"It isn't really my plan," said Jhongan. "It's _their_ plan--the High Priests of Zharkon. They're going to Venus. They're going to attempt an invasion of Solar Science City." * * * * * Venard felt a little lost. His brain spun chaotically. "The Martians can't invade S.S.C. Even their science isn't big enough to crack open those force fields around S.S.C. That's the greatest fortress ever built in the System. And according to the original laws concerning S.S.C., no member or members of an aggressor planet can gain legal entry into S.S.C. for any reason. So what's the matter with the High Priests?" "Nothing, Karl. They're going to try, and maybe they do have some secret method worked out. Whatever benefits to the System are available in S.S.C, those Martians are absolutely not entitled to them. The High Priests of Zharkon will have to force their way into S.S.C." "Okay," shrugged Venard, "they can't. That settles that. Why do they want to get into--" He straightened, his eyes narrowed. "I get it. They want into the hetero-transplant wards. They want to replace the brain of the injured Zharkon with the one that's preserved in the body bank in S.S.C. Then no one will ever know that their Zharkon was ever injured. That's clever--but they can't do it. Don't they know that?" "They're desperate," said Jhongan. "That Zharkon double-brain in the S.S.C. body bank has been there for three hundred years. It's perfectly preserved and has never been injured. It was granted to S.S.C. by the Martian Democratic Presidium for research purposes." "Then you want Larson and me to prevent them from getting the brain, or warn S.S.C. that the Martians are going to try to get it?" "No," said Jhongan softly. "I hope you believe me. You see, your assignment is to help the High Priests get that brain out of S.S.C. Whatever the cost, that brain transplantation must be a success." Venard said nothing. Through his stunned brain suspicion was creeping like a cloying disgusting fog. Maybe Jhongan was a counter-spy. And yet, he knew that couldn't be. "I wish I could explain why," said Jhongan. "But, as I've said, if the Martians capture you and clamp a thought recorder on you, they'll know the truth and will not make the transplantation." Jhongan paused. His stalked eyes snaked down, probed deeply into Venard's. "Believe me, old friend," he said with a terrible passion. "This is the great test of the mutual trust our worlds held with each other before the war. Believe me, old friend. Say you believe me and will do this thing?" Venard hesitated only an instant, then said slowly. "I believe you, Jhongan. We'll do it. But how?"