A World Gone Mad

by Perry Rhodan

  Borator looked up knowingly and rose from his seat. Kitai's will guided him as he stepped outside to meet the Springers. He didn't show the slightest sign of surprise. "Did you come to take delivery of the ship, Topthor? Have you been sent to me by Etztak?"

  Topthor slowly lowered his impulse-beamer as he stared at the splotchy face of the engineer. He felt certain that his protective suit made him immune to any infection. Nevertheless he was unable to get rid of the uncanny feeling that he confronted an unknown and unpredictable enemy.

  "Did you come down with the plague too, Borator?" he asked, taking a step back. Out of the comer of his eye he could see a group of Goszuls coming out of the hangar with a few work robots—not paying the slightest attention to the Mounders—and walking to the adjacent shed. "What business do the natives have here? Are they also diseased?"

  Borator nodded as if they were only temporarily and slightly indisposed. "We're all sick but so far we have yet retained our memories. The dissolution of the brain occurs after a few weeks. The ship will be completed before then. As far as the Goszuls are concerned, I was forced to put them to work because the robots couldn't have finished the job alone before—before I lose my memory." Borator pointed to a battle-robot standing in the distance. "I'm not the only one who's affected that way. The robots will also suffer a loss of memory and I won't be able to depend on them much longer."

  Topthor retreated another step with a warning glance at his men. "When will the vessel be ready, Borator?"

  "In about a week. Then you can take over the ship."

  "And when... I mean, when will your memory fail?"

  "I don't know, maybe already tomorrow. It would be advisable if you prepare to assume my duties here."

  "Take over your job? And your illness too?"

  "It's already too late for that, you've got it," Borator said impassively.

  The Mounder paled behind his faceplate. "But we're wearing protective suits!"

  Borator smiled coldly. "So did I ever since I heard about the first case in the valley. You can see for yourself what good it does. No, you'll have to put all personal considerations last and think only of saving our ship. It must never be allowed to fall into the hands of strangers."

  "No bacillus can penetrate the cover of my protective suit," Topthor reverted to the topic which was most vital to him. "Before we return to our ship we'll first go through a vacuum chamber in which every germ will be destroyed."

  "You can only put your suits in a vacuum, not your bodies," Borator replied matter-of-factly. "Don't be under any illusions. You are lost the same as I and the robots and the Goszuls on this world. All that's left for you to do is to take the ship to some point in space and leave it there with opened hatches for transfer to our people out there. They will know how to find it later when the disease is gone. As for you, Topthor, you'll be lucky if you still know your name in a week."

  "Borator!" Topthor's voice had a mighty ring matching his massive body. "I didn't come here to listen to madness! Everybody seems to be on the job in this valley. I haven't noticed any crazy workers."

  "We've got them alright," Borator quietly contradicted, waving his hairy chin toward a battle-robot which was just rounding the corner of a low storage building. "You won't believe it but the positronic brains are the first to act funny. just listen..."

  Topthor looked reluctantly at the heavy robot which was slowly coming in their direction and passed them a few feet away. The hunk of steel ignored the newcomers. It didn't even give them as much as a fleeting glance.

  It kept walking and softly singing a tune. It was a rather simple and monotonous melody but the words were in Intercosmo: and clearly audible.

  "Who am I...?"

  I'm searching and pain,

  Hunger and desire,

  Compulsion and striving in vain...

  Dreams and illusions. Light...?

  Yet in the end—thirst and desire.

  I wish I could fly to a blue star..."

  Topthor gaped with open mouth as if his beard had suddenly become heavy and pulled his chin down. Then all his limbs started to tremble as he painfully stammered: "What's... that...?"

  "A poem," Borator explained. "RK-064 has composed the tune and words!"

  The 20 Mounders behind Topthor had gradually withdrawn step by step and now stood once more at the hatch of their attack ship. A sign from Topthor would have been enough to make them scramble aboard in a hurry. But Topthor, although severely shaken, wasn't ready to give up yet. His fingers gripped the butt of his weapon. "Why didn't you destroy RK-064?"

  John Marshall chuckled in his hide-out as he repeated Topthor's question to Kitai who sat next to him. Kitai suggested his answer to Borator who instantly picked it up. "Why should I destroy it? If I did, I'd have to do away with many more valuable robots. Sooner or later they're finished anyway and as long as they don't cause mayhem I can see no reason to hasten their end. By the way, work robot RA-007 has started to write a dramatic play."

  Pucky laughed so hard he almost fell off his seat. "This is much too silly to make Topthor run! I'd love to turn him into a little spaceship. It would be the easiest thing for me to make him fly to the nearest moon where his men can pick him up."

  "Don't you dare!" Marshall snapped angrily. Topthor is a practical and logical man. He'd suspect a telekinetic trick and connect it with Perry Rhodan. Rhyming robots frighten him much more because it's beyond his comprehension. Kitai, keep it up. I think we'll soon have Topthor where we want him."

  While dramatic plays were also part of the cultural life of the Springers, Topthor had never shown any interest in the arts which didn't bring a profit. He gazed with amazement at the speckled face of RA-007 and suddenly felt an indescribable terror. His limbs began to tremble and he had trouble staying on his sturdy legs. "And what effect does the plague have on people?"

  Before Borator could answer him one of the Goszuls came into view as if by request. With a beaming smile he approached the group of Mounders who under normal circumstances would have scared him to death. He probably would have fainted at the sight of these monsters whereas now he didn't show the slightest consternation.

  "Look for yourself!" Borator murmured as the Goszul stepped between him and Topthor. The native had long dark hair and his naked chest was covered with red and blue spots. His face showed many hues of color and his brain seemed to be debilitated by the dreadful scourge since he obviously was incapable of realizing the dangers he incurred from the Mounders.

  He took the impulse-beamer from Topthor's trembling hands and smilingly began to play with it. Before anybody could stop him the pale-green energy-ray sizzled from the weapon and vaporized a slice high up on the rocky face. The Goszul shook his head in puzzlement and handed the weapon back to Topthor before he could leap to safety. This startled the Springer more than anything else.

  With an amused smile the native continued on his way, crossing the line of the baffled Mounders without a sign of fear.

  Borator turned again to Topthor. "There you have it, Topthor. It's a disease which makes you forget everything. He's not even aware of any perils. He trusts his worst enemy. The race of the Springers will be doomed if we lose our memories and don't know who our enemies are."

  Topthor held his weapon in his limp hands. "We couldn't recognize our enemies?"

  "You can't even remember your own name," Borator stated and continued in a businesslike tone. "May I show you the ship now? You'll have to launch it into space no later than a week. I hope you'll still be well by then but you probably have more men who can take your place if something happens to you. The last group will have to put the ship on its course."

  "And what will become of us?" Topthor inquired.

  Borator made an uncertain gesture. "You'll have to make your own decision, Topthor. In a week at the most your mind will stop functioning although your body will go on living. But is this really so important? What matters most is that we comply with our orders and deliver the new ship
to the clans."

  "I didn't get orders to rot from a disease!" Topthor suddenly blurted out. His whole body was shaking. "These fiends wanted to send us to our doom and they hope to save the expense in the bargain. Of course, I'm supposed to forget what I've coming! But I'll make them account to me. Let 'em get their own ship! You can tell 'em that from me, Borator, if you still can remember it!"

  Turning to his men, Topthor ordered: "Get back aboard the ship! We won't go through with this deal." And again to Borator: "Do you really think we've caught it?"

  The engineer made a sad grimace. "I'm afraid there's nothing you can do about it, Topthor."

  The Mounder bellowed a curse and climbed into the cockpit of his ship. The batch closed and seconds later the ship lifted off vertically and soon disappeared beyond the rim of the mountain wall.

  "That was all?" Pucky piped up with disappointment. "No fireworks, no telekinetic razzle-dazzle? Nothing!"

  John sighed with relief as he patted Kitai on the back. "Well done, my friend! Borator gave an excellent performance. It's a shame he doesn't know it."

  "Well?" Pucky insisted, squatting on his haunches on top of the table. "I asked you something, John!"

  The telepath stroked the thick fur of the mouse-beaver. "You ought to be happy that we pulled it off without resorting to stronger measures. Sometimes peaceful persuasion is more effective than a deadly display of fire and brimstone. Only the living can remember."

  While Pucky tried to digest this bit of wisdom the huge shadow of the cylindrical ship rose from the plateau and raced with terrific acceleration into the blue sky.

  Topthor called the other 12 ships but there were only 11 that answered.

  6/ WONDERS OF THE SENTIENT SPHERE

  As Harnahan started his little ship he believed he was dreaming. Perhaps he was sick and suffering from the symptoms of space-fever. Or the solitude could have made him delirious and his adventures were merely a figment of his imagination produced by his subconscious mind.

  Yet there was that mysterious voice again, entering his brain across a distance of many miles. You can ponder your doubts later, Harnahan. You don't have time for it now. A ship of the Springers is heading for this moon. Hurry up if you don't want to die. Come to my valley!

  Harnahan moved fast. In less than a minute he landed in the basin where he had found the enigmatic sphere. It was still lying on the same spot but the picture on its surface had changed.

  Remain in your ship, Harnahan. You may observe everything without trepidation. You'll be perfectly safe. As for the Springer, however...

  The sphere was a mere 30 feet away from Harnahan He was able to recognize everything that was depicted on its surface, There was a ship of the typically tubular shape of the Springers. He noticed that it hugged the periphery of a—his?—moon as if it searched for something. He had the impression that the sphere had grown a little and was still in the process of expanding itself. It also seemed to have taken on a richer, more satisfied glow.

  More satisfied?

  This incredible suspicion germinating at this moment in Harnahan's mind later proved to be quite correct. Right now he had no time to contemplate such ideas. He took his eyes off the picture on the ball and peered across the plain. The Springer ship came exactly in his direction, turning its nose a little to starboard to clear the barrier of the mountain and abruptly increasing its velocity. It was due any instant to hurdle across the ridge.

  And there it was! Harnahan intently watched what was going to happen next. Unless the commander of the ship was asleep he must have already detected the little pursuit ship. Harnahan's hand automatically gripped his control stick. In one stroke he could make his rocket shoot vertically up into the sky. Without changing its course the Springer ship continued its flight straight into the star-studded sky. Harnahan thought he noticed that its speed slightly diminished.

  The ship has exceeded the escape velocity of the moon and won't be caught by it. Unless it is found by the other Springers its crew will perish.

  Harnahan followed the big ship with astonished eyes as it became rapidly smaller and disappeared behind the steep rocks. His practiced eyes had noted that it had lost its driving power and merely kept moving by the momentum of its mass. As soon as it left the gravitational field of the moon it would fall into space till a larger moon or perhaps the sun caught it.

  "Did you destroy its power plant?" Harnahan asked, looking at the sphere whose diameter now measured three feet. "The people in that ship will be doomed."

  I didn't destroy the power plant, the silent answer came. I've merely siphoned all their energy with the exception of their emergency batteries which I left intact because I didn't intend to deprive them of the life-sustaining system. Otherwise the ship has no energy. No propulsion, no weapons and no hyper-transmitter. Nothing.

  "How did you accomplish this?"

  I could drain your energy too if I so desired. But Perry Rhodan fascinates me. Please inform him of my presence here. Before he leaves this stellar system I'll send him a message that I expect a visit from him some day. It doesn't matter if it takes 10 or 50 years. I've got the time but I don't want to wait a thousand years—or rather 800 years which I now have to spend here.

  As Harnahan switched on his little hyper-synchron transceiver, which enabled him to communicate over a distance of two light-weeks without a time delay, he told the strange entity: "I'll advise Rhodan of our meeting. But now I've got to report my position."

  Make your report. You'll find out that the dispute on the second planet of this system has already been settled. The Springers were put to flight. They've lost all interest in carrying out their expedition. You may return now—at least you'll receive orders to this effect in a minute.

  Lt. Fisher of the Stardust answered Harnahan's call. "Man, Harnahan! Why didn't we hear from you sooner? You can come back now. We no longer need to observe their position. The Springers took it on the lam. Where did you get stuck, by the way?"

  "On a moon of the fourth planet. Can you connect me with Rhodan?"

  "Can't be done, sorry. I'll tell him we can expect you soon. He'll be tickled to hear from you. Get going!"

  "But..."

  "Sorry, Sergeant, no more time. The Stardust is getting ready to emerge again. Call back later. Out!"

  The receiver was silent and Harnahan turned it off. He opened the airlock and went over to the sphere. He looked at the black surface and saw several cylindrical ships in a formation. There were 11 ships grouped in a circle around a larger one. To their left was a planet.

  It's the outermost planet, the thought impulses explained. They're regrouping again to abandon the system as quickly as possible. However they received the SOS signals from the missing ship and will first go to rescue it.

  Harnahan bent down to the sphere. He was anxious to touch it with his hands but didn't dare. "What kind of a spirit are you?" he exclaimed. "What are your powers?"

  I am I, Harnahan. I cant tell you more about myself but I'll show you what I can do.

  The picture of a swirling ocean was reflected on the spherical surface and Harnahan saw the Stardust emerging from the depth of the water and slowly drifting over the foamy white caps of the waves. It soon reached the shore and landed on the spaceport.

  The three cruisers had already left their subterranean hangars. The ships' crews mingled everywhere with the Goszuls, who still displayed the red spots on their faces but otherwise acted completely normal.

  "You're a living television screen," Harnahan whispered in awe and added with curiosity: "What's the limit of your range?"

  Instead of an answer the picture of the sphere changed. Harnahan watched as he left their own stellar system—at least this was the impression the image created. Racing a million times faster than light into infinity he incredulously beheld the rotating spiral of the Galaxy. He must have leaped across ten thousands of light-years.

  Then he plunged back and was suddenly on the moon again. He knew that he had never
moved from his spot, and yet...

  I can observe any point in the Galaxy and make it visible for others. Unfortunately I can communicate with others only up to 200 light-years. You see my resources are limited.

  Harnahan suddenly felt cold in his heated spacesuit. He began to grasp what power was possessed by the spherical being that seemed to consist of solid energy and received its sustenance from the light of the stars. He had witnessed its ability to tap the energy converters of spaceships but had also learned that he had never encountered a more benevolent living being.

  And now go back to your friends, Harnahan. Tell my story to Perry Rhodan only and keep it secret from all others. I've got to rest and save my strength because I have access only to feeble stellar energy sources here. Goodbye Harnahan! Some day we'll meet again.

  Harnahan gazed a little longer at the sphere. Then he abruptly turned around and walked back to his rocket. He climbed aboard and closed the hatch.

  As he activated the antigrav field and slowly lifted off, he cast a lingering glance at the darkly flickering ball in front of the metal door leading into the mountain. He should have inquired about it. But then he shook his head. Some day he was going to learn what lay behind that door—if it actually was a door.

  Soon the valley faded out of sight and he was engulfed in the starry sky, all alone once more in his snug cockpit.

  7/ LAST COMMUNICATION OF THE INCREDIBLE ORB

  The gigantic vessel glided at a snail's pace out of its cave in the mountains. The antigrav-field held it weightlessly suspended a few feet above the ground. At both sides Goszuls and work robots kept the gleaming hull from scraping the rocky walls. Borator excitedly ran back and forth. He talked with his hands and feet–and sometimes with his mouth. This ship was his life's work albeit he failed to understand all the intricacies which the technicians and the robot specialists had devised.