"Falcon, you've got to listen to me, you've go to. Jean is a girl, she's been brought up differently than either of us. You and I know what fighting and death are; you and I have no illusions to temper our judgments--we are cold intellects. But Jean is young, she has ideals, and they must not be destroyed. You have appealed to her instincts for romance; she has colored your actions of the past few days until you seem to be what you pretend to be. Now I want you to make her understand that your real desire to crush me and the other Administrators has nothing romantic about it; you must make her realize your real purpose--that you plan to become dictator in the Administrator's place. Will you do that, Falcon?" Curt Varga sagged back against the wall, stared blindly at the man before him. Thoughts were chaotic in his mind. "You _believe_ that, don't you, Vandor?" he said slowly. "Of course, what else can I believe? Self-government, freedom, bah! The cattle of the worlds wouldn't know what to do with either." The Falcon shifted. "Where is Jean?" he asked. "On her way to Mars, where I sent her." Jason Vandor's tone grew harsh and strained. "I'm making a request, Falcon," he finished, "and I can be generous in return. But make me force you to talk to her, and I can do to you just what you would do to me." He laughed without mirth. "A pitcheblend mine, wearing no protection, might be much worse than agreeing." Curt Varga nodded. "I don't understand you, fully. You're a merciless butcher--yet you think enough of your daughter to bargain with your enemy. But I'll do what you say--for my freedom." Jason Vandor shook his head. "Not that," he said brittlely. "I have no desire to fight you a running battle until the final showdown. You're dead, as far as your past is concerned. But you have your choice of death; either a slow one in prison, or a hideous one in a mine. Either way, you will fight me no more." "What would I say?" "Practically nothing. She swore she would believe what I said, only if you told her that my statements were the truth. Tell her that over a vizi-beam, and I promise you a decent prison life." "I've sampled your promises." "I swear I shall not go back on my word. Jean is the only thing in life I love; I'll do anything for her." Vandor's words were bitter and brooding. "All right." The Falcon nodded. "I'll speak your pretty little speech. Not for you; I wouldn't give you water in hell. But for Jean; who at least hates and fights cleanly and openly." He spat. "Now get me out of here before I change my mind." Jason Vandor stepped forward, tossed a key into Varga's lap. His concealed hand came from beneath his robe, and a gun glinted dully in his fist. "Cross me, Falcon," he said quietly, "and for every minute of mental torture you give me, I'll give you a year of the same." The Falcon unlocked his chains, stood erect. "I'll speak your piece," he answered. "But don't make threats." * * * * *