Mark gazed into the oval face, panting next to his. The heavily fringed eyes were closed as it breathed in labored gasps, and the slender, fragile form shook now and then with nervous spasms. Mark never ceased to wonder at the beauty of the Venusians, nor at their absolute and maddening conviction that theirs was the only true intelligence in the Universe. Now to these qualities Mark added that of indomitable courage, as he gazed at Aladdo and marvelled. "Well, Aladdo, thanks seems sort of a stupid word in a case like this; I owe you my life. I don't know how I'll ever repay the debt...." Mark's eyes roved over the weird scene, taking in the soulless, hopeless hulks that had once been men. And it suddenly occurred to him that he'd had enough of this hellish corner of Venus; he had been here two months and already he was unable to think clearly, he was becoming identified with the living death of the Venusian Prison Swamp. His mission apparently had failed. What he had come to learn, remained a secret, and he was slowly becoming like these shells of men who prowled the ocean of mud, eventually to disappear beneath it. "No need to thank me, middle order, I would have missed our discussions had you gone." The Venusian grinned impishly. "What? I've been promoted! You must be ill, to call me anything above a 'lower order' or a 'sub-species'!" Mark smiled too, but seriously wondered what crime had condemned Aladdo to a prison reserved only for the most hardened and hopeless criminals, or for political prisoners whose existence was a threat to the Tri-Planetary League. "At times, you're almost intelligent," the Venusian replied placidly. "Any one of these other men would have struggled had they been in your place, and I would have been helpless." "Why didn't you use _your_ brain," Mark couldn't resist prodding the other, "and by flying above me, get to me quicker, instead of crawling all that distance?" The winged figure laughed mirthlessly, and for an answer held up its arms. The azure membranes that were its wings, hung in limp folds. "Useless, you see," he said quietly. "The tendons have been cut. Otherwise I could fly up and out of this swamp, despite its five hundred mile width." * * * * * Mark could find no words to say. Since being assigned at his own request to this last grim haven of the damned, by the Tri-Planetary Prison Bureau, on a special mission, there had been moments when the horror of it all had made him doubt the wisdom of maintaining such a ghastly place. He knew, of course, the tremendous deterrent influence its existence exerted, besides the important revenue derived from Venusian pearls; still it all seemed too inhuman. "You don't seem criminal, Earthman!" the cello-like voice introduced on Mark's thoughts. "I fail to catch the typical vibrations of the killers and ravagers. Your crime ... was it political?"