Jhongan's body sac sunk inward with a sigh of intense relief. "You and Larson have an advantage. Earth isn't an aggressor nation and therefore has legal right to enter S.S.C.--if there is some personal reason for doing so. Larson has that reason. If any person has missing body parts, he has the privilege of requesting entry into S.S.C. to replace that missing part." "You mean, Larson," said Venard. "His missing left hand would give him entry not only into S.S.C. but directly into the hetero-transplant wards." Jhongan bobbed his body sac. "He can probably get into S.S.C. if that sorrowful institution has retained even that much of its original purpose. After that, his duty will be to get the double-brain somehow, and get it outside S.S.C. The High Priests of Zharkon will be outside trying to get in, if Larson times it right. He can give them the brain. Whether they'll let him live or not as a reward, I don't know. The sacrifice will be worth it, to a Guardsman. The High Priests will take that brain to Mars and transfer it to the dying Zharkon's brain case. If that is done, I assure you, peace throughout the Solar System will be only a matter of hours. But you and Larson will have to move fast. I know that the High Priests are probably heading for Venus right now." "Sounds incredible," said Venard. "But, Jhongan, I believe you. We'll do it, of course. But I wish I knew why." Jhongan said, "This is a point to regard--the reason is quite simple. You could figure it out, Venard, if you tried hard enough. Therefore, don't even try to evolve an answer. If you're captured by the Martians, you must know nothing." "But if that's the case," said Venard suddenly, "then you--" * * * * * The Martian trembled violently. A loud commotion suddenly spilled through the cave opening. Two men and a woman were leaping toward them. One wore a tattered Guardsman's uniform. The other man and woman were dressed in drab civvies. "They're psychos who've escaped from the sanitarium," yelled La Crue. "They're Martophobes; they're after Jhongan! Stop 'em." The mad Guardsman had a long alloy knife which Guardsmen formerly carried more for uniform decoration than for utilitarian purposes. He raised it as he leaped at Jhongan. The screaming woman and shouting man were also headed for Jhongan with clutching hands. The man's eyes gleamed insanely. The woman screeched, "Martie dog! Dirty, filthy Martie devil!" Before either Venard or La Crue could intercept the man with the knife, he had thrown himself upon Jhongan's unresisting body. With screaming nerves, Venard saw the knife rise and fall again and again, savagely. He saw the green life juices spurt like a monstrous fountain. He heard himself swearing madly as he pulled the death-drenched Guardsman off Jhongan's twitching body, felt his fists crunch and saw the psycho topple away, his face crushed in.