Venard and La Crue were leaning over Jhongan's punctured body sack. "He's dying," said La Crue hoarsely. "They die fast in Earth atmosphere. There's nothing anyone can do." A tentacle reached up slowly, wrapped itself around Venard's hand. Venard heard the funny slurred tones of the Martie say in a dying whisper, "You promised. Don't fail. Promise you won't fail, Karl, old friend?" "Yes," Venard gripped the tentacle. It went lax, plopped lifelessly down onto the cold damp stone. "That's his answer," said Venard as he straightened wearily but with a stony resolution of face. "Answer?" said La Crue. "To what?" "I was going to ask him what would happen if he were captured by Martians. He knows the reason for this plan of helping transplant the Zharkon's brain. He answered that." He looked down at Jhongan. "He could have gotten away. He let the psycho kill him. Perhaps it was better that way. It saved him from having to kill himself." La Crue, after a long silent moment, said, "How could anyone have planetary prejudice when a Martie is capable of such magnificent heroism for all civilized species?" "They won't, someday," assured Venard, his jaw tense. "Someday, every species in the system will be judged only by their individual worth rather than by their physical appearance--thanks to the complete unselfishness of men like Jhongan." "Anyway," said La Crue, "we know now that Jhongan's plan must be sound, if he believed in it so completely." "Yes," said Venard, "we know now." He saw Larson stagger a little as he emerged from a tunnel mouth into the cavern with a half-emptied plastic bottle of _stihn_ in one hand. Hanging on the little man's other arm was a rather shapely girl. She was looking at Larson with curiosity more than interest. When Larson saw Jhongan, dead, the bottle of _stihn_ bounced on the stone floor. The girl whirled away from him, uttering a sharp cry of protest that died as she saw Larson's violent reaction. Then he came up close to Venard, cold sober now, and waited. He was ready now, ready for anything. Abruptly, Venard said, "We're going to Venus. Tonight. Come on!" "Okay, just a minute while I--what? Venus? Why?" Larson stared. His little eyes shifted to Jhongan. "About that plan of his, huh? I'm ready. Let's go." Venard told him everything he knew, with intermittent injections from La Crue. "It's about as clear as that Venusian mud's gonna be," said Larson. "You need a left hand. That'll get us inside S.S.C. or rather get you inside. We hope. A few have taken advantage of their body bank facilities; but S.S.C. doesn't encourage it. There are stories of horror coming out of S.S.C. And you know the one I was telling you about the concept of an alien God." "Yeah," breathed Larson. "That alien god. I don't like that." La Crue cut in, "A small Scouter's ready to blast off from a subterranean cradle near here. The Underground has several of them cradled at strategic points for emergencies."