Cosmic Kill

by Robert Silverberg

I

Lon Archman waited tensely for the Martian to come nearer: Around him, the ancient world’s hell-winds whined piercingly. Archman shivered involuntarily and squeezed tighter on the butt of the zam-gun.

One shot. He had one shot left. And if the Martian were to fire before he did—

The wind picked up the red sand and tossed it at him as he crouched behind the twisted gabron-weed. The Martian advanced steadily, its heavy body swung forward in a low crouch. It was still out of range of the zam-gun. Archman didn’t dare fire yet, not with only one charge left.

A gust of devilish wind blew more sand in the Earthman’s face. He spat and dug at his eyes. A little undercurrent of fear beat in the back of his mind. He shoved the emotion away. Fear and Lon Archman didn’t mix.

But where the blazes was that Martian?

Ah—there. Stooping now behind the clump of gabron-weed. Inching forward on his belly toward Archman now. Archman could almost see the hill-creature’s tusks glinting in the dim light. His finger wavered on the zam-gun’s trigger. Again a gust of wind tossed sand in his eyes.

That was the Martian’s big advantage, he thought. The Martian had a transparent eyelid that kept the damned sand out; Archman was blinded by the stinging red stuff more often than not.

Well, I’ve got an advantage too. I’m an agent of Universal Intelligence, and that’s just a dumb Martian hillman out there trying to kill me.

A torrent of sand swept down over them again. Archman fumbled on the desert floor for a moment and grabbed a heavy lichen-encrusted rock. He heaved it as far as he could—forty feet, in Mars’ low grav. It kicked up a cloud of sand.

The Martian squealed in triumph and fired. Archman grinned, cupped his hands, threw his voice forty feet. The rock seemed to scream in mortal agony, ending in a choking gasp of death.

The Martian rose confidently from his hiding-place to survey the smoking remains of Archman. The Earthman waited until the Martian’s tusked head and shoulders were visible, then jammed down on the zam-gun’s firing stud.

It was his last shot—but his aim was good. The Martian gasped as the force-beam hit him, and slowly toppled to his native soil, his massive body burned to a hard black crust. Archman kept the beam on him until it flickered out, then thrust the now-useless zam-gun in his beltsash and stood up.

He had won.

He took three steps forward on the crunching sand—and suddenly bleak Mars dissolved and he was back in the secret offices of Universal Intelligence, on Earth. He heard the wry voice of Blake Wentworth, Chief of Intelligence, saying, “The next time you fight on Mars, Archman, it’ll be for keeps.”

* * *

The shock of transition numbed Archman for a second, but he bounced out of his freeze lightning-fast. Eyeing Wentworth he said, “You mean I passed your test?”

The Intelligence Chief toyed with his double chin, scowled, referred to the sheet of paper he held in his hand. “You did. You passed this test. But that doesn’t mean you would have survived the same situation on Mars.”

“How so?”

“After killing the Martian you rose without looking behind you. How did you know there wasn’t another Martian back there waiting to pot you the second you stood up?”

“Well, I—” Archman reddened, realizing he had no excuse. He had committed an inexcusable blunder. “I didn’t know, Chief. I fouled up. I guess you’ll have to look for someone else for the job of killing Darrien.”

He started to leave the office.

“Like hell I will,” Wentworth snapped. “You’re the man I want!”

“But—”

“You went through the series of test conflicts with 97.003 percent of success. The next best man in Intelligence scored 89.62. That’s not good enough. We figured 95% would be the kind of score a man would need in order to get to Mars, find Darrien, and kill him. You exceeded that mark by better than two percent. As for your blunder at the end—well, it doesn’t change things. It simply means you may not come back alive after the conclusion of your mission. But we don’t worry about that in Intelligence. Do we, Archman?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Let’s get out of this testing lab, then, and into my office. I want to fill you in on the details of the job before I let you go.”

Wentworth led the way to an inner office and dropped down behind a desk specially contoured to admit his vast bulk. He mopped away sweat and stared levelly at the waiting Archman.

“How much do you know about Darrien, Lon?”

“That he’s an Earthman who hates Earth. That he’s one of the System’s most brilliant men—and its most brilliant criminal as well. He tried to overthrow the government twice, and the public screamed for his execution—but instead the High Council sent him to the penal colony on Venusia, in deference to his extraordinary mind.”

“Yes,” wheezed Wentworth. “The most disastrous move so far this century. I did my best to have that reptile executed, but the Council ignored me. So they sent him to Venusia—and in that cesspool he gathered a network of criminals around him and established his empire. An Empire we succeeded in destroying thanks to the heroic work of Tanton.”

Archman nodded solemnly. Everyone in Intelligence knew of Tanton, the semi-legendary blue Mercurian who had given his life to destroy Darrien’s vile empire. “But Darrien escaped, sir. Even as Space Fleet Three was bombarding Venusia, he and his closest henchmen got away on gravplates and escaped to Mars.”

“Yes,” said Wentworth, “To Mars. Where in the past five years he’s proceeded to establish a new empire twice as deadly and vicious as the one on Venus. We know he’s gathering strength for an attack on Earth—for an attack on the planet that cast him out, on the planet he hates more than anything in the cosmos.”

“Why don’t we just send a fleet up there and blast him out the way we did the last time?” Archman asked.

“Three reasons. One is the Clanton Space Mine, the umbrella of force-rays that surrounds his den on Mars and makes it invulnerable to attack—”

“But Davison has worked out a nullifier to the Clanton Mine, sir! That’s no reason—”

“Two,” continued Wentworth inexorably, “Even though we can break down his barrier, our hands are tied. We can’t come down to the level of worms, Archman. Darrien hasn’t done anything—yet. We know he’s going to attack Earth with all he’s got, any day or week or month now—as soon as he’s ready. But until he does so, we’re helpless against him. Earth doesn’t fight preventive wars. We’d have a black eye with the whole galaxy if we declared war on Darrien after all our high-toned declarations.

“And Three, Intelligence doesn’t like to make the same mistake a second time. We bombed Darrien once, and he got away. This time, we’re going to make sure we get him.”

“By sending me, you mean?”

“Yes. Your job is to infiltrate into Darrien’s city, find him, and kill him. It won’t be easy. We know Darrien has several doubles, orthysynthetic duplicate robots. You’ll have to watch out for those. You won’t got two chances to kill the real Darrien.”

“I understand, sir.”

“And one other thing—this whole expedition of yours is strictly unofficial and illegal.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. You won’t be on Mars as a representative of Universal Intelligence. You’re there on your own, as Lon Archman, Killer. Your job is to get Darrien without implicating Earth. Knock him off and the whole empire collapses. But you’re on your own, Archman. And you probably won’t come back.”

“I understand, sir. I understood that when I volunteered for this job.”

“Good. You leave for Mars tonight.”

* * *

A pair of black-tailed Venusians were sitting at the bar with a white-skinned Earth girl between them, as Hendrin the Mercurian entered. He had been on Mars only an hour, and wanted a drink to warm his gullet before he went any further. This was a cold planet; despite his thick shell-like hide, Hendrin didn’t overmuch care for the Martian weather.

“I’ll have a double bizant,” he snapped, spinning a silver three-creda piece on the shining counter. One of the Venusians looked up at that. The whip-like black tail twitched.

“You must have a powerful thirst, Mercurian!”

Hendrin glanced at him scornfully. “I’m just warming up for some serious drinking, friend. Bizant sets the blood flowing; it’s just a starter.”

The drink arrived, and he downed it in a quick gulp. That was good, he thought. “I’ll have another…and after it, a shot of dolbrouk as a chaser.”

“That’s more like it,” said the Venusian appreciatively. “You’re a man after my own heart.” To prove it, he downed his own drink—a mug of fiery brez. Roaring, he slapped his companion’s back and pinched the arm of the silent Earth-girl huddled between them.

Ideas started to form in Hendrin’s head. He was alone on a strange planet, and a big job faced him. These two Venusians were well along in their cups—and they wore the tight gray britches and red tunic of Darrien’s brigades. That was good.

As for the girl—well, she might help in the plan too. She was young and frightened-looking; probably she’d been caught in a recent raiding-party. Her clothes hung in tatters. Hendrin appreciatively observed the occasional bare patch of white thigh, the soft curve of breast, visible through the rents. Yes, she might do too. It depended on how drunk these Venusians were.

The Mercurian left his place at the bar and walked over to the carousing Venusians. “You sound like my type of men,” he told them. “Got some time?”

“All the time in the universe!”

“Good enough. Let’s take a booth in the back and see how much good brew we can pour into ourselves.” Hendrin jingled his pocket.“There’s plenty of cash here—cash I might part with for the company of two such as you!”

The Venusians exchanged glances, which Hendrin did not miss. They thought he was a sucker ready to be exploited. Well, the Mercurian thought, we’ll see who gets exploited. And as for the money—that was his master’s. He had an unlimited expense account for this mission. And he intended to use it to the utmost.

“Come, wench,” said one Venusian thickly. “ Let’s join this gentleman at a booth.”

* * *

Hendrin jammed his bulk into one corner of the booth, and one of the Venusians sat by his side. Across from him sat the other Venusian and the girl. Her eyes were red and raw, and her throat showed the mark of a recent rope.

Chuckling, Hendrin said, “Where’d you get the girl?”

“Planetoid Eleven,” one of the Venusians told him. “We were on a raiding party for Darrien, and found her in one of the colonies. A nice one, is she not?”

“I’ve seen better,” remarked Hendrin casually. “She looks sullen and angry.”

“They all do. But they warm up, once they see they’ve no alternative. How about some drinks?”

Hendrin ordered a round of brez for all three, and tossed the barkeep another three-creda coin. The drinks arrived. The Venusian nearest him reached clumsily for his and spilled three or four drops.

“Oopsh…waste of good liquor. Sorry.”

“Don’t shed tears,” Hendrin said. “There’s more where that came from.”

“Sure thing. Well, here’s to us all—Darrien too, damn his ugly skin!”

They drank. Then they drank some more. Hendrin matched them drink for drink, and paid for most—but his hard-shelled body quickly converted the alcohol to energy, while the Venusians grew less and less sure of their speech, wobblier and wobblier in coordination.

Plans took rapid shape in the Mercurian’s mind. He was here on a dangerous mission, and he knew the moment he ceased to think fast would be the moment he ceased to think.

Krodrang, Overlord of Mercury, had sent him here—Krodrang who had been content to rule the tiny planet without territorial ambitions for decades, but who suddenly had been consumed by the ambition to rule the universe as well. He had summoned Hendrin, his best agent, to the throne-room.

“Hendrin, I want you to go to Mars. Join Darrien’ s army. Get close to Darrien. And when you get the chance, steal his secrets. The Clanton Mine, the orthysynthetic duplicate robots, anything else. Bribe his henchmen. Steal his mistress. Do whatever you can—but I must have Darrien’s secrets! And when you have them—kill him. Then I shall rule the system supreme.”

“Yes, Majesty.”

In Hendrin’s personal opinion the Overlord was taken with the madness of extreme age. But it was not Hendrin’s place to question. He was loyal—and so he accepted the job without demur.

Now he was here. He needed some means of access to Darrien.

Pointing at the girl, he said, “What do you plan to do with her? She looks weak for a slave.”

“Weak! Nonsense. She’s as strong as an Earthman. They come that way, out in those colonies. We plan to bring her to Dorvis Graal, Darrien’s Viceroy. Dorvis Graal will buy her and make her a slave to Darrien—or possibly a mistress.”

Hendrin’s black eyes narrowed. “How much will Dorvis Graal pay?”

“A hundred credas platinum, if we’re lucky.”

The Mercurian surveyed the girl out of one eye. She was undeniably lovely, and there was something else—a smoking defiance, perhaps—that might make her an appealing challenge for a jaded tyrant. “Will ye take a hundred fifty from me?”

“From you, Mercurian?”

“A hundred-eighty, then.”

The girl looked up scornfully. Her breasts heaved as she said, “You alien pigs buy and sell us as if we’re cattle. But just wait! Wait until—”

One Venusian reached out and slapped her. She sank back into silence. “A hundred-eighty, you say?”

Hendrin nodded. “She might keep me pleasant company on the cold nights of this accursed planet.”

“I doubt it,” said the soberer of the two Venusians. “She looks mean. But we’d never get a hundred-eighty from Dorvis Graal. You can have her. Got the cash?”

Hendrin dropped four coins into the Venusian’s leathery palm.

“Done!” the Venusian cried. “The girl is yours!”

The Mercurian nodded approvingly. The first step on the road to Darrien’s chambers had been paved. He reached across the table and imprisoned the girl’s wrist in one of his huge paws, and smiled coldly as defiance flared on her face. The girl had spirit. Darrien might be interested.

* * *

Lon Archman shivered as the bitter Martian winds swept around him. It was just as it had been in the drug-induced tests Wentworth had run back in the Universal Intelligence office, with one little difference.

This was no dream. This was the real thing.

All he could see of Mars was the wide, flat, far-ranging plain of red sand, broken here and there by a rock outcrop or a twisted gabron-weed. In the distance he could see Canalopolis, the city Darrien had taken over and made the headquarters for his empire.

He started to walk.

After about fifteen minutes he saw his first sign of life—a guard, in the grey-and-red uniform of Darrien’s men, pacing back and forth in the sand outside Canalopolis. He was an Earthman. He wore the leather harness that marked the renegade. Archman’s lips pursed coldly as he watched the Earthman pace to and fro. Cautiously the Intelligence agent edged up on the renegade. He couldn’t use his zam-gun; he needed the renegade’s uniform. It would have to be a surprise attack.

Remembering what had happened in the final test on Earth, Archman glanced in all directions. Then he sprang forward, running full tilt at the unseeing renegade.

The man grunted and staggered forward as Archman cracked into him. Lon snatched the renegade’s zam-gun and tossed it to one side. Then he grabbed the man by the scruff of his tunic and yanked him around.

He was a scrawny, hard-eyed fellow with fleshless cheeks and thin lips—probably a cheap crook who thought he stood better pickings serving Darrien than making a go of it on Earth. Archman hit him.. The renegade doubled in pain, and Archman hit him again—hard. The man crumpled like a wet paper doll.

Again the Intelligence man glanced warily around. He was a quick learner, and he wanted to improve that 97.003% score to 100%. 100% meant survival on this mission, and Archman wasn’t particularly anxious to die.

No one was in sight. He stripped off the unconscious guard’s clothing, then peeled out of his own. The chill Martian winds whipped against his nakedness. Hastily he donned the guard’s uniform. Now he was wearing the uniform of Darrien’s brigade of filthy renegades.

Drawing his zam-gun, he incinerated his own clothing. The wind carried the particles away, and there was no trace. Then he glanced at the naked, unconscious renegade, already turning blue, frozen cold. Without remorse Archman killed him, lifted the headless body, carried it fifty feet to a sand dune, shoved it out of sight.

Within minutes the man would be buried by tons of sand. Archman had considered this first step carefully, had originally planned to exchange clothing with the guard and assume his identity. But that was risky. This was safer. Men often got lost in the Martian desert and vanished in the sand. When the time came for changing of the guard, that would be what they would report of this man.

So far, so good. Archman tightened the uniform at the waist until it was a convincing fit. Then he began to trot over the shifting sand toward the city ahead.

About ten minutes later he was inside Canalopolis. The guards at the gate, seeing him in Darrien’s uniform, passed him without question.

The city was old—old and filthy, like all of Mars. Crowded streets loomed before him, streets thick with shops and bars and dark alleys, lurking strangers ready to rob or gamble or sell women. It wasn’t a pleasant place. Archman smiled grimly. This was a fitting planet for Darrien to have set up his empire. Dirty and dark, justice-hating like Darrien himself.

Well, Archman thought, I’ve got to begin somewhere. Getting to Darrien would be a slow process—especially if he wanted to live through it.

The city’s streets were thronged with aliens of all sorts: bushy-tailed Venusians, swaggering boldly with their deadly stingers at the end of their black tails; blue Mercurians, almost impregnable inside their thick shells; occasionally a Plutonian, looking like a fish with legs with their finned hands; and, of course, the vicious, powerful Martians, all of them showing their sneering tusks.

Here and there there was an Earthman, like Darrien himself a renegade. Archman hated those worst of all, for they were betraying their home world.

He stood still and looked around. Far ahead of him, in the middle of the city, rose a vaulting palace sculptured from shimmering Martian quartz. That was undoubtedly Darrien’s headquarters. Surrounding it were smaller buildings, barracks-like—and then the rest of the city sprawled around it. Darrien had built himself a neat little fortress, thought Archman.

He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to reach Darrien. But that would come in time. The first action, he thought, would be to get a couple of drinks under his belt and to have a look around the town.

A sign in three languages beckoned to him: BAR.

He cut his way through the milling traffic and entered. It was a long, low-ceilinged room which stank of five planets’ liquor. A Martian bartender stood before a formidable array of exotic drinks; along the bar, men of five worlds slumped in varying degrees of drunkenness. Farther back, lit by a couple of dusty, sputtering levon-tubes, there were some secluded booths.

Archman stiffened suddenly. In one of the booths was a sight that brought quick anger to him—anger that he just as quickly forced to subside.

A blue Mercurian was leaning over, pawing a near-nude, sobbing Earth-girl. There were two Venusians in the booth with them, both slumped over the table, lying in utter stupor face-down in little pools of slops.

An Earth-girl? Here? And what the hell was that hardshell doing pawing her?

Archman’s first thoughts were murderous. But then he realized such a situation gave him a chance to make a few contacts on this unfriendly planet. He shouldered past a couple of drozky-winos at the bar, choking back his disgust, and moved toward the booth in the back.

* * *

The levon-tube was sputtering noisily, going griz-griz every few seconds. Energy leakage, thought Archman. He reached the booth, and the Mercurian left the girl alone and looked up inquisitively at him.

“Hello, Mercurian. Nice bit of flesh you’ve got there.”

“Isn’t she, though? I just bought her off these sots you see before you.” The Mercurian indicated the drunken Venusians, and laughed. “We ought to cut their tails off before they wake!”

Archman eyed the alien stonily. “Drunk they may be, but they wear Darrien’s uniform—which is more than you can say, stranger.”

“I’m here to join up, though. Don’t leap to conclusions. I’m as loyal to Darrien as you are, maybe more so.”

“Sorry,” Archman apologized. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Go right ahead. Dump one of the tailed ones on the floor. They’re so drunk they’ll never feel it.”

Casually Archman shoved one of the Venusians by the shoulder. The alien stirred, moaned, and without complaining slid into a little heap on the floor. Archman took his seat, feeling the girl’s warmness next to him.

“My name’s Archman,” he said. “Yours?”

“Hendrin. Just arrived from Mercury. A fine wench, isn’t she?”

Archman studied the girl appreciatively. Her face was set in sullen defiance, and despite her near-nudity she had a firm dignity about her that the Earthman liked. She seemed to be staring right through the Mercurian rather than at him, and the fact that her breasts were nearly bare and her lovely legs unclad hardly disturbed her.

“Where are you from, lass?”

“Is it your business—traitor?”

Archman recoiled. “Harsh words, pretty one. But perhaps we’ve met somewhere on Earth. I’m curious.”

“I’m not from Earth. I was a colonist on Planetoid Eleven until—until—”

“An attractive bit of property,” Archman told the Mercurian. “You capture her yourself?”

Hendrin shook his domed head. “No. I bought her from these Venusians here. I mean to sell her to our lord Darrien, for use as a plaything.”

Archman smiled casually. “I could almost use one like her myself. Would you take a hundred credas for her?”

“I paid a hundred-eighty.”

“Two hundred, then?”

“Not for a thousand,” said the Mercurian firmly. “This girl is for Darrien himself.”

“Beasts,” the girl muttered.

The Mercurian slapped her with a clawed fist. A little trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth, and Archman had to force himself to watch coldly.

“You won’t sell, eh?” Archman said. That was unfortunate, he thought. Having merchandise such as this to offer might conceivably get him close to Darrien quickly. And the girl was just that—merchandise. As an Intelligence agent went, Archman knew that all lives including his own were expendable in the struggle to assassinate Darrien.

“I sure won’t,” said the Mercurian exultantly. “Why, Darrien will go wild when he sees this one! What do I need your money for, against the power he can offer for her?”

“What if he simply takes her away from you?”

“Darrien wouldn’t do that. Darrien’s smart; he knows how to keep the loyalty of his men.” The Mercurian rose, clutching the girl’s wrist. “Come, lovely. We go to seek Darrien now, before anything might happen to her. And as for you, Earthman, it was good to make your acquaintance—and perhaps we shall meet again some day.”

“Perhaps,” Archman said tightly. He sat back and watched as the Mercurian, gloating, led his prize away. A flash of thighs, the bright warmness of a breast, and then girl and captor were gone.

This is a filthy business, Archman thought bitterly.

But the Mercurian was on his way to Darrien. It would be useful, reflected the Earthman, to follow along and find out just what happened. At this stage of the enterprise, any trail could be taken.

* * *

Hendrin the Mercurian moved at a steady rate through the streets of Canalopolis, dragging the sobbing girl roughly along.

“You don’t have to pull me,” she said icily, struggling with her free hand to pull together the tatters of her clothing. “I don’t want my arm yanked out. I’ll come willingly.”

“Then walk faster,” Hendrin grunted. He peered ahead, toward the rosy bulk of Darrien’s palace, as a structure of intrigue began to form in his mind. Using the girl as a pawn, he could gain access to Darrien.

That alone wouldn’t help. In all probability he’d see not the real Darrien, but an orthysynthetic duplicate of the shrewd leader. One false move and Hendrin would find himself brainburned and tossed out as carrion for the sandwolves.

This had to be done carefully, very carefully. But Hendrin felt no fear. Overlord Krodrang had hand-picked him from the ranks of his secret operatives, and Hendrin was confident he could fulfill his monarch’s commands.

“Why do you have to do this to me?” the girl asked suddenly. “Why couldn’t I have been left on Planetoid Eleven with my parents, in peace, instead of being dragged here, to be paraded nude through the streets of this awful city and—” She gasped for breath.

“Easy, girl, easy. That’s a great many words for your soft throat to spew out so quickly.”

“I don’t want your lying gentleness!” she snapped. “Why am I being sold to Darrien? And what will he do to me?”

“As for the former, I’m afraid I’ll have to beg off. I’m selling you for money—”

“But those Venusians said you bid more for me than Darrien would have paid!”

“They were drunk. They didn’t recognize a prize specimen when they see one.”

“Prize specimen!” She spat the words back at him. “To you aliens I’m just a prize specimen, is that it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Hendrin said lightly. “As for what Darrien will do to you—come now, milady, that ought to be obvious!”

“It is,” she said glumly. “But why does life have to be this way? That Earthman, back in the bar—doesn’t he have any loyalty to someone of his own world?”

“Apparently not. But enough of this talk; what’s your name?”

“Elissa Hall.”

“A pretty name, though a trifle too smooth for my taste. How old are you, Elissa?”

“Nineteen.”

“Umm. Darrien will be interested, I’m sure.”

“You’re the most cold-blooded creature I’ve ever met,” she said.

Hendrin chuckled dryly. “I doubt it. I’m a kindly old saint compared with Darrien. I’m just doing my job, lady; don’t make it hard for me.”

She didn’t answer. Hendrin rotated one eye until he had a good view of her. She had blonde hair cut in bangs, blue eyes, a pert nose, warm-looking lips. Her figure was excellent. Some other time, perhaps, Hendrin might have had some sport with her first and scarcely found it dull. But not now. Like all his people, the Mercurian was cold and businesslike when it came to a job. And—much as he would have liked the idea—it didn’t fit into the strategy.

“Halt and state name,” snapped a guard suddenly, presenting a zam-gun. He was a Martian, grinning ferociously.

“Hendrin’s my name. I’m a member of Darrien’s raiders, and I’m bringing this girl to sell to him.”

The Martian studied Elissa brazenly, then said, “Very well. You can pass. Take her to Dorvis Graal’s office, and he’ll talk to you.”

Hendrin nodded and moved ahead past the guard and into the compound of buildings surrounding Darrien’s lofty palace.

* * *

Dorvis Graal, Darrien’s Viceroy and the Chief of Canalopolis’ Security Police, was a Venusian. He looked up from a cluttered desk as Hendrin and the girl entered. There was a bleak, crafty glint in his faceted eyes; his beak of a nose seemed to jab forward at the Mercurian, and the deadly stinging-tail went flick-flick ominously.

“Who are you, Mercurian?”

“The name is Hendrin. I’ve recently joined Darrien’s forces.”

“Odd. I don’t remember seeing a dossier on you.”

Hendrin shrugged. “This red tape is beyond me. All I know is I signed on to fight for Darrien, and I have something I think might interest him.”

“You mean the girl?” Dorvis Graal said. He squinted at her. “She’s an Earth colonist, isn’t she?”

“From Planetoid Eleven. I think our lord Darrien might be interested in her.”

Dorvis Graal chuckled harshly. “Possibly he will—but if he is, there’ll be the devil to pay when Meryola, Darrien’s mistress, finds out!”

“That’s Darrien’s problem,” the blue Mercurian said. “But I’m in need of cash. How can I get to see Darrien?”

“Darrien wouldn’t bother with you. But let me think about this for a moment. What would you consider a fair price for the wench?”

“Two hundred credas and a captaincy in Darrien’s forces.”

The Venusian smiled derisively. “Mars has two moons, as well. Why not ask for one of those?”

“I’ve named my price,” said Hendrin.

“Let me look at the girl,” Dorvis Graal rose, flicking his bushy tail from side to side, and stepped forward. “These rags obscure the view,” he said, ripping away what remained of Elissa’s clothing. Her body, thus revealed, was pure white for a moment—until suffused by a bright pink blush. She started to cover herself with her hands, but Dorvis Graal calmly slapped her wrists away from her body. “I can’t see if you do that,” he said.

After a lengthy appraisal he looked up. “A fair wench,” he remarked. “Perhaps Darrien will expend a hundred credas or so. Certainly no more.”

“And the captaincy?”

“I can always ask,” said the Venusian mockingly.

Hendrin frowned. “What do you mean, you can ask? Don’t I get to talk to Darrien?”

“I’ll handle the transaction,” said Dorvis Graal. “Darrien doesn’t care to be bothered by every Mercurian who wanders by with a bare-bottomed beauty he’s picked up in a raid. You wait here, and I’ll show him the girl.”

“Sorry,” Hendrin said quickly. He threw his cloak over the girl’s shoulders. “Either I see Darrien myself or it’s no deal. I’ll keep the girl myself rather than let myself be cheated out of her.”

Dorvis Graal’s whip-like tail went rigid with anger for an instant—but then, as he saw Hendrin apparently meant what he said, he relaxed. “Just a minute, there.”

Hendrin and the girl were nearly at the door. “What?”

“I’ll let you in,” he said. “I’ll let you see Darrien and take him the girl. It’s rare to let a common soldier in, but in this case perhaps it can be done.”

“And how much do I bribe you?”

“Crudely put,” said the Venusian. “But I ask no money of you. Simply that—if Darrien, for some reason, should not care to buy the girl, I get her. Free.”

Hendrin scowled, but his active mind had already jumped to that conclusion. It was too bad for the girl, of course, but what of that? At least he’d definitely get to see Darrien this way—which was his whole plan. And the chance of Darrien’s turning down the girl was slim.

“Fair enough,” he said aloud. The girl uttered a little gasp of mingled shame and rage at this latest bargain. “How do I reach Darrien?”

“I’ll give you a pass to the tunnel leading to the throne-room. The rest is up to you. But remember this: you won’t live long if you try to cheat me.”

“I’m a man of my word,” Hendrin said, meaning it. He accepted the pass from Dorvis Graal, grinned wolfishly, and seized the girl’s arm. “Which way do I go?”

“The tunnel entrance is down there,” Dorvis Graal said, pointing. “And here’s hoping Darrien isn’t in a buying mood today.” He leered suggestively as Hendrin led the girl away.

* * *

Lon Archman watched, puzzled as the Mercurian and the girl disappeared into Dorvis Graal’s office. He had followed them this far without difficulty—but now that he was within Darrien’s compound, he had no idea where he was heading now. His body writhed impatiently, longing for action, but his mind kept careful check, holding him back. This was a game that had to be played cautiously.

The Mercurian was selling the girl to Darrien. That seemed like a good dodge, thought Archman—except where was he going to get another girl to take to the tyrant? He’d have to find some other way of working himself into the palace. It was too late to overpower the Mercurian and take the girl from the Planetoids to Darrien himself.

Or was it? He wondered…

Suddenly the door of Dorvis Graal’s office opened and Hendrin and the girl stepped out into the street again. Archman noticed that the girl no longer wore her tattered clothes; she had been stripped bare in the Viceroy’s office, it seemed. Now she wore the Mercurian’s cloak loosely around her shoulders, but it concealed little.

And Hendrin was clutching some sort of paper in his hand. A pass?

Yes. It had to be a pass. A pass to see Darrien!

A plan formed itself instantly in Archman’s mind, and he broke from the shadows and dashed toward Dorvis Graal’s office just as the girl and Mercurian disappeared into another door.

A figure stepped forward to intercept him after he had run no more than a dozen paces. Archman felt a stiff-armed fist hurl him back, and he stared into the barrel of a cocked zam-gun.

“Where are you heading so fast?” The speaker was a Martian guard.

“I have to see Dorvis Graal. It’s on a matter of high treason! Darrien’s in danger of an assassin!”

“What?” The Martian’s expression shifted from one of menacing hostility to keen interest. “Are you lying?”

“Of course not, you fool. Now get out of my way and let me get to the Viceroy before it’s too late!”

The zam-gun was holstered and Archman burst past. He reached Dorvis Graal’s office, flung open the door, and bowed humbly to the glittering-eyed Venusian, who looked up in some astonishment.

“Who are you? What’s the meaning of this?”

“I’m Lon Archman of Darrien’s brigade. Quick, sir—have a Mercurian and a girl been through here in the last minute or so?”

“Yes, but—say, what business is this of yours?”

“That Mercurian’s an assassin!” Archman got as much excitement into his voice as he could manage. “I’ve been following him all morning, but he shook me just outside the entrance to the compound. He intends to kill Darrien!”

A mixture of emotions played suddenly over the Viceroy’s face—greed, fear, curiosity, disbelief. “Indeed? Well, that can easily be stopped. He’s in the tunnel, on the way to Darrien. I’ll have the tunnel guards intercept him and send him up to Froljak the Interrogator for some questioning. Thanks for your information, Archman.”

“May I go after him, sir?”

“What?”

“Into the tunnel. I want to kill that Mercurian, sir. Myself. I don’t want your tunnel guards to do it.”

“They’re not going to kill him,” Dorvis Graal said impatiently. “They’ll just hold him for questioning, and if you’re telling the truth that he’s an assassin—”

Archman scowled. This wasn’t getting him into the tunnel, where he wanted to go. “Let me go after him, sir,” he pleaded. “As a reward. A reward for telling you. I want to be in on the capture.”

Dorvis Graal seemed to relent. It was pretty flimsy, Archman thought, but maybe—

Yes. “Here’s a pass to the tunnel,” the Viceroy said. “Get going, now—and report back to me when it’s all over.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks!”

Archman seized the pass and streaked for the tunnel at top speed.

After he had left, Dorvis Graal lifted the speaking-tube that gave him instant contact with the tunnel guards.

“Holgo?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Has a Mercurian passed through the tunnels yet? He’s got a naked wench with him.”

“Yes, sir. He and the girl came by this way two minutes ago. He had a pass, so I let him through. Is there anything wrong?”

“No—no, not at all,” Dorvis Graal said. Craftily he reasoned that even if the Mercurian reached Darrien safely, which he seemed likely to do, he’d probably not be facing the leader himself but only an expendable orthysynthetic duplicate. There was always time to catch him, if he really were the assassin.

And as for the Earthman—well, just to be safe Dorvis Graal decided to pick him up. He had seemed just a little too eager to get into the tunnel.

Into the tube he said, “There’s an Earthman coming into the tunnel now. He’s also got a pass, but I want you to pick him up and hold him for questioning. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dorvis Graal broke the contact and sat back. He wondered which one was lying, the Mercurian or the Earthman—or both. And just what would happen if an assassin reached Darrien.

Perhaps, Dorvis Graal thought, it might mean I’d reach power. Perhaps.

He sat back, an amused smile on his cold face, and contemplated the possibilities.

* * *

Hendrin reached the end of the long corridor and folded Dorvis Graal’s pass in his pocket. He would probably need it to get out again.

He turned to the girl. “Pull the cloak tight around you, lass. I don’t want Darrien to see your nakedness until the proper moment. And try to brighten up and look more desirable.”

“Why should I?” she sniffled. “Why should I care what I look like?”

Patiently the Mercurian said, “Because if Darrien doesn’t buy you I have to give you to that Venusian out there. And, believe me, you’ll be a lot better off with Darrien than in the arms of that foul-smelling tailed one out there. So cheer up; it’s the lesser of the two evils.” He closed the cloak around her and together they advanced toward Darrien’s throne room.

A stony-faced Martian guard stood outside the throne room. “What want you with Darrien?”

“I bring him a girl.” Hendrin pointed to Elissa, then showed the guard Dorvis Graal’s pass. “The Viceroy himself sent me to Darrien.”

“You can pass, then,” grunted the Martian. He opened the door and Hendrin stepped in.

It was a scene of utter magnificence. The vast room was lined from wall to wall with a fantastically costly yangskin rug, except in the very center, where a depression had been scooped out and a small pool created. In the pool two nude earthgirls swam, writhing sinuously for Darrien’s delight.

Darrien. Hendrin’s eyes slowly turned toward the throne at the side of the vast room. It was a bright platinum pedestal upon which Darrien and his mistress sat. Hendrin studied them while waiting to be noticed.

So that’s Darrien—or his double. The galaxy’s most brilliant and most evil man sat tensely on his throne, beady eyes darting here and there, radiating an unmistakably malevolent intelligence. Darrien was a small, shrunken man, his face a complex network of wrinkles and valleys. Darrien or his double, Hendrin reminded himself again. The possibility was slim that Darrien himself was here; more likely he was elsewhere in the palace, operating the dummy on the throne by a remote-control device he himself had conceived.

And at Darrien’s side, the lovely Meryola, Darrien’s mistress. She was clad in filmy vizosheen that revealed more than it hid, and the Mercurian was startled at the beauty revealed. It was known that Meryola’s beauty was enhanced by drugs from Darrien’s secret laboratories, but even so she was ravishing in her own right.

Hendrin had to admire Darrien. After the destruction of Venusia five years ago, a lesser man might have drifted into despair—but not Darrien. Goaded by the fierce rage and desire for vengeance that burnt within him, he had simply moved on to Mars and established here a kingdom twice as magnificent as that the Earthmen had destroyed on Venus.

He was talking now to a pair of bushy-tailed Venusians who stood before the throne. Lieutenants, obviously, receiving some sort of instructions. Hendrin made a mental note to find out who they were later.

Finally Darrien was through. The tyrant looked up and fixed Hendrin in his piercing gaze.

“Who are you, Mercurian, and what do you want here?”

Darrien’s voice was astonishingly deep and forceful for a man so puny in body. For a moment Hendrin was shaken by the man’s commanding tones.

Then he said, “I be Hendrin, sire, of your majesty’s legions. I bring with me a girl whom perhaps—”

“I might purchase,” snapped Darrien. “That fool Dorvis Graal! He knows well that I can’t be troubled with such petty things.”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Hendrin said with glib humility, “but the Viceroy said that this girl was of such surpassing beauty that he couldn’t set a proper price himself, and sent me to you with her.”

Hendrin noticed an interesting series of reactions taking place on the face of the tyrant’s mistress. Meryola had been staring curiously at the girl, who stood slumped beneath the shapeless cloak. As Hendrin spoke, Meryola seemed to stiffen as if fearing a rival; her breasts, half-visible through her gauzy garment, rose and fell faster, and her eyes flashed. Hendrin smiled inwardly. There were possibilities here.

Darrien was frowning, bringing even more wrinkles to his face. Finally he said, “Well, then, let’s see this paragon of yours. Unveil her—but if she is not all you say, both of you shall die, and Dorvis Graal in the bargain!”

Hendrin approached the girl. “Three lives depend on your beauty, now—including your own.”

“Why should I want to live?” she murmured.

Hendrin ignored it and ripped away the cloak. Elissa stood before Darrien totally nude. To his relief Hendrin saw the girl was cooperating; she stood tall and proud, her breasts outthrust, her pale body quivering as if with desire. Darrien stared at her for a long moment. Meryola, by his side, seemed ready to explode.

At length Darrien said, “You may live. She is a lovely creature. Cover her again, so all eyes may not see her.”

Hendrin obediently tossed the cloak over her shoulders and bowed to Darrien.

“Name your price.”

“Two hundred credas—and a captaincy in your forces.”

He held his breath. Darrien turned to Elissa.

“How old are you, girl?”

“Nineteen.”

“Has this Mercurian laid lustful hands on you?”

“I’ve never been with any man, sire,” the girl said, blushing.

“Umm.” To Hendrin Darrien said, “The captaincy is yours, and five hundred credas. Come, girl; let me show you where your quarters will be.”

* * *

Darrien rose from the throne, and Hendrin was surprised to see the man was a dwarf, no more than four feet high. He strode rapidly down the pedestal to Elissa’s side. She was more than a foot taller than he.

He led her away. Hendrin, his head bowed, glanced up slowly and saw Meryola fuming on the throne. Now was the time to act, he thought. Now.

“Your Highness!” he whispered.

She looked down at him. “I should have you flayed,” she said harshly. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“I fear I’ve brought your Highness a rival,” Hendrin said. “For this I beg your pardon; I had no way of knowing Darrien sought concubines for himself. And I sorely needed the money.”

“Enough,” Meryola said. Her face was black with anger, but still radiant. “Out of my sight, and let me deal with the problem you’ve brought me.”

“A moment, milady. May I speak?”

“Speak,” she said impatiently.

He stared at her smouldering gray-flecked eyes. “Milady, I wish to undo the damage I’ve caused you this day.”

“How could you do that?”

Hendrin thought quickly. “If you’ll go to my lord Darrien and occupy his attention for the next hour, I’ll slip within and find the girl. You need only sign an order testifying that she’s a traitor to Darrien, and I’ll convey her to the dungeons—where she’ll die before Darrien knows she’s missing.”

Meryola glanced at him curiously. “You’re a strange one, Hendrin the Mercurian. First you bring this ravishing creature to Darrien—then, when his back is turned, you offer to remove her again. Odd loyalty, Mercurian!”

Hendrin saw that he had blundered. “I but meant, milady, that I had no idea my act would have such consequences. I want the chance to redeem myself—for to bring a shadow between Darrien and Meryola would be to weaken all of our hopes.”

“Nicely spoken,” Meryola said, and Hendrin realized he had recovered control. He looked at her bluntly now, saw tiny crows’ feet beginning to show at the edges of her eyes. She was a lovely creature, but an aging one. He knew that she would be ultimately of great use to him.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll endeavor to separate Darrien from his new plaything—and while I’m amusing our lord, get you inside and take the girl away. I’ll double his five hundred credas if he never sees her again.”

“I thank you,” Hendrin said. The Mercurian offered her his arm as she dismounted from the throne. He felt a current of anticipation tingling in him. He was on his way, now. Already he had won Darrien’s approval—and, if he could only manage to convey the girl to the dungeons without Darrien’s discovering who had done it, he would be in the favor of the tyrant’s mistress as well. It was a good combination.

Legend had it that only Meryola knew when Darrien himself sat on the throne and when a duplicate. He would need her help when the time comes.

Exultantly he thought: Oh, Krodrang, Krodrang, you sent the right man for this job!

Quietly he slipped from the throne room in search of Elissa, feeling very proud of himself.

* * *

The entrance to the tunnel was guarded by two Venusians and a fin-handed Plutonian. Lon Archman approached and said, “Is this the way to Darrien’s throne room?”

“It is. What would you want there?”

Archman flashed the Viceroy’s pass. “This is all the explanation you should need.”

They stepped aside and allowed him through. The corridor was long and winding and lit by the bright glow of levon-tubes. There was no sign of the Mercurian or the girl up ahead.

That was all right, Archman thought. He had no particular interest in them, so long as he were inside the Palace itself. And his ruse had worked, evidently; here he was, with a pass to the throne room.

Trotting, he rounded a bend in the corridor and halted suddenly. Three Martians blocked his way, forming a solid bar across the tunnel.

“Stay right there, Earthman.”

“I’ve got a pass from Dorvis Graal,” he snapped impatiently. “Let me go.” He smelled the foul musk of the Martians as they clustered around him.

“Hand over the pass,” ordered the foremost of the trio.

Suspiciously Archman gave him the slip. The Martian read it, nodded complacently, and ripped the pass into a dozen pieces, which he scattered in the air.

“Hey! You can’t do that! Dorvis Graal—”

“Dorvis Graal himself has just phoned me to revoke your pass,” the Martian informed him. “You’re to be held for questioning as a possible assassin.”

Grimly Archman saw what had happened. His 97.003% rating had fooled him into thinking he was some sort of superman. Naturally, the Viceroy had been suspicious of the strange-faced, over-eager Earthman with the wild story, and had ordered his pickup. Possibly the Mercurian and the girl were safely within, or else they had been picked up too. It didn’t make any difference. The wily Viceroy was cautiously taking no chances in the affair.

Almost instantly Archman’s zam-gun was in his hand, and a second later the Martian’s tusked face was a blossoming nightmare, features disappearing in a crackle of atomized dust. The man sagged to the floor. Archman turned to the other two, but they had moved already. A club descended on his arm with stunning force and the zam-gun dropped from his numbed fingers. He struck out with his fist, feeling a stiff jolt of pain run through him as he connected.

“Dorvis Graal said not to kill him,” said one of the Martians.

Archman whirled, trying to keep eyes on both of them at once, but it was impossible. As one rocked back from the force of the Earthman’s blow, the other drew near. Archman felt hot breath behind him, turned—

And a copperwood club cracked soundly against the side of his head. He fought desperately for consciousness, realizing too late that he had blundered terribly. Then the club hit him again and a searing tide of pain swept up around him, blotting out tunnel and Martians and everything.

* * *

Hendrin confronted the shivering Elissa. She stood before a mirror clad only in a single sheer garment Darrien had given her.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Now, before Darrien comes back!”

“Where will you take me?”

“Away from here. I’ll hide you in the dungeons until it’s safe to get you out. Now that I’ve been paid, I don’t feel any need to give you to Darrien—and the tyrant’s mistress will pay me double to get you out.”

She smiled acidly. “I see. I suppose I’ll then be subject to your tender mercies again—until the next time you decide to sell me. Sorry, but I’m not going. I’ll take my chances here. Darrien probably takes good care of his women.”

“Meryola will kill you!”

“Possibly. But how long could I live with you outside? No, I’ll stay here, now that you’ve sold me.”

Hendrin cursed and pulled her to him. He hit her once, carefully, on the chin. She shuddered and went sprawling backward; he caught her—she was surprisingly light—and tossed her over his shoulder. Footsteps were audible at the door.

He glanced around, found a rear exit, and slipped through. A staircase beckoned. The Mercurian, bearing his unconscious burden, ran.

* * *

Through a dim haze of pain Lon Archman heard voices. Someone was saying, in a Martian’s guttural tones, “Put this one in a cell, will you?”

Another voice, with a Plutonian’s liquid accents, said, “Strange the dungeons should be so busy at this hour. But a few moments ago a Mercurian brought an Earthgirl here to be kept safe—a would-be assassin, I’m told.”

“As is this one. Here, lock him up. Dorvis Graal will be here to interrogate him later, and I suppose there’ll be the usual consequences.”

“That means two executions tomorrow,” said the Plutonian gleefully.

“Two?”

“Yes. The Lady Meryola sent me instructions just before you came that the Earthgirl is to die in the morning, without fail. Now the Earthman comes.” The jailer chuckled. “I think I’ll put ’em in the same cell. Let ’em enjoy their last night alive!”

Archman dizzily felt himself being thrown roughly into a cold room, heard a door clang shut behind him. He opened one eye painfully. Someone was sobbing elsewhere in the cell.

He looked. It was the Earthgirl, the one the Mercurian had been with. She lay in a crumpled, pathetic little heap in the far corner of the cell, sobbing. After a moment she looked up.

“It’s you—the Earthman!”

He nodded. “We’ve met before.”

A spasm of sobbing shook her.

“Ease up,” Archman said soothingly, despite the pain that flashed up and down his own battered body. “Stop crying!”

“Stop crying? Why? Why, when they’re going to kill us both tomorrow?”

End of Part One

II

Synopsis of what has gone before:

LON ARCHMAN of Universal Intelligence has been sent to Mars on the difficult task of assassinating DARRIEN, the shrewd madman who threatens Earth. Darrien had established an empire on Venus, destroyed five years earlier by Earth spaceships—but Darrien had fled to Mars and built an empire of even greater strength. It is Archman’s job to find Darrien and kill him—a job complicated by the fact that Darrien is known to utilize several orthysynthetic duplicate robots indistinguishable from himself.

At the same time, HENDRIN, a blue Mercurian in the pay of Krodrang, Overlord of Mercury, has arrived on Mars for similar reasons: to kill Darrien and transfer his secret weapons to Mercury. When Archman first encounters the Mercurian, Hendrin is with a captive Earthgirl, ELISSA HALL, whom he has purchased from a pair of drunken Venusian soldiers. Hendrin means to sell the girl to Darrien and thus gain access to the palace. Archman decides to follow Hendrin.

The Mercurian persuades DORVIS GRAAL, Darrien’s viceroy, to give him a pass to Darrien. Archman, using the device of accusing Hendrin of being an assassin, likewise gets past the Viceroy—but this time Dorvis Graal has doubts, and orders pickup of both Hendrin and Archman for questioning.

Archman is caught in the tunnel that leads to Darrien’s palace. Hendrin and Elissa get through and the Mercurian shows the girl to Darrien, who is immediately taken by her beauty and buys her.

However, MERYOLA, Darrien’s mistress, is jealous of the newcomer. She bribes Hendrin to spirit Elissa away from Darrien and hide her in the dungeons of the palace.

Archman and Elissa, who had met briefly before, now meet again—in the same cell. And all signs point to their executions the follow-ing morning.

In the darkness of the cell, Archman eyed the shadow-etched figure of the girl uneasily. He was twenty-three; he had spent six years in Universal Intelligence, including his training period. That made him capable of handling tusked Martians and finny Plutonians with ease, but a sobbing Earthgirl? There were no rules in the book for that.

Suddenly the girl sat up, and Archman saw her wipe her eyes. “Why am I crying?” she asked. “I should be happy. Tomorrow they’re going to kill me—and that’s the greatest favor I could wish for.”

“Don’t talk like that!”

“Why not? Ever since Darrien’s raiders grabbed me on Planetoid Eleven, I’ve just been bought and sold, over and over, bargained for, used as a pawn in one maneuver after another. Do you think I care if they kill me now?”

Archman was silent. Flickering rays of light from somewhere outside bobbed at random in the cell, illuminating the girl’s almost bare form from time to time. He wanted to talk gently to her, to take her in his arms, to comfort her—

But he couldn’t. He was a trained assassin, not a smooth-talking romancer. The words wouldn’t come, and he crouched back on his heels, feeling the throbbing pain from his beating and the even sharper pain of not being able to speak.

It was the girl who broke the silence. She said, “And what of you? You’re a renegade, a traitor to your home world. How will you feel when you die tomorrow? Clean?”

“You don’t understand,” Archman said tightly. “I’m not—” He paused. He didn’t dare to reveal the true nature of his mission.

Or did he? What difference did it make? In an hour or so, he would be taken to the Interrogator—and most assuredly they would pry from his unwilling subconscious the truth. Why not tell the girl now and at least go to death without her hating him? The conflict within him was brief and searing.

“You’re not what?” she asked sarcastically.

“I’m not a renegade,” he said, his voice leaden. “You don’t understand me. You don’t know me.”

“I know that you’re a cold-blooded calculating murderer. Do I need to know anything else, Archman?”

He drew close to her and stared evenly at her. In a harsh whisper he said, “I’m an Intelligence agent. I’m here to assassinate Darrien.”

There, he thought. He’d made his confession to her. It didn’t matter if the cell were tapped, though he doubted it—the Interrogator would dredge the information from him soon enough.

She met his gaze. “Oh,” she said simply.

“That changes things, doesn’t it? I mean—you don’t hate me any more, do you?”

She laughed—a cold tinkle of a sound. “Hate you? Do you expect me to love you, simply because you’re on the same side I am? You’re still cold-blooded. You’re still a killer. And I hate killers!”

“But—” He let his voice die away, realizing it was hopeless. The girl was embittered; he’d never convince her that he was anything but a killing machine, and it didn’t matter which side he was on. He rose and walked to the far corner of the cell.

After a few moments he said, “I don’t even know your name.”

“Do you care?”

“You’re my cellmate on the last night of my life. I’d like to know.”

“Elissa. Elissa Hall.”

He wanted to say, it’s a pretty name, but his tongue was tied by shame and anger. Bitterly he stared at the blank wall of the cell, reflecting that this was an ironic situation. Here he was, locked in a cell with a practically nude girl, and—

He stiffened. “Do you hear something?”

“No.”

“I do. Listen.”

“Yes,” she said a moment later. “I hear it!”

Footsteps. The footsteps of the Interrogator.

* * *

Cautiously, the blue Mercurian touched the stud of the door-communicator outside Meryola’s suite.

“Who’s there?” The voice was languid, vibrant.

“Hendrin. The Mercurian.”

“Come in, won’t you?”

The door slid aside and Hendrin entered. Meryola’s chamber was as luxuriously-appointed a suite as he had ever seen. Clinging damasks, woven with elaborate designs and figures, draped themselves artistically over the windows; a subtle fragrance lingered in the air, and, from above, warm jampulla-rays glowed, heating and sterilizing the air, preserving Meryola’s beauty.

As for Meryola herself, she lay nude on a plush yangskin rug, bronzing herself beneath a raylamp. As Hendrin entered, she rose coyly, stretched, and without sign of embarrassment casually donned a filmy robe. She approached Hendrin, and the usually unemotional Mercurian found himself strangely moved by her beauty.

“Well?” Her tone was business-like now.

“You ask of the girl?”

“Of what else?”

Hendrin smiled. “The girl has been disposed of. She lies in the dungeon below.”

“Has anyone seen you take her there? The mistress of the wardrobe, perhaps? That one’s loyal to Darrien, and hates me; I suspect she was once Darrien’s woman, before she aged.” A shadow of anger passed over Meryola’s lovely face, as if she were contemplating a fate in store for herself.

“No one saw me, your Highness. I induced her to leave the wardrobe-room and took her there by the back stairs. I handed her over to the jailer with orders to keep her imprisoned indefinitely. I gave him a hundred credas.”

Meryola nodded approvingly. She crossed the room, moving with the grace of a Mercurian sun-tiger, and snatched a speaking-tube from the wall.

“Dungeons,” she ordered.

A moment later Hendrin heard a voice respond, and Meryola said, “Was an Earthgirl brought to you just now by a large Mercurian? Good. The girl is to die at once; these are my orders. No, fool, no written confirmation is needed. The girl’s a traitor to Darrien; what more do you need but my word? Very well.”

She broke the contact and turned back to Hendrin. “She dies at once, Mercurian. You’ve been faithful. Faithful, and shrewd—for Darrien pays you to bring the girl here, and Meryola pays you to take her away.”

She opened a drawer, took out a small leather pouch, handed it to Hen-drin. Tactfully he accepted it without opening it and slipped it into his sash.

“Your servant, milady.”

Inwardly he felt mildly regretful; the girl had come in for raw treatment. But soon she’d be out of her misery. In a way, it was unfortunate; with the girl alive he might have had further power over Meryola. Still, he had gained access to the palace, which was a basic objective, and he had won the gratitude of Darrien’s mistress, which was the second step. As for the third—

“Lord Darrien will be angry when he finds the girl is missing, milady. There’s no chance he’ll accuse me—”

“Of course not. He’ll be angry for a moment or two, but I think I’ll be able to console him.” She yawned delicately, and for an instant her gown fluttered open. She did not hurry to close it. Hendrin wondered if, perhaps, she longed for some variety after five years of Darrien’s embraces.

“Our master must be pleased to have one so fair as you,” the blue Mercurian said. He moved a little closer to Meryola, and she did not seem to object. “Legend has it that he trusts you with his innermost secrets—such as the identity of his robot duplicates.”

Meryola chuckled archly. “So the galaxy knows of the orthysynthetics, eh? Darrien’s Achilles heel, so to speak. I thought it was a secret.”

“It is as widely known as your loveliness,” Hendrin said. He was nearly touching Meryola by now.

Frowning curiously, she reached out and touched his bare shoulder. She rubbed her forefinger over the Mercurian’s hard shell and commented, “You blue ones are far from thin-skinned, I see.”

“Our planet’s climate is a rigorous one, milady. The shell is needed.”

“So I would imagine. Rough-feeling stuff, isn’t it? I wonder what the feel of it against my whole body would be like….”

Smiling, Hendrin said, “If milady would know—”

She edged closer to him. He felt a quiver of triumph; through Meryola, he could learn the secret of Darrien’s robot duplicates. He extended his massive arms and gently caressed her shoulders.

She seemed to melt into him. The Mercurian started to fold her in his arms. Then his hypersensitive ears picked up the sound of relays clicking in the door.

In one quick motion he had pushed her away and bent stiffly, kneeling in an attitude of utter devotion. It was none too soon. Before she had a chance to register surprise, the door opened.

Darrien entered.

* * *

Lon Archman crouched in the far corner of the cell, listening to the talk going on outside.

A cold Martian voice was saying, “There’s an Earthman here. Dorvis Graal wants him brought to Froljak the Interrogator for some questions.”

“Certainly.” It was the Plutonian jailer who spoke. “And how about the girl? Do you want her too?”

“Girl? What girl? My orders say only to get the Earthman. I don’t know anything about a girl.”

“Very well. I’ll give you the man only.” The Plutonian giggled thickly. “And when Froljak’s through with him, I guess you can bring the shattered shell back to me and I’ll put it out of its misery. Froljak is very thorough.”

“Yes,” the Martian said ominously. “Take me to the cell.”

Suddenly Archman was conscious of the girl’s warmth against him, of her breasts and thighs clinging to him.

“They’re going to take you away!” she said. “They’re going to leave me here alone.”

“A moment ago you said you hated me,” Archman reminded her bluntly.

She ignored him. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed. “Don’t let them kill me.”

“You’ll be on your own now. I’m going to be Interrogated.” He shuddered slightly. The capital “I” on “Interrogated” was all too meaningful. It was an inquisition he would never survive.

“Is this the cell?” the Martian asked, outside.

“That’s right. They’re both in there.”

The cell door began to open. Elissa huddled sobbing on the floor. Archman realized he had been a fool to give up so easily, to even allow the thought of death to enter his mind while he still lived.

“When the Martian comes in,” he whispered, “throw yourself at his feet. Beg for mercy; do anything. Just distract him.”

Her sobbing stopped, and she nodded.

Archman flattened himself against the wall. The Martian, a burly, broad-shouldered, heavy-tusked specimen, entered the cell.

“Come, Earthman. Time for some questions.”

Elissa rose and leaped forward. She threw herself at the Martian, grovelling before him, clasping his ankles appealingly.

“What? Who are you?”

“Don’t let them kill me! Please—I don’t want to die! I’ll do anything! Just get me out of here!”

The Martian frowned. “This must be the Earthgirl,” he muttered. To Elissa he said, I’m not here for you. I want the Earthman. Is he here?”

“Don’t let them kill me!” Elissa wailed again, wrapping herself around the Martians legs.

Archman sprang.

He hit the Martian squarely amidships, and the evil-smelling breath left the alien in one grunted gust. At the same moment Elissa’s supplication turned into an attack; with all her strength she tugged at the surprised Martian, knocked him off balance.

The zam-gun flared and ashed a chunk of the wall. Archman drove a fist into the Martian’s corded belly, and the alien staggered. Archman hit him again, and smashed upward from the floor to shatter a tusk. A gout of Martian blood spurted.

The Martian thrashed about wildly; Archman saw a blow catch Elissa and hurl her heavily against the wall. He redoubled his own efforts and within moments had efficiently reduced the Martian to a sagging mass of semi-conscious flesh, nothing more. He seized the zam-gun.

“Elissa! Come on!”

But the girl was slumped unconscious on the floor. He took a hesitant step toward her, then whirled as a voice behind him cried, “What’s all the noise around here?”

It was the Plutonian jailer. And the door was beginning to close.

Nimbly Archman leaped through, as the micronite door clanged shut on the girl and the unconscious Martian. The Plutonian had done whatever had to be done to close the cell door. Now he was fumbling for a weapon.

The fish-man’s wide mouth bobbed in astonishment as Archman sprang toward him.

“The Earthman! How—who—”

Viciously Archman jabbed the zam-gun between the spread lips and fired. The Plutonian died without a whimper, his head incinerated instantly.

Archman turned back to the door. He heard Elissa’s faint cries within.

But there was no sign of a lever. How did the door open? He ran up and down the length of the cell block, looking for some control that would release the girl.

There was none.

“Step back from the door. I’m going to try to blast it open.”

He turned the zam-gun to full force and cut loose. The micronite door glowed briefly, but that was all. A mere zam-gun wouldn’t break through.

Angrily Archman kicked at the door, and a hollow boom resounded. Time was running short, and the girl was irretrievably locked in. The door obviously worked on some secret principle known only to the jailers, and there was no chance for him to discover the secret now.

“Elissa—can you hear me?”

“Yes.” Faintly.

“There’s no way I can get you out. I can’t stay here; there’s certain to be someone here before long.”

“Go, then. Leave me here. There’s no sense in both of us being trapped.”

He smiled. There seemed to be a warmth in her voice that had been absent before. “Good girl,” he said. “Sorry—but—”

“That’s all right. You’d better hurry!”

Archman turned, stepped over the fallen form of the Plutonian jailer, and dashed the length of the dungeon, toward the winding stairs that led upward. He had no idea where he was heading, only knew he had to escape.

The stairs were dark; visibility was poor. He ran at top speed, zam-gun holstered but ready to fly into action at an instant’s notice.

He rounded a curve in the staircase and started on the next flight. Suddenly a massive figure stepped out of the shadows on the landing, and before Archman could do anything he felt himself enmeshed in a giant’s grip.

* * *

Hendrin froze in the kneeling position, waiting for Darrien to enter the room.

The diminutive tyrant wore a loose saffron robe, and he was frowning grimly. Hendrin wondered if this were the real Darrien, or the duplicate he had seen before—or perhaps another duplicate entirely.

“You keep strange company, Meryola,” Darrien said icily. “I thought to find you alone.”

Hendrin rose and faced Darrien. “Sire—”

“Oh! The Mercurian who bought me the fair wench! I’m glad to see you here too. I have a question for the two of you.”

“Which is?” Meryola asked.

Instead of answering, Darrien paced jerkily around the chamber, peering here and there. Finally he looked up.

“The girl,” he boomed. “Elissa. What have you done with her?”

Hendrin stared blankly at Darrien, grateful for the hard mask of a Mercurian’s face that kept him from betraying his emotions. As for Meryola, she merely sneered.

“Your new plaything, Darrien? I haven’t seen her since this Mercurian unveiled her before you.”

“Hmm. Hendrin, what were you doing here, anyway?”

The Mercurian tensed. “Milady wished to speak to me,” he said, throwing the ball to her. In a situation like this it didn’t pay to be a gentleman. “I was about to receive her commands when you entered, sire.”

“Well, Meryola?”

She favored Hendrin with a black look and said, “I was about to send the Mercurian on an errand to the perfumers’ shop. My stocks are running low.”

Darrien chuckled. “Clever, but you’ve done better, I fear. There are plenty of wenches around who’ll run your errands—and your supply of perfumes was replenished but yesterday.” The little man’s eyes burnt brightly with the flame of his malevolent intelligence. “I don’t know why you try to fool me, Meryola, but I’ll be charitable and accept your word for more than it’s worth.”

He fixed both of them with a cold stare. “I suspect you two of a conspiracy against Elissa—and you, Mercurian, are particularly suspect. Meryola, you’ll pay if the girl’s been harmed. And, Hendrin—I want the girl back.”

“Sire, I—”

“No discussion! Mercurian, bring back the girl before nightfall, or you’ll die!”

Darrien scowled blackly at both of them, then turned sharply on his heel and stalked out. Despite his four feet of height, he seemed an awesome, commanding figure.

The door closed loudly.

“I didn’t expect that,” Meryola said. “But I should have. Darrien is almost impossible to deceive.”

“What do we do now?” Hendrin said. “The girl, milady—”

“The girl is in the dungeons, awaiting execution. She’ll be dead before Darrien discovers where she is.”

Hendrin rubbed his dome-like head. “You heard what Darrien said, though. Either I produce the girl or I die. Do you think he’ll go through with it?”

“Darrien always means what he says. Unfortunately for you, so do I.” She stared coldly at him. “The girl is in the dungeons. Leave her there. If you do produce the girl alive I’ll have you killed.”

Hendrin nodded unhappily. “Milady—”

“No more, now. Get away from me before Darrien returns. I want to take his mind off Elissa until the execution’s past. Then it will be too late for him to complain. Leave me.”

Baffled, Hendrin turned away and passed through the door into the hallway, which was dimly lit with levon-tubes. He leaned against the wall for a moment, brooding.

Events had taken a deadly turn. He had interposed himself between Darrien and Meryola, and now he was doomed either way. If he failed to restore Elissa to Darrien, the tyrant would kill him—but if he did bring back the Earthgirl, Meryola would have him executed. He was caught either way.

For once his nimble mind was snared. He shook his head moodily.

The girl was in the dungeon. The shadow of a plan began to form in his mind—a plan that might carry him on to success. He would need help, though. He would need an accomplice for this; it was too risky a maneuver to attempt to carry off himself.

The first step, he thought, would be to free the girl. That was all-important. With her dead, there was no chance for success.

Quickly he found the hall that led toward the stairs, and entered the gloomy, dark stairwell. He started downward, downward, around the winding metal staircase, heading for the dungeons where he had left the girl.

There was a sound as of distant thunder coming from below. Someone running up the stairs, Hendrin wondered? He paused, listening.

The noise grew louder. Yes. Someone was coming.

Cautiously he stepped back into the shadows of the landing, and peered downward waiting to see who was coming.

He could see, on the winding levels below, the figure—the figure of an Earthman. By Hargo, he thought. It’s the one who tried to buy the girl from me—Archman! What’s he doing here?

Then the Mercurian thought: He’s shifty. Perhaps I can use him.

He ducked back into the shadows and waited. A moment later Archman, breathless, came racing up the stairs. Hendrin let him round the bend, then stepped out of the darkness and seized the Earthman firmly.

* * *

Lon Archman stiffened tensely as the unknown attacker’s arms tightened about his chest. He struggled to free his hands, to get at the zam-gun, but it was impossible. The assailant held his arms pinioned in an unbreakable hold.

He squirmed and kicked backward; his foot encountered a hard surface.

A deep voice said, “Hold still, Archman! I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“Who are you?”

“Hendrin. The Mercurian. Where are you heading?”

“None of your business,” Archman said. “Let go of me.”

To his surprise, the blue alien said, “All right.” Archman found himself free. He stepped away and turned, one hand on his zam-gun.

The Mercurian was making no attempt at an attack. “I want to talk to you,” Hendrin said.

“Talk away,” Archman snapped.

“Where are you coming from? What are you doing in the palace, anyway?”

“I’m coming from the dungeons, where I was tossed by some of Darrien’s tunnel guards. I’m escaping. Understand that? And as soon as I’m through telling you this, I’m going to blast a hole in you so you don’t carry the word back to your master Darrien.”

Surprise and shock were evident on the Mercurian’s face.“Escaping? From Darrien?”

“Yes.”

“Strange. From our brief meeting I thought you were loyal. Who are you, Archman?”

“That doesn’t much concern you.” He gestured impatiently with the zam-gun, but he was reluctant to blast the Mercurian down. It seemed that the blue man was concealing something that could be important.

There was a curious expression on the Mercurian’s hard-shelled face, as well. Archman looked warily around; no one was in sight. He wondered just how loyal to Darrien the Mercurian was…and if Hendrin could be used to further his own ends.

“I’ve just been talking to that girl you brought in here,” he said. “What’s she doing in the dungeons? I thought you were going to sell her to Darrien.”

“I did. Darrien’s mistress Meryola had a fit of jealousy and ordered the girl killed, while Darrien’s back was turned.”

“I see!” Archman now understood a number of things. “All’s not well between Darrien and his mistress, then?” He grinned. “And you’re the cause of the trouble, I’ll bet.”

“Exactly,” said the Mercurian. “You say the girl’s still in the dungeons alive?”

Archman nodded. “For the time being. She’s locked in, but the jailer’s dead. I killed him when I escaped.”

“Hmm. I’m in a funny fix—Darrien wants me to get the girl back for him, or else he’ll kill me—but if I return the girl Meryola kills me. It’s a tight squeeze for me.”

“I’ll say.” Plans were forming rapidly in Archman’s mind. If he could get the girl out of the dungeon, and somehow manipulate her and this Mercurian, who was undeniably in a bad situation—

“Earthman, can I trust you to keep your tongue quiet?” Hendrin asked suddenly.

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“I’ll have to take my chances then. But you’re a renegade; I’ll assume your highest loyalty isn’t to Darrien but to yourself. Am I right?”

“You could be,” Archman admitted.

“Okay. How would you like to have that girl for yourself, plus half a million credas? It can be arranged, if you’ll play along with me.”

Archman allowed a crafty glint of greediness to shine in his eyes, and said, “You kidding?”

“Mercurians generally play for keeps. I’m telling the truth. Are you interested? The girl, and half a million platinum credas.”

“Who foots the bill?”

There was a long pause. Then Hendrin said, “Krodrang. The Overlord of Mercury. I’m in his pay.”

A tremor of astonishment rocked Archman, nearly throwing him off guard. He mastered himself and said, “I thought you were one of Darrien’s men. What’s this about Krodrang?”

Lowering his voice and peering cautiously around the stairs, the Mercurian said: “Krodrang is one who would usurp the power of Darrien. I’m on Mars for the purpose of killing Darrien and stealing his power. If you’ll play along with me, I’ll see to it that you get the girl—and Krodrang is not a poor man.”

Archman was totally amazed. So there were two assassins out for Darrien’s neck! Well, he thought, between us we ought to get him.

But as he stared at the Mercurian, he knew that killing Darrien would not end the job. Hendrin would have to go, too—or else he’d get back to Krodrang with the plans for the Clanton Mine, the orthysynthetic robots, and other of Darrien’s secrets, and Earth would face attack from Mercury.

It would take delicate handling. But for the moment Archman had an ally working toward the same end he was.

“Well?” Hendrin asked. “What do you say?”

“Kill Darrien and collect from Krodrang, eh? It sounds good to me. Only—how are you going to get at Darrien? Those orthysynthetic robots—”

“Meryola knows which of the Darriens is real and which a robot. And she’s scared stiff that the Earthgirl’s going to replace her in Darrien’s affections. I’ve got an idea,” Hendrin said. “We can play Darrien and Meryola off against each other and get everything we want from them. It’s tricky, but I think you’re a good man, Earthman—and I know I am.”

He had the Mercurian’s characteristic lack of modesty, Archman thought. The Earthman wondered how far he could trust the blueskin.

It looked good. As long as the Mercurian thought that Archman was simply a mercenary selling out to the highest bidder and not a dedicated Earthman with a stake of his own in killing Darrien, all would be well.

“Where do we begin?” Archman asked.

“We begin by shaking hands. From now on we’re in league to assassinate the tyrant Darrien, you and I.”

“Done!” Archman gripped the Mercurian’s rough paw tightly.

“All right,” Hendrin said. “Let’s get down to the dungeon and free Elissa. Then I’ll explain the plan I’ve got in mind.”

* * *

In the musty, dank darkness of the dungeon level, Archman said, “She’s in that cell—the third one from the left. But I don’t know how to open it. There’s a Martian in there with her.”

“How did that happen?”

“They came to get me—Dorvis Graal wanted to question me on some silly matter, which is why I was being held here. I decided to make a break for it. The door was closing as I ran out. The girl and the Martian were trapped inside.”

“And you couldn’t get them out?”

“No,” Archman said. “I couldn’t figure out how to open the door again. I tried, but it was no go, so I started up the stairs. Then you caught me.”

The Mercurian nodded. Suddenly he stumbled and grunted a sharp Mercurian curse.

“What happened?”

“Tripped on something.” He looked down and said, “By the fins I’d say it’s a Plutonian. His head’s been blown off with a zam-gun.”

“That’s the jailer,” Archman said. “I killed him when I escaped.”

“He would have known how to open this damned lock, too. Well, I guess it couldn’t be helped. Did you try blasting this door open with your gun?”

“Wouldn’t work. The door heated up, but that was all.”

Again the Mercurian grunted. He began to grope along the wall, feeling his way, looking for a switch. Archman joined him, even though in the murky darkness he could scarcely see. The Mercurian’s eyes were much sharper. A Mercurian needed extraordinary eyes: they had to filter out the fantastic glare of the sun in one hemisphere, and yet be able to see in the inky gloom of Mercury’s nightside.

“These doors work by concealed relays,” Archman said. “There ought to be a switch that trips the works and pulls back the door. That Plutonian knew where it was.”

“And so do I,” Hendrin exclaimed. He extended a clawed hand into one of the darkest corners of the cell block and said, “There are four controls here. I guess it’s one for each of these cells. I’m going to pull the third from the left, and you get ready in case that Martian makes trouble.”

“Right.”

Archman drew his zam-gun and stood guard. No sound came from within; he hoped Elissa was all right. She’d been left alone with that Martian for nearly twenty minutes now. Quite possibly the tusked creature had recovered consciousness by now. Archman hoped not.

“Here goes,” Hendrin said.

He yanked the switch. The relays clicked and the door slid open.

* * *

Archman half expected the Martian to come charging out as soon as the door opened. He expected to be fighting for his life. He expected almost anything but what he actually saw.

The Martian was lying where he had left him, sprawled in the middle of the cell. Elissa, clad only in her single filmy garment, was squatting by the Martian’s head.

As the door opened, the Martian stirred. Elissa coolly reached out, grabbed a handful of the alien’s wiry skull-hair, and cracked the Martian’s head soundly against the concrete floor of the cell. The Martian subsided.

Elissa looked up, saw Archman. “Oh—it’s you.”

“Yes. I came back to free you,” he said. “I see you’ve been having no trouble with your friend here.”

She laughed a little hysterically. “No. Every time he started to wake up, I banged his head against the floor. But I didn’t know how long I could keep on doing it.”

“You don’t need to any more,” said Hendrin, appearing suddenly. “Archman, you’d better tie the Martian up so he doesn’t give us any more trouble.”

At the sight of the hulking Mercurian, Elissa uttered a little gasp. “You—!”

“What am I going to tie him in?” Archman asked.

“You might tear my robe up into strips,” Elissa suggested, bitter sarcasm in her voice. “I’ve been wearing clothing for almost an hour anyway.”

“That’s an idea,” said the Mercurian coolly. “Yes—use her robe, Archman.”

The Earthman chuckled. “I don’t think she intended you to take her seriously, Hendrin. I’ll use my shirt instead.”

“As you please,” the Mercurian said.

Elissa glared defiantly at both of them. “Who are you going to sell me to now?” she asked. “You, Hendrin—you’ve parlayed me into quite a fortune by now, haven’t you?”

Archman realized that he had told the girl his true identity. Cold sweat covered him at the recollection. If she should give him away—

To prevent that he said quickly, “Say, Hendrin, the girl’s had a raw deal. I suggest we tell her what part she plays in this enterprise right now.”

“Very well. I’m sorry for the mistreatment I’ve given you,” Hendrin told her. “Unfortunately you became part of a plan. I’m on Mars for the purpose of assassinating Darrien. I’m in the pay of Krodrang of Mercury.”

“And I’m assisting him,” Archman said hastily, nudging Elissa to warn her not to ask any questions. “We’re both working to assassinate Darrien. You can help us, Elissa.”

“How?”

“Hendrin will explain,” Archman said.

“I’ll help you only at one condition—that you free me once whatever plan you have is carried out.”

Hendrin glanced at Archman, who nodded. “Very well,” Hendrin lied. “You receive your freedom once the job is done.” He smiled surreptitiously at Archman as if to tell him, The girl will be yours.

Archman rose. “There. He’s tied. All right, Hendrin: explain this plan of yours, and then let’s get out of here.”

He faced the Mercurian eagerly, wondering just what the blue man had devised. Archman was a shrewd opportunist; he had to be, to handle his job. Right now he was willing to pose as Hendrin’s stooge or as anything else, for the sake of killing Darrien. Afterward, he knew he could settle the score with Krodrang’s minion.

“Here’s what I have in mind,” Hendrin said. “Darrien and Meryola are at odds over this girl, right? Very well, then. I’ll take Elissa back to Darrien—”

“No!” This from the girl.

“Just for a few minutes, Elissa. To continue: I’ll take the girl to Darrien, and tell him that Meryola ordered her killed, and I’ll make up enough other stories so Darrien will send out an order to execute Meryola. I think he’s sufficiently smitten by Elissa to do that.

“Meanwhile, you, Archman—you go to Meryola and tell her what I’ve done. Tell her Darrien is going to have her killed, and suggest to her that if she wants to stay alive she’d better get to Darrien first. After that, it’s simple. She’ll tell you how to kill Darrien; you do it, we rescue Elissa, get Meryola out of the way somehow, and the job is done. Neat?”

“I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” Archman said admiringly. It was so: this was exactly as he would have handled the situation. He felt a moment of regret that he and Hendrin were working for opposite masters; what a valuable man the Mercurian would be in Intelligence!

But Hendrin would have to die too, for Earth’s sake. He was a clever man. But so was Darrien, Archman thought. And Darrien would have to die.

“What about me?” Elissa asked. “Are you sure you’ll get me out of this all right?”

Archman took her hand in his, and was gratified that she didn’t pull away. “Elissa, we’re asking you to be a pawn one last time. One more sale—and then we’ll rid the universe of Darrien. Will you cooperate?”

She hesitated for a moment. Then she smiled wanly. “I’m with you,” she said.

* * *

Hendrin waited nervously outside the throneroom with the girl. “You say Darrien’s in there, but not Meryola?” he asked the unsmiling guard.

“Just Darrien,” the guard replied.

“The stars are with us,” Hendrin muttered. He took the girl’s arm and they went in.

Together they dropped on their knees. “Sire!”

Darrien rose from the throne, and an expression of joy lit his warped little face. “Well, Mercurian! You’ve brought the girl—and saved your life.”

“I did it not to save my life but my honor,” Hendrin said unctuously. “Your Majesty had accused me of acting in bad faith—but I’ve proved my loyalty by recovering the girl for you.”

Darrien came waddling toward them on his absurdly tiny legs and looked Elissa up and down. “You’ve been in the dungeons, my dear. I can tell by the soot clinging to your fair skin. But by whose order were you sent there?”

Hendrin glanced at the courtiers, who maintained a discreet distance but still were within hearing. “Sire, may I talk to you a moment privately?”

“About what?”

“About the girl…and Meryola.”

Darrien’s sharp eyes flashed. “Come with me, then. Your words may be of value to me.”

The dwarfish tyrant led Hendrin into a smaller but equally luxurious room that adjoined the throne room. Hendrin stared down at the tiny Darrien, nearly half his height. Within that swollen skull, the Mercurian thought, lay the galaxy’s keenest and most fiendish mind. Could Darrien be manipulated? That was yet to be seen.

One thing was certain: this was not the real Darrien before him. The tyrant would not be so foolish as to invite a massive Mercurian into a small closed room like this; it would amount to an invitation to assassinate him.

“Sire, the girl Elissa was in the dungeons at the direct order of the lady Meryola.”

“I suspected as much,” Darrien muttered.

“And when I arrived there, I found that the jailer was about to carry out an order of execution on Elissa, also at your lady’s behest.”

“What!”

Hendrin nodded. “So strong was the order that I was forced to kill the jailer, a worthless Plutonian, to prevent him from carrying out the execution.”

“This is very interesting,” Darrien mused. “Meryola rightly senses a rival—and has taken steps to eliminate her. Steps which you have circumvented, Hendrin.” Gratitude shone in Darrien’s crafty eyes.

“I have further news for you, Sire. When you came upon me in Meryola’s chambers earlier today—it was not an errand of perfumery that brought me there.”

“I hardly thought it might be.”

“On the contrary—your lady was pleading with me—to assassinate you!”

Darrien—or the Darrien-robot—turned several shades paler. Hendrin reflected that the robot, if this were one, was an extraordinarily sensitive device.

“She said this to you?” Darrien asked. “She threatened my life?”

“She offered me five thousand credas. Naturally, I refused. Then she offered me her body as well—and at this point you entered the room.”

Darrien scowled. “My life is worth only five thousand credas to her, eh? But tell me—had I not entered the room, Mercurian, would you have accepted her second offer?”

“I was sorely tempted,” Hendrin said, grinning. “But pretty women are easily come by—while you are unique.”

“Mere flattery. But you’re right; Meryola has outlived her worth to me, and I see now that I’ll have to dispose of her quickly.” Darrien reached for the speaking-tube at his elbow. “I’ll order her execution at once—and many thanks to you for this information, friend Hendrin.”

* * *

Archman paused for a moment outside the door of Meryola’s private chamber, preparing his plan of attack and reviewing the whole operation so far.

He’d been in and out of trouble—but Darrien was going to die. The mission would be accomplished. And Lon Archman would sur-vive it.

He had a double motive for survival now. One was the simple one of wanting to stay alive; two was the fact that he now thought he had someone to stay alive for. Perhaps.

He knocked gently at the door.

“Who’s there?”

“You don’t know me, but I’m a friend. I’ve come to warn you.”

A panel in the door opened and Archman found himself staring at a dark-hued eye. “Who are you from, Earthman? What do you want?”

“Please let me in. Your life depends on my seeing you.”

A moment passed—then the door opened.

“Are you the lady Meryola?”

“I am.”

She was breathtakingly lovely. She wore but the merest of wraps, and firm breasts, white thighs, were partially visible. There was a soft, clinging sexuality about her, and yet also a streak of hardness, of coldness, that Archman was able to appreciate. He also saw she was no longer very young.

She was holding a zam-gun squarely before his navel. “Come in, Earthman, and tell me what you will.”

Archman stepped inside her chambers. She was nearly as tall as he, and her beauty temporarily stunned him.

“Well?”

“Do you know Hendrin the Mercurian, milady?”

“Indeed. Are you from him?”

“Not at all. But I know Hendrin well. He’s a cheating rogue willing to sell out to any bidder.”

“This is hardly news,” Meryola said. “What of Hendrin.”

He eyed her almost insultingly before answering. Meryola was indeed a desirable creature, he thought—but for one night only. Archman mentally compared her with Elissa Hall, who was nearly as beautiful, though not half so flashy. It wasn’t difficult to see why Darrien preferred Elissa’s innocence to this aging, shrewd beauty.

He smiled. “At this very moment,” he said, “Hendrin is with our master Darrien. He has brought him the girl Elissa, and they are together now.”

“It’s a lie! Elissa’s in the dungeons!”

“Would you care to call your jailers, milady?”

She stared suspiciously at him and picked up the speaking-tube. After nearly a minute had passed, she looked back at Archman. “The line is dead, Earthman.”

“As is your jailer. Hendrin freed the girl and took her to Darrien. And one other fact might interest you: Darrien has tired of you. He has made out the order for your death.”

“Lies!”

Archman shrugged. “Lies, then. But within the hour the knife will be at your throat. He vastly prefers the younger girl. Believe me or not, at your peril. But if you choose to believe me, I can save your life.”

“How, schemer?”

He moved closer to her, until he was almost dizzied by her subtle perfume. “You hold the secret of Darrien’s robots. Reveal it to me, and I’ll destroy Darrien. Then, perhaps, another Earthman will claim your favors. Surely you would not object to ruling with me.”

She laughed, a harsh, indrawn laugh, and it seemed to Archman that the cat’s claws had left their furry sheath. “You? So that’s your motive—you ask me to yield Darrien’s secret in order to place yourself on the throne. Sorry, but I’m not that foolish. You’re an enterprising rascal, whoever you are, but—”

Suddenly the door burst open. Three Martians, their tusks gleaming, their thick lips drawn back in anticipation of murder, came running in.

“Darrien’s assassins!” Archman cried. He had his zam-gun drawn in an instant.

The first Martian died a second later, complete astonishment on his face. A bolt from Meryola’s gun did away with the second, while a third spurt finished the remaining one. Archman leaped nimbly over the bodies and fastened the bolt on the door.

Then he stooped and snatched a sheet of paper from the sash of one of the fallen Martians. He read it out loud: “To Grojrakh, Chief of the Guards: My displeasure has fallen upon the lady Meryola, and you are to despatch her at once by any means of execution that seems convenient. D.”

“Let me see that!”

He handed her the paper. She read it, then cursed and crumpled the sheet. “The pig! The pig!” To Archman she said, “You told the truth, then. Pardon me for mistrusting you—”

“It was only to be expected. But time grows short.”

“Right.” Her eyes flashed with the fury of vengeance. “Listen, then: none of the Darriens you have seen is the real one. There are three orthysynthetics which he uses in turn. Darrien himself spends nearly all his time in a secluded chamber on the Fifth Level.”

“Is the room guarded heavily?”

“It’s guarded not at all. Only I know how to reach it, and so he sees no reason to post a guard. Well, we’ll give him cause to regret that. Come!”

* * *

“Down this hallway and to the left,” Meryola said.

This was the moment, Archman thought. It was the culmination of his plan, and the ending of a phase of history that traced its roots to a politician’s pompous words years ago—“Let Venus be our penal colony—”

So they had planted the seeds of evil on Venus, and they had banished Darrien there to reap them. And with the destruction of Darrien’s empire on Venus, they had permitted Darrien to escape and found yet another den of evil.

The end was near, now. With Darrien dead the mightiest enemy of justice in the galaxy would have been blotted out. And Darrien would die—betrayed by his own mistress.

They reached the door.

It was a plain door, without the baroque ornamentation that characterized the rest of the palace. And behind that door—Darrien.

“Ready?” Meryola asked.

Archman nodded. He gripped the zam-gun tightly in one hand, pressed gently against the door with the other, and heaved.

The door opened.

“There’s Darrien!” Meryola cried. She raised her zam-gun—but Archman caught her arm.

Darrien was there, all right, crouching in a corner of the room, his wrinkled face pale with shock. He wore a strange headset, evidently the means with which he controlled the orthysynthetics. And he held as a shield before him—

Elissa.

This was one pleasure the tyrant had not been willing to exper-ience vicariously through his robots, evidently. Tears streaked the girl’s eyes; she struggled to escape Darrien’s grasp, without success. Her flesh was bloodless where his fingers held her. There was no sign of Hendrin.

“Let me shoot them,” Meryola said, striving to pull her arm free of Archman’s grip.

“The girl hasn’t done anything. She’s just a pawn.”

“Go ahead, Archman,” Darrien taunted. “Shoot us. Or let dear Meryola do it.”

Meryola wrenched violently; Archman performed the difficult maneuver of keeping his own gun trained on Darrien while yanking Meryola’s away from her. With two guns, now, he confronted the struggling pair at the far end of the little room.

“Shoot, Archman!” Elissa cried desperately. “I don’t matter! Kill Darrien while you have the chance.”

Sweat beaded Archman’s face. Meryola flailed at him, trying to recover her weapon and put an end to her lord and her rival at once.

The Earthman held his ground while indecision rocked him. His code up to now had been, the ends justify the means. But could he shoot Elissa in cold blood for the sake of blotting out Darrien?

His finger shook on the triggers. Kill them, the Intelligence agent in him urged. But he couldn’t.

“The Earthman has gone cowardly at the finish,” Darrien said mockingly. “He holds fire for the sake of this lovely wench.”

“Damn you, Darrien. I—”

Meryola screamed. The door burst open, and Hendrin rushed in. Right behind the Mercurian, coming from the opposite direction, came one of Darrien’s orthysynthetic duplicates—Darrien’s identical twin in all respects, probably summoned by Darrien by remote control.

And the orthysynthetic carried a drawn zam-gun.

* * *

What happened next took but a moment—a fraction of a moment, or even less.

Meryola took advantage of Archman’s astonishment to seize one of his two zam-guns. But instead of firing at Darrien, she gunned down Hendrin!

The Mercurian looked incredulous as the zam-gun’s full charge seared into his thick hide, crashing through vital organs with unstoppable fury.

Meryola laughed as the blue Mercurian fell. “Traitor! Double-dealer! How—”

The sentence was never finished. The zam-gum in the hand of Darrien’s double spoke, and Meryola pitched forward atop Hendrin, her beauty replaced by charred black crust.

Archman snapped from his moment of shock, and his gun concluded the fast-action exchange. He put a bolt of force squarely between the orthysynthetic’s eyes, and a third body dropped to the floor.

From behind him came a cry. “Archman! Now! Now!”

He whirled and saw, to his astonishment, that Elissa had succeeded in breaking partially loose from Darrien. Archman’s thoughts went back to that moment in Blake Wentworth’s office when, in a drug-induced illusion, he had won the right to participate in this mission by gunning down a Martian across the vast distances of the red desert. His marksmanship now would count in reality.

His finger tightened on the zam-gun.

“You wouldn’t dare shoot, Earthman!” Darrien said sneeringly. “You’ll kill the girl!”

“For once you’re wrong, Darrien,” Archman said. He sucked in his breath and fired.

A half-inch to the right and his bolt would have killed Elissa Hall. But Archman’s aim was true. Darrien screamed harshly. Archman fired again, and the tyrant fell.

* * *

He found himself quivering all over from the strain and tension of the last few moments. He looked around at the grisly interior of the room. There lay Hendrin, the shrewd Mercurian, who had played one side too many and would never live to collect his pay from Krodrang. There, Meryola, whose beauty had faded. There, the Darrien-robot. And there, Darrien himself, his foul career cut short at last.

“It’s over,” he said tiredly. He looked at Elissa Hall, whose lovely face was pale with fear. “It’s all over. Darrien’s dead, and the mop-up can begin.”

“Your aim was good, Archman. But you could have fired at Darrien before. My life doesn’t matter, does it?”

His eyes met hers. “It does—but you won’t believe that, will you? You think I’m just a killer. All right. That’s all I am. Let’s get out of here.”

“No—wait.” Suddenly she was clinging to him. “I—I’ve been cruel to you, Archman—but I saw just then that I was wrong. You’re not just the murderer I thought you were. You—you were doing your job, that’s all.”

He pulled her close, and smiled. He was thinking of Intelligence Chief Wentworth, back on Earth. Wentworth had rated Archman’s capabilities at 97.003%. But Wentworth had been wrong.

Archman had done the job. That was 100% efficiency. But he had Elissa now, too. Score another 100%. He gently drew her lips to his, knowing now that this mission had been successful beyond all expectations.

Content

Cosmic Kill
by Robert Silverberg

I

II