spirits broken. SING!" ”

“ 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. ”

“ Their shell had placed this foot against the other mollusc, and the sticky material was forced along the groove, touched the other mollusc, adhered and hardened. Then by slowly drawing back the foot, their own shell had, with astounding speed, spun a strong cable almost across the moat.
"An anchor," shuddered Larson. "It's put out an anchor just like a ship."
"That cable's more than just an anchor, Kewpie Doll. Evolution's given him such a weak foot compared to its body weight; it has to throw out a cable and drag itself from one place to another." ”

“ Every conceivable size and form that crawled, hopped, floated and wobbled, every type of Solar intellect from ingenious plant life to pure energy entities pulsing whitely in mid-air. All equally helpless to act until the Jovian could act.
The Martian medic had recovered and was tottering blearily on its four contracting legs. "You," Venard gestured at the Martian, at the same time jiggling the Jovian suggestively. "Lead me to the body bank section. I'm after the brain half of Zharkon I. Quick, on the double! Or I blast your Jovian dictator in a million pieces." ”

“ A mind adjusted to Solar concepts is influenced by intelligence and behavior alone, not by exterior physical aspects. These Martians had been good Solar citizens once, responsible and progressive. But they had been seduced by delusions of grandeur. The old Martian Royalists who had been overthrown a hundred years ago had returned. And returning, they had conquered democratic progressive thought, returned Mars to the old gods of carnage and dark evil, had plunged the Solar System into an orgy of primitive blood-lust, barbarism and hate.
Venard swore, threw off a heavy, plopping arm. ”

“ She said, Karl, darling. I love science and what it means to the System. All Venus is a wilderness, except for the odd under-sea civilization of the Sea People, and the great domed University called Solar Science City. Something's terribly wrong there—I don't know what, but there's something. Solar Science City was established by the best mentalities and resources of the entire System, for the good of the System. But for almost a hundred years Solar Science City has been an isolated, mysterious, incommunicative shell hiding something dark and evil. ”

“ 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?" ”

“ 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." ”

“ Greatest minds of the System withholding their marvels of science. The Martie surgeon, the Mercurian medic, the Ganymedian and Saturnian, slippery, metallic and spidery. And weirdest of all, the Jovian liquescent brain in its square, black cubicle body ... a faceless, eyeless, limbless parasite. An incredibly specialized thinking formulae sentiently bubbling in the arms of the Martian medic. ”

“ They were half way across the shell before it shifted. They crouched down, hanging on desperately. Around them, shells snapped open and shut hungrily. Mouthed probosci were snaking about, dragging things out of the air.
"If we can stay on these things," gasped Venard. "Haven't seen any of them interested in each other. This baby has a keen sense of taste and smell; not much sense of touch, though."
Their shell suddenly rocked violently. The two Guardsmen squeezed themselves between two roughly porous spines for support, drew their blasters. The top half of the bivalve was slowly lifting. ”

“ 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. ”

“ If the Martian Underground have really managed to injure Zharkon, that means maybe the Martian Terro-Colonial Armies of Occupation might disorganize, fall apart. And if we could only contact the Underground here—"
Venard shook his head; sweat speckled the metal wall. Fools. There was nothing to the rumor, because such a thing was impossible. There was no escape. Only the memory-crystal, a quick, self-administered destruction. Blackout.
Larson's voice was a faint, far-away whisper. "They're comin' for us. Look at them furriners—"
Metal doors had been clanging open. ”

“ In the pre-Solar Federation era, colorful sea-women of Venus, members of that semi-human and empirically intelligent race, were said to have carried the crystals while love remained true, but always ready to utilize the destructive power of the crystal for suicide when the lover whose face was captured in the cumulus depths of the sphere proved faithless. ”

“ We're the only two Guardsmen left in this sad hole. We'll be among this draft. Start praying."
Louie Larson, the little man who still, somehow, managed to be overweight in spite of being half-starved, shivered.
"The least you can do is die like a man," snarled Venard. "You're a disgrace to the Guards."
The fat little man grabbed Venard's ragged sleeves.
"Remember what the grapevine said last night, Karl? It said that the Underground on Mars had managed to blow up the Zharkon's throne room and him in it. It said the Zharkon had been injured, maybe killed, that his double-brain was on the blink. ”

“ The Martian medic helped him to his feet, but he couldn't stand alone. While he swayed dizzily, the Martie's body sac nodded gently. "Thank you, Lieutenant Venard. S.S.C. is free at long last. We had abandoned all hope. A burial place of knowledge is always a final graveyard of hope."
Venard was leaning wearily against the wall and the Martian medic was lifting the first Zharkon's brain-sac into the refrigerated bank when Larson and Vale came running down the hall. Larson was a spectacle for sore eyes. ”

“ Another exalted warrior of the Occupational Armies of Zharkon, the Undying—Zharkon, the ever-just and divine director of the Solar System—Zharkon, the voice of the Gods—has been brutally slain by terran underground subversives. In retaliation, five hundred Terran inferiors will go to the experimental wards by decree of our divine Martian Zharkon—Zharkon, our illustrious solar father ...
The audio droned on. But none of the tier on tier of doomed men imprisoned in the rehabilitated ruins of Washington's subterranean levels listened any more. ”

“ The Martie inclined his body sac in a nod. Few could converse with a Martie; it required a special skill. "I was planning it differently, as La Crue said. But it worked out just as well. La Crue has kept your consciousness submerged for three days. To build up strength. La Crue has also mentioned a plan. Not because I know you love flattery, I tell you that you and Larson are the only ones for this job." Jhongan leaned forward and added: "It is possible, Karl, almost overnight, to save the Solar System and return to a peaceful, progressive Federation." ”

“ You haven't a chance, nothing human has a chance against it. That's why I never even tried to get word to you at first, while I still had a chance. I knew that if you came here to help me, it would only get you too. None of us here can do anything now, or ever. ”

“ Venard brooded over the three-dim memory-sphere of Vale, when no Guards were close enough to detect his furtive actions.
"About two more trips and we're going to be taken in there," choked Larson. "Karl! Look at me an' listen now." His voice lowered, trembled. "It's against my religious principles to take my own life. I'd rather get mine fighting fair. If we fight, maybe we can make 'em blast us with them H-guns."
"We've tried often enough," said Venard. "They're too handy with those whips they call arms." ”

“ 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. ”

“ It's me, Kewpie Doll Larson. Remember—"
Jhongan said, "Not even a Solar War could change that guy."
La Crue shook his head slowly. "Wish all neurotics in the Undergrounds were as rational as old Kewpie Doll. We're having lots of psycho troubles down here in our Underground."
Jhongan let his heavy torso sink down between his four legs so that he now resembled a huge crab, while La Crue went on. He could wait. He was patient. He only hoped they would accept it when he presented the seemingly insane plan. La Crue explained, "Too much pressure down here. It's too unnatural an environment. ”

“ Venard sat up, shutting his eyes a moment against dizziness. "Must have a bigger Underground than I thought."
"Comparatively few, but it allows us greater freedom of movement, greater capacity for cooperative effort. Most of the Martian commoners fell for the Zharkonistic program though." La Crue, who had been a psycho-medic in the guards, knew what he was talking about. "They were ripe for a crackpot philosophy like Zharkon provided. Too much specialization and not enough varied interests for individuals. ”

“ Abruptly he sank down in a sad, dejected heap.
"Yeah," growled the ex-lieutenant. "Keep crying, Kewpie Doll. If something happens to our memory-crystal here, we'll be drinking vat-acid tonight."
"Oh, don't talk that way, Karl!" moaned Larson. "Things is bad enough. Things is simply terrible. Either we blow ourselves to tendons or get pried and peered into by these furriners. We're gonna have those probosci dinnin' into our innards. We're gonna—"
"Shut up!" yelled Venard. Maybe the little man really was cracking up. No man is infallible. Maybe he, Karl Venard, would crack up too. ”

“ But his hands were slipping; he knew he would fall into the well. And once he fell into that blackness, he was gone forever. He was in a world of thought, and in that world he had no defenses, not against such a highly specialized entity of thought as the Jovian. Yes—that was the goal—he was trying to reach the Jovian. That was the symbol. But he could never reach it. The pain was too great. Pain could kill. Shock could stop his brain and heart.
"Vale!"
His voice was harsh, despairing. Had he called? ”

“ Take your choice. Either me or your internship in Solar Science City. You either go into that science convent on Venus to wither away the rest of your unnatural life, or you and I take a honeymoon right here.' And, Kewpie Doll, you know what she said to me then?"
"How could I know?" slobbered Larson, eyes bugging at the oval door. It was opening again. "I heard it only eleven hundred and fifty-eight and one half times. Karl! I think they'll get us this trip. They—"
Venard continued softly, as if unaware of the approaching Martie guards. ”