Cosmic Kill

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.