RESCUE MISSION

Rick Mason's ship was still high over Mordarga, coming in for a landing, when the cry for help sounded in his audio phones.

Rick frowned, reached to the control panel to turn up the amplification—then realized that the voice had not come over the audio after all. It had spoken in his mind.

Help! Rick, they've caught me!

There was urgency in the mental cry. Instantly, Mason sized up the situation.

It was his partner, Klon Darra, the Venusian—the other half of this mentally-attuned Solar System intelligence team. Klon Darra was in trouble!

He focussed his mental energies and replied: I read you, Klon Darra. What's the problem?

The response was blurred and indistinct, as if the Venusian were laboring under great mental strain. I ... landed on schedule. Fell into hands of ... ruler. In prison. Going to be tortured. I....

Mason struggled to keep his attention on his descending spaceship while picking up the Venusian's fading mental voice. Go ahead, Klon Darra. I hear you.

They're going to torture me. Help me, Mason. Help!

Where are you? Mason asked.

Dungeons of the main palace, Mordarga City. Hurry, Rick. There's not much time!

Mason switched on the fore visi-plate and the mottled grey-and-blue surface of Mordarga became visible ahead of him. The planet Mordarga was one of the universe's potential trouble-spots. That was why the Solar System Government had sent a team of its intelligence agents there.

But they had planned on a leisurely, detailed reconnaissance of the planet, intending to return to home base with a full account of Mordarga's weaknesses and future militaristic plans. Now, that was changed; Klon Darra would have to be rescued at once. The Mordargans probably knew by now that the Solar System had discovered Mordarga's warlike aims.

Rick began setting up his landing orbit. The tiny two-man ship curved sharply downward as his trained fingers played over the control console. The planet of Mordarga sprang up to meet the down-plunging ship.

Mordarga was in the Sirius system, a big, ugly world inhabited by big, ugly humanoids. Mason landed in a secluded spot on the north continent of the planet, coming to rest in a foul-smelling valley between two looming mountains.

Jutting angular blue-leaved trees stuck up around, and hoarse-voiced alien wildlife chattered and yawped in the background. Mason strapped his safety-kit to his side, flipped on the homing-switch he'd need to find his way back to the ship, and lightly swung down from to the ground. He started to walk.

Unless his figures were wrong Mordarga City lay three miles to the west. He kept his receptive mind attuned, hoping to hear from the Venusian again but Klon Darra was not sending.

They made a good team, Mason and the Venusian. A pair of Earthmen somehow never were as efficient together as a mixed-planet outfit; the green-skinned Venusian had certain attributes Mason lacked and vice-versa. Together they were a well-nigh perfect intelligence team. Knowledge of Mordarga's future intentions was essential to the safety and security of the Solar System.

Suddenly Klon Darra's voice sounded in his mind.

Mason, have you landed yet?

Yes. I'm on my way. You all right?

They still don't know why I'm on Mordarga. They picked me up on suspicion. If you can get me out of here before they find out.

I'm three miles out of Mordarga City. Can you hold out for another half hour? Mason asked.

Silence for a moment. Then the Venusian said, I think so. So far they've just tried some elementary torture. Not kid stuff but I'm still okay.

Mason grinned. A Venusian's pain threshold was fantastically high; the Mordargans could torture Klon Darra for days without getting any essential information from him. But there were other methods.

Klon Darra said: They've sent for a telepath. Once they penetrate my mind they'll know why we're here. We'll both be cooked.

Don't worry, Mason telepathed. I'll be there with bells on.

There were occasional buildings now, he saw; the main bulk of Mordarga City lay up ahead, sprawling in a disorderly, confused fashion. The Mordargans, for all their neat precision of mind, cared little about the arrangement of their cities.

Mason saw some of the Mordargans now—husky brutes seven feet tall, square-shouldered and thick-muscled. They were gray-skinned with blazing white eyes and savage fangs; they diverged most sharply from the humanoid pattern in the pair of thick, stubby antenna sprouting from their heavy-browed foreheads.

Those antenna governed the extra Mordargan sense—the sense of balance, of perspective, of distance-judgment. It made them deadly in a hand-to-hand fight.

A couple of the Mordargans looked at him suspiciously but without overt antagonism. Earth and Mordarga were still theoretically at peace and Earthmen on Mordarga were, if not common, at least not totally unknown.

Mason kept his eyes to the ground and walked quickly past the Mordargans. They were a surly, unpredictable race; he didn't want any trouble with them now.

He tried a message to Klon Darra.

Hey, Venusian! How's it going?

The telepath is due to arrive in one hour, Rick. Where are you now?

On the outskirts, just coming into the city. I'll be there to spring you in plenty of time.

The main palace was visible ahead, about a mile further into the city. Mason quickened his pace. There was time but not much.

He stepped between a pair of drunken Mordargans who were jostling each other on the narrow street. Suddenly one of them turned and said, "Hey, there's an Earthman. Come on, Terran. Have a drink with us?"

They were wobbling unsteadily. Mason caught his breath. He had little enough time to get to Klon Darra as it was. He calculated the speed at which they could move and wondered if he could outrun them.

"Sorry," he snapped. "I'm too busy for a drink now."

He lowered his head and ran.

They grunted in surprise and started to chase him. He heard their heavy feet clobbering along on the pavement. He cursed. They were probably just trying to be sociable but this was no time for that.

"Ho, Earthman! You run fast but your legs are short!"

He glanced back. They were gaining on him. A tangle of buildings loomed up ahead and he made for those.

A rough hand clamped around the back of his neck and dragged him to a halt. Mason spun around and waded in without waiting for an introduction.

His fist crashed into the stomach of the nearest Mordargan and sent him rocking back against his companion. Mason hit him again and he started to sag. The heavy body thudded against the pavement.

But the other Mordargan was more sober. He stepped over his companion's unconscious body and wrapped mighty arms around Mason's middle.

The Earthman gasped and turned purple. His fists pounded at the alien without avail.

"Had enough, Earthman?"

"You're choking me! Let go!"

"When a Mordargan invites you to drink with him, you drink!" The alien tightened his grip and Mason felt the universe reel. He could hardly see; his eyes were ready to pop. Against the 300 pound Mordargan he stood no chance at all.

Suddenly the alien released him. Mason took several hesitant, dizzy steps, sucking in breath as fast as he could. The alien's bearhug had nearly finished him.

The big Mordargan was chuckling happily. "Earthman, you don't know how close you came to death just then!"

"Oh, yes I do!" Mason said, rubbing his bruised body. There didn't seem to be any obvious broken bones at any rate. But he was wasting valuable time.

"Will you come now, Terran?"

"I—I have an appointment," Mason said. He realized the futility of trying to run away again. There was a blaster in his pocket but it was hardly possible to gun the creature down on a public street. "I can't stay," he said.

"You can't? We'll see about that."

The Mordargan equivalent of a bar was a long, low-ceilinged place dimly lighted. Curious fumes of alcohol and other things drifted in the atmosphere. Mason could see Mordargans lying prostrate here and there, some of them totally unconscious, others contentedly sucking on feeding-tubes.

There was no way to escape the obstinate conviviality of the alien who had encountered him. Mason's only hope was to make a quick exit once the Mordargan had decided he was through drinking.

"What'll you have, Terran?"

"You name it," Mason said. "I'll match you drink for drink if you'll pay."

"Fair enough. We'll start with gruuna. Straight?"

"Why not?"

"Two bowls of gruuna," the alien bellowed.

The drinks arrived. They were a murky, slimy-looking stuff that fizzed faintly and gave off a sour odor. Mason stared at his bowl unhappily.

"Drink up, Earthman!" The Mordargan lifted his bowl in massive fingers and held it to his tooth-ringed mouth. He drained it in one long slupping gulp. Mason shivered a little and picked up his own bowl.

He sipped. The stuff was as mild as molten uranium and twice as potent. It seared its way down into his stomach and landed with a thunk. Mason wondered if the drink gave off alpha particles; it was that hot.

The things a man has to do in the name of Solar System intelligence, he thought.

He wondered what was happening to the Venusian. Impatience coursed through him. He had to get away, had to reach the dungeon before the Mordargans could interrogate Klon Darra with the telepath.

Rick! Where are you? came the sudden anxious mental plea. The telepath's here. They'll be questioning me soon, and....

I'm trying to get to you, Mason telepathed. But I'm having trouble. Stall if you can.

"Ready for your second bowl, Earthman?" the Mordargan asked jovially.

Mason shuddered. "I'm not through with this one," he said.

"Slow, eh? Drink it down!"

Obediently Mason lifted the drink to his lips, took another shallow sip, winced as the ghastly stuff travelled down his gullet. Maybe gruuna was champagne to these evil-smelling so-and-sos, but it was no drink for an Earthman.

And the telepath had arrived at the dungeon. Before long they'd know everything.

He squinted around the edge of the bowl, eyeing the big Mordargan speculatively. Gruuna was potent stuff, he reflected; what would be the effect if I hurled a bowlful of it into the Mordargan's eyes?

It was worth a try. In one quick motion he lowered the bowl from his mouth, heaved its contents upward into the alien's face and started to run. He heard a roar of pain and anger from behind.

And the door slammed shut in his face.

He hadn't figured on that. The bartender probably could control the door manually from behind the bar and the moment Mason had broken away the signal to shut the door had been given.

He turned. The alien was rumbling toward him, wiping his eyes, bellowing in rage. Mason started to reach for his blaster but there was no time. The giant crashed into him.

He fought back gamely but the Mordargan was a foot taller and 125 pounds heavier, he didn't stand a chance. Fists slammed into his stomach and chest; he beat them off feebly, hardly able to see in the dimness of the bar.

Rick! Rick! Where are you? came the Venusian's mental voice.

But Mason was unable to answer. A barrage of mighty blows crashed in on him and he spun, clawing to keep his balance, and started to fold up. He heard Klon Darra saying, Here comes the telepath now. His head crashed against the wall and he blanked out.

The amused laughter of the Mordargans seemed to follow him into unconsciousness.

He awoke later—hours, days, weeks, years later, it seemed. He felt mummified.

His body ached; his eyes wouldn't focus properly and in his mouth was the acrid, retch-inducing taste of the gruuna.

But aside from the pain, aside from the physical miseries he felt, he sensed a stinging sense of personal failure. He was an agent of Solar System Intelligence, a member of the galaxy's proudest and toughest organization ... and he had failed to rescue his own partner.

By now the telepath had probably drained Klon Darra's mind of its secrets, had learned that there was another Intelligence agent loose on Mordarga, that Earth suspected the big planet of hostile intentions, that....

It was all over. The team of Klon Darra and Rick Mason had been considered the tops of Intelligence but that rating looked pretty hollow now. The Venusian had gotten himself trapped on landing and Mason had flubbed a chance to rescue him. He had wound up lying somewhere—where?—with a hangover and a headache.

He looked around. He was in an alley and by the smell of it it was the alley back of the bar. They had probably dumped him after the Mordargans had finished having their fun with him.

Bright Sirius blazed high overhead. It was morning, probably getting toward noon. The Morning After.

Mason? Are you awake?

The soft mental whisper jolted him like a blast of raw energy. He just hadn't expected to hear from the Venusian.

Where are you, Klon Darra? What's going on?

I'm still in the dungeon, the Venusian said. They'll be interrogating me again this afternoon. Why weren't you here last night?

Mason went red with shame. I ran into trouble. I'm sorry, Klon Darra. Damned sorry.

There's no time for feeling sorry now, came Klon Darra's thought. Break our mental linkage and get off Mordarga in a hurry.

And leave you here?

I don't matter. They know you're here, Rick. Leave now, while you can. They've sent orders out to find you and bring you in. Get going!

Mason shook his head obstinately, even though he knew the Venusian could not see the gesture. He got to his feet and leaned against the wall, rubbed his throbbing forehead. I'm not leaving you here, Klon Darra. I'll be there inside the hour and this time I mean it.

He started to walk out of the alley, groping unsteadily at the wall to keep from falling flat on his face.

Slowly, strength returned. And purpose.

He had fumbled last night. Now, he would make it up.

The main palace was a tall, lopsided structure built of a coarse-grained granite-like stone. The noon sun struck slantwise against the slabs which sparkled weirdly. Rick Mason stood outside and directed a thought at the Venusian within.

Klon Darra?

Yes?

I'm right outside the palace.

I thought I told you to leave Mordarga at once.

The hell with that, Mason said in an impatient mental snap. I'm here. Guide me in.

Very well. I'm in a dungeon on the third sublevel of the palace. If you can get that far I'll direct you the rest of the way.

A Mordargan guard, his nose in the air, stood outside the main walk that led to the palace. Mason walked past him, nodded obsequiously, and kept going. The guard didn't even bother to notice him.

He didn't need to. He was just a decoration. But the guard at the inner wall frowned suspiciously and said, "Where are you going, Earthman?"

"Inside." Mason's voice was tight. "I want to look around a little."

"Do you have a pass?"

"Sure. Right here in my hand." The subminiaturized blaster in his palm flashed once, a brief bright spurt of energy that bored a pencil-thin hole through the Mordargan's burly chest. Mason leaped forward, caught the guard as he started to fall, and eased him to a sitting position on a bench.

The alien's eyes were glazing. The shot had been instantly fatal.

"You wait right here," Mason told the dead Mordargan. "I'm going inside."

He ran up the broad stone steps of the palace, entered an empty corridor and ducked into a beckoning stairway. No one interfered with him as he circled downward, down into the palace's depths.

On the third level downward he shot another beam of thought at the captive Venusian.

I'm here, Klon Darra!

You're a crazy fool, but I'm glad you did it, came the reply. Go down the left-hand corridor about a hundred paces and turn right. There's an alcove there and a half-stairway that descends about eight feet. I'm in a room at the bottom of that stairway. Got all that?

You bet. I'm going to come in shooting—and we'll be on our way out of here in no time.

Following the Venusian's instructions he tiptoed along the strangely silent corridor, looking for the alcove and the half-stairway.

He found it.

The door was unguarded. Palming the tiny blaster, he went quietly down the stairs, groped for the handle of the door.

In the instant he threw the door open the Venusian's mental voice wailed, Look out, it's a trap!

But it was too late. A rolling tide of mental force came thundering out and held him frozen.

There were three people in the room. One was Klon Darra, lying on a table, his hands and legs strapped down with metal binding.

The other two were Mordargans. One was tall and fierce-looking, with bright white eyes glaring authoritatively from his gray face. The other was small—no taller than an Earthman—with an abnormally large, grotesque, swollen head. The head was light blue rather than the usual gray and was covered with the pulsing striations of veins—the telepath.

The telepath was staring at Mason and holding him immobile.

"Now we have both the spies," said the big Mordargan in a rumbling voice. "Well done, Senibro. Very well done indeed."

Mason struggled to move, to muster enough coordination to fire the blaster he still held in his hand. But despite an effort that brought sweat to his face he was totally frozen, statuelike.

The big Mordargan approached and casually relieved him of the blaster—and his other weapons as well. Impotently, Mason glared at him.

"All right," the big man said to the telepath. "You can relax the controls now. He's weaponless."

Mason went limp as the mental force-field blinked out around him. He said, "What the hell is this? Who are you, and by what authority are you holding a citizen of the Solar System prisoner here?"

The big Mordargan grinned. "I'm Levron Clargo. You may know me: I'm head of Security in Mordarga City. I'm holding this Venusian here by authority of my position, and you too. The Venusian was apprehended on suspicion of spying two days ago. We interrogated him and learned he had a partner at large on Mordarga. It was simpler to bring you here by a ruse than go looking for you."

"Ruse? But—"

Levron Clargo smiled coldly. "We've been in possession of the mind of your Venusian aide since Senibro, here, interrogated him late yesterday."

Mason was stunned. The messages from Klon Darra today, the selfless plea that Mason leave Mordarga immediately and save himself—

A ruse. A trap. A hoax.

They had used reverse psychology, played on his Earthman nature, knowing that if they told him to leave he'd first try to rescue his partner.

And now they had both. Mason felt like four kinds of idiot.

"Senibro, we can now interrogate both of them. But be very careful. I want to learn the mechanism of this linkage between them. Such a linkage would be very useful to know."

Tensely Mason waited as the mutant telepath approached him. He looked away, avoiding the penetrating eyes. He glanced at the sleeping form of Klon Darra on the table—Klon Darra whose mind had probably watched helplessly as it had been manipulated to snare Mason.

"Look at me," the telepath ordered.

Mason formed a plan of action. He decided to leap on the telepath, kill him if possible; Levron Clargo would kill him but that didn't matter. Mason realized that if the aliens ever learned the secret of the telepathic linkage it would be disastrous for Earth.

"Look at my eyes," the alien repeated.

Mason readied himself to spring.

Don't do it, whispered the mental voice of Klon Darra.

That you, Klon?

Yes. The mutant has relaxed control over me. Don't jump him as you're going to do. Let him start to probe you.

Why? Mason asked. He was suspicious; Klon Darra's mental voice had fooled him once already.

Two minds are stronger than one, Rick. And we're linked.

Mason understood. Slowly he raised his head and stared levelly into the brooding, hypnotically-compelling eyes of the alien telepath.

He felt the alien mind begin to enter his. Strange tendrils of thought probed within his skull. He held his breath, waiting, knowing now that Klon Darra had spoken the truth.

"Find anything?" the Security chief asked.

"Not yet," replied the telepath. "There's still some resistance. I—"

And Mason struck.

His mind, supported wholeheartedly by Klon Darra's, lashed out viciously at the mind of the probing mutant. A solid red fist of mental force crashed through the telepath's barriers. The Mordargan staggered, arms flailing.

Hit him again! Mason thought triumphantly to Klon Darra, and the Venusian responded. Jointly they barraged the alien's mind.

"What's happening, Senibro?" asked the Security Chief.

The telepath moaned. "I—I—"

He slumped and fell heavily.

The Solar System agents gave the telepath an extra jolt, a final thrust, to finish burning out the sensitive mutated mind.

"Senibro! Senibro!" the Security Chief roared. He fumbled for his blaster.

But Mason had long since anticipated the clumsy move. The speed of thought is infinite; Mason and the Venusian, working jointly, easily immobilized the Mordargan.

The blaster dropped to the floor.

"Go easy on him," Mason said aloud to his partner. "We'll need him to get us out of the palace."

"Right."

Together they bound the alien in a hypnotic compulsion—to conduct the two Solarians safely out of the palace. Then Mason sent an inquisitive mind-probe into the Mordargan's psyche.

The yield of the probe was rich—data on Mordargan military movements, secret plans. Mason carefully memorized these things.

Then he freed the Venusian. Klon Darra smiled in gratitude.

"I was afraid you'd never get here," he said. "After they caught me I thought we were both finished. But we fooled them."

Mason nodded. "We're still a good team, Klon Darra. A little careless at times but who minds that as long as we bring home what we went out here for."

He turned to the stupefied Mordargan. "Let's go, Levron Clargo."

When they returned to the ship, they would file their report. Mission—successful!