Chapter II

Mark wheeled as the attacker hurtled past him and his straight left went unerringly to the man's head, jarring him. Automatically Mark's training came to the fore, as everything else faded until it was only Spacer Lynn and a murderous enemy. Mark's right was a peg upon which he hung the attacker's blasting blow, while he used the boxer's left, long and weaving, throwing it swiftly like a cat sparring with a mouse dangling by the tail from its teeth. His left bounced off the attacker's chin. It was a little high, but the man rocked on his heels.

The killer rushed. Mark let his heels touch the ground, refused to run. The attacker was too aggressive and eager for complete defense. Mark caught him with a left and right and calmly took a murderous hook to the belly without flinching, then he let his right hand ride, dropping it like a sledge-hammer. The attacker's face seemed to lose contour, its features blurred as the face went gory; his feet crossed and his knees went suddenly rubbery. The conveyor-road inspector fell with a crash and didn't get up.

Mark became suddenly aware that two Martian proctors flanked him, deadly atomo-pistols pressing at his sides.

"Silence and obedience, International! Follow!" came the crisp, laconic order from the senior proctor.

Instantly a visi-screen lighted and a cold, imperious voice directed:

"Remove the attacker, dispose as power reserve. Spacer Lynn proceed on mission!"

In unison, the two proctors saluted and the atomo-pistols disappeared. It was the voice of the Council, through some subordinate.

"The eyes and ears of the universe!" Mark Lynn exclaimed ironically in a whisper. The cometary reaction must have been psychological as well as physical to bring about crime in a social order where for centuries it had disappeared. Or had it? Mark wondered. How many secrets, how much factual data the Council kept from the people? No one would ever know. But why try to liquidate him? He'd just arrived from years in outer space; surely he couldn't possibly have enemies on Terra! Was his mission known? And come to think of it, just what was his mission actually? Meditatively, he tapped the cylinder in the inner pocket of his tunic. Could _that_ have been the motive for the assault?

* * * * *

"Palanth!" Mark Lynn exclaimed delightedly as he spied a dandified Martian leaning against a column of chrysophrase, upon entering the lobby of the International Police headquarters to report.

Tall and sinewy-lean, with the exaggeratedly narrow waist characteristic of the Martians, Palanth gazed startled at his companion of many adventures, from behind a silken square of Venusian-spider silk drenched in the overpowering fragrance of Venusian Jasmines. Only the violet eyes were visible, startling against the background of his flaming hair.

In the tight-fitting yellow tunic of an International, he resembled an ancient, narrow-waisted cretan come to life, but for the flaming mane and towering height.

"Greetings! O bird of ill-omen, what malodorous wind blew you in from outer space?" He dropped the handkerchief long enough to reveal chiselled nostrils and white even teeth as he smiled heart-warmingly. He placed his left hand on Mark's shoulder, in the immemorial gesture Mars reserved for the closest friends.

"One sec, Planetarian, while I check in," Mark grinned also placing his hand on the Martian's shoulder, knowing how it annoyed the Martian to be called by a lower rank. Mark stepped into a booth that automatically recorded his status as the visi-screen panel glowed into life.

"Spacer Mark Lynn, Exploratory Astrogator First Class, reporting. Under sealed orders from the Supreme Council. Last station Io. Awaiting further orders." In a thousand departments that recorded global information and checked it in detail even psychologically, Mark's words automatically became part of the endless record. But there was no answer. The visi-screen faded to a smouldering green and went blank.

"Strange!" Mark muttered to himself, stepping out of the booth. "These orders must be final." He touched the slight bulge made by the cylinder he carried.

Curiosity was beginning to needle him, but orders from the Council could only be opened in absolute privacy, especially sealed orders.

Palanth was waiting for him, the eternal handkerchief pressed against his nose. A brilliant panagran, blood-red and flashing made a deep spot of color against his left ear-lobe. Everything about him seemed indolent, aesthetic, super-refined. And the exquisite fragrances from the known universe with which he drenched his squares of silk, thanks to his mania against human odors, added to the foppish effect.

"Have you come to twist the tail of the comet, O thou especially not wanted?"

* * * * *

Palanth waved his handkerchief diffusing jasmines in the rich austerity of the lobby, as he lounged back against the column with a sigh that might have meant anything. His yellow tunic--as near the color of gold as he dared, without actually being the hue reserved for the Supreme head of the Council, shimmered like watered silk. His slender hands flashed with _acerines_ and _calchuites_.

"Breath-taking, as usual," Mark was grinning from ear to ear, "specially that godawful jungle fumes you're soaked in ... arrgh! I can't breathe!"

"My only defense against you creatures," Palanth said languidly. "I need replenishing, Mark, shall we go?"

"Lord, yes. I could eat an Europan." Mark checked himself as an odd tight expression came into his eyes, and his hand tightened on something hard inside a lower pocket of his tunic. He fell unaccountably silent for a moment.

Palanth strode beside him with a lithe, tigerish stride which belied his now forgotten languid pose of a few minutes ago. His deceptive exterior--which many to their final regret had found could disappear like lightning, still made him seem a Planetarian fop whom the Council permitted harmless foibles for reasons of their own.

"I never hoped to see you again after that crash on Europa." Palanth exclaimed with a relieved sigh. "You're so reckless, Mark, and death is so permanent!"

"Of course, _you_ are not reckless," Mark taunted with obvious irony, remembering how the Martian International could explode into action like an enraged Martian Hella. "In your superior wisdom, there's no reason to take chances--everything's planned in advance, logically, coldly.... Bah. Do you recall that little incident on Venus when they served you imitation Thassalian and that little Venusian baggage tried to dope you with...."

"Cease! O chattering...." Palanth interrupted as near being embarrassed as it was possible for him to be. The rest of what he said was buried in the perfumed handkerchief which he hastily pressed against his face as they joined the crowds that filled the avenue.

"But what are you here for? It is permissible to know?" Mark asked soberly at last.

"I may as well tell you," Palanth said, his tones muffled by the handkerchief. "You'd never have the imagination to guess!"

"You probably have been appointed to regulate the last batch of outgoing freighters enroute to various space stations, in order to relieve congestion and ease pressure of transportation. There may be something else ... eh?"

"Master mind! But there's that last _something else_ that you'd never guess."

"Inductive reasoning tells me that a freight coordinator would be assigned to freight problems ... let _me_ talk ... but this seems to be the last time that old Terra is going to send freight anywhere. I feel there's one last measure to be taken against the unpredictable--something calculated to checkmate a future result. Oh I know I sound as if I were talking gibberish, Palanth, but well ... it's still sort of foggy in my mind. I'll know more when I read my orders."

"I've already read mine," Palanth said quietly. "I'm persuaded they're not very different from yours--in the last analysis. It's a gigantic game, Mark!"

"Then you know?"

"Yes!" It was almost a whisper, almost a telepathic assent. "But here's our energy center, let's go on in."

* * * * *

Once within the vast dining-hall, known as an Energy Center, they selected a table and from the menu the number of the meal that suited them, pressing the numerically corresponding stud on the panel above the table. The food came on a conveyor belt that passed beneath the floor and emerged from the center of the table which was hollow and had a panel that slid aside as the food arrived.

"Well, what have you learned," Palanth asked Mark as they began their meal.

Mark Lynn outlined what he knew and added a few conjectures of his own, and Palanth's face split gradually in a wide grin.

"A pretty mess.... How many of you flesh-eating mammals are there left to transport ... the irreconcilables, I mean, the dissenters."

"Roughly about five hundred million. They're an amazing mixture of Internationals, Philosophers and Ruralians--the three most individualistic strata!"

"It would be easier to ray them down, let the Comet wipe them out in due time, than to go to all this trouble of persuading them to evacuate." Palanth retorted coldly. "Still, to my Martian mind, they're far more valuable than your herds of controlled sheep--at least, they can think for themselves!"

"However, in a controlled, beneficent political economy such as the World State, any such benevolent treatment as raying them down, or abandoning them to sidereal extinction is outlawed," a quiet, mellow voice said behind them.

Both Mark and Palanth looked up with a start to see the exquisite oval face with the serious, limpid hazel eyes of Doctor Fortun, in her purple scientist tunic. Palanth rose instantly and bowed, Mark was but a fraction of a second behind him.

"It's a rare honor for Spacers to enjoy socially the company of a Scientist," Mark said gravely, but his eyes were dancing.

"Probably just as well, if you express such unorthodox opinions freely," she replied sitting between them at the table. "However, we have a long journey ahead, might as well begin to know each ... as we really are." Her smile was an adventure, and when she turned her head to survey Palanth with frank curiosity, Mark noted that her hair escaping the tight-fitting kepis was almost the color of dark honey in the sun.

"A long journey...." Palanth murmured as he picked absorbedly at something on his plate that resembled purple pop-corn. "A long journey, where ... how, and to what end?"

"What are you eating?" Doctor Fortun asked almost too casually, instead of replying.

"These? Oh, candied violets," Palanth's languid pose had returned aware that many eyes were upon him in the crowded energy center.

"Don't you have enough perfume as it is without eating it too?" Mark growled.

"Peace, O spawn of unthinkable misfortune!" Palanth said grandly and filled his mouth with the delicacy.

* * * * *

Doctor Fortun laughed aloud, it was like the tintinnabulation of clustered silver bells.

"Fraud!" she exclaimed amiably. "If I were not acquainted with your past record I'd think you were a fop. Does that pose ever fool anybody, Palanth?"

The tall Martian grinned shrugging his shoulders. "Who knows? _It's been so long since I've had adventure for a bride!_" He quoted a line from the famous Terran poet of the twenty-first century.

"He's done it so long, it's become second nature with him," Mark said inelegantly. "However, the perfume business is no pose. Wait till you see his collection of extracts!"

Palanth glared at him, but remained silent. Just then a growing tremor shook the energy center, and one of the walls split from floor to ceiling. Their table fell with a crash and the hum of the food conveyors ceased. Voices rose in startled exclamations and the crash of other tables added to the increasing noise. A convulsive heave rent the floor and the continuous series of audio-pictures on the visi-screen ceased abruptly.

After what seemed an eternity, in reality seconds, the quake subsided, leaving wreckage behind and the pale, strained faces of the guests.

"Even here in North America, the very heart of the World State, the quakes are increasing," Doctor Fortun said thoughtfully. "Our estimates gave us eight more weeks before the proximity of the comet neutralized astro-warp evacuation. It seems hardly possible, but there may be elements in the situation we have failed to calculate. I believe the sooner we complete evacuation the better it'll be." She glanced at Mark speculatively.

"I suggest you read your orders this evening, once you're registered at International House, Spacer Lynn."

"That's my plan," Mark told her. "And speaking of unknown elements, I'm still puzzled at being attacked by an International today. I was unaware that I had enemies on Terra. What could the motive have been?"

"Attacked?" Palanth was instantly alert. "Why didn't you tell me, Mark?"

The Spacer shrugged his shoulders. "It was a minor incident--only, it's mystery bothers me. I've been taught there's no crime on Terra, and I am too unimportant for political liquidation."

"You forget," Doctor Fortun said softly, "the profound dislocations brought about by this unforeseen situation. Two-thirds of Terra's population have been evacuated. Another third--the most intractable, refuses cooperation. There are many sympathizers in high places. In the inevitable confusion, the efficiency of the World State has been impaired. What would have been impossible a few months ago, can happen now. You're not only our chief explorer, but a name to conjure with among Internationals--your word has never been broken. Being suspected of having become a subservient tool of the Council is enough for certain elements to consider you too dangerous to their aims--therefore, guard your life, Spacer!"

"But I'm not a tool!" Mark exclaimed fiercely. "My allegiance to the Council only involves my life--not the lives of others--I'll not defraud them, dissenters or not!"

* * * * *

Doctor Fortun smiled quietly, as if contemplating some inner scene. The brilliant hazel eyes were veiled and whatever activity went on behind the smooth forehead was masked. The confusion within the Energy Center had subsided, and the guests were leaving now in orderly fashion, but as fast as possible.

"It's time to exit," the girl said casually. "Pity we were interrupted just when we were beginning to really know each other." Suddenly her manner changed as with what seemed an unconscious gesture she removed the tight-fitting cap and her hair fell about her shoulders with the gleaming patina of dark gold. Her smile had the demure sweetness of an embarrassed girl, her eyes were soft and luminous as she gazed first at Mark and then at Palanth.

"There's a strato-cruiser of the first order leaving at six for a resort on the gulf of Mexico--Havanol--it's perhaps the last time we'll have a chance to see it. Shall we ..." she hesitated, "shall we dine there?" Rose mantled her cheeks and her long lashes swept downwards as she made the suggestion.

"Havanol!" Mark was enchanted. "Martian music and food to tempt archangels ... but how can you and I enter Havanol? It's open only to special permit!"

"You're not by any remote chance forgetting me?" Palanth inquired with elaborate irony. "I've never seen Havanol, besides, I'm sure Doctor Fortun would like to use some Parnassin for the occasion."

"Parnassin! The perfume of the butterfly orchids of Venus! Why, Palanth, it's worth more than _calchuites_--it's the rarest, the most unattainable of extracts!" Doctor Fortun clasped her hands in ecstasy at the very thought of it. Then her rigid scientific training asserted itself. "But I couldn't wear it, it's like evaporating a fortune in credits within a few hours," she said unhappily.

"Bother, control 'one,' forget it for one memorable night!" Palanth was exasperated. "I know its antidote--and I have it!" he said savagely.

"So have I," Mark said grinning.

* * * * *

"_Thassalian?_" the girl was startled. It was the forbidden Martian liquor of the Gods. It could achieve almost miraculous cures when taken in tiny doses; it gave the sensation of ineffable happiness, and when taken to excess, it drove the addict hopelessly insane.

"We still haven't solved the problem of the special permit," Mark reminded them.

"I have one for a party of four, which I haven't used as yet," Doctor Fortun said with a hint of shyness. "You'll have time to read your orders and then I'll pick you both up at International House in my helio-plane. Agreed?"

"Agreed!" Both Mark and Palanth said fervently. They watched the slight figure of the girl as she made her way through the crowds with precision, her purple tunic vivid against the white carpet of fallen snow. "Her mind was well guarded!" Palanth thought aloud.

"It is a mind of power, or I would have contacted it," Mark barely whispered without moving his lips.

"Still, there can be nothing at Havanol that we can't cope with," Palanth shot a powerful telepathetic vibration at the Earthian Spacer. "Have you had the feeling of being under spy-ray, Mark?"

"Yes, for months ... but I've guarded my mind, and as you know, the Council's spy-ray is not quite effective on those beyond controls one, six and fifteen; we're beyond conditioning for penetration by their mental synthesis. At times they're able to obtain partial ideation which they reconstruct and reform into thought-pattern trends--but hell! our thought-trends and individualistic patterns have been known to them all our lives. However, we are being used as tools--indirectly!"

"We have no proof, Earthman! In any event, within certain limits we are still free agents. Their orders may be one thing, what we do ... is another. This cataclysm has shorn the World State of most of its power, on Terra at any rate. Mars and Venus would sweep the resettlements off their planets if the Terran fleet weren't constantly on guard!"

"Havanol may give us an inkling of what the game is!" Mark observed. "The whole secret lies within the reason for evacuating the irreconcilables. The Civicans, Guildians, Technicians and Ruralians are merely the base of the pyramid; between them and the Scientists there's a gap that must be filled by the Internationals and the Philosophers--without pioneers and thinkers in the abstract, their rule's static. Their scheme, whatever it is, fails without us." Mark was telepathically communicating with Palanth his conclusions as they neared International House.

Palanth's violet eyes narrowed in amusement. "They no doubt have a surprise for us in store--how poetic that we should be the ones to surprise them!" The Martian waved his perfumed kerchief and the sparkling iciness of the breeze was scented with fresh jasmines.