Mystery of the Anti

by Perry Rhodan

  Terra was about 34,000 light-years distant. In spite of this the hypercom transmission was accomplished without difficulty. In a short space of time my largest viewscreen lighted up to reveal the face of a Terranian officer. He switched the contact to the office of the First Administrator.

  When Perry Rhodan's lean but weary-looking face appeared, I started speaking without any preamble. "Hello, little barbarian. What time is it there on Earth?"

  He laughed. His stern face relaxed somewhat. It seemed to me that I was looking directly into his mocking grey eyes. The translight radio connection was working almost perfectly. Only the picture transmission was marred here and there by some slight interference distortions.

  "Thanks for the kind regards, Arkonide. I was just sitting down to lunch."

  "Sorry about that. I have a question, Perry: can you imagine what would happen if somebody were to steal my cell activator?"

  I waited tensely for his reaction. It was as I expected: his face became an expressionless mask.

  "The answer to that is yes! But now don't tell me that somebody has actually..."

  "You guessed it—three and a half hours ago. Marshall and I were knocked out by gas. I have not yet put out an alarm here. Some fast information from the Regent has put us onto some clues but that's about as far as we can go. Marshall alone won't be able to handle this case. Do you have any good suggestions?"

  His lips twisted into an impersonal smile. He would not have been Perry Rhodan if he had gone into questions now. This shrewd, self-possessed Terranian had comprehended exactly what had happened and had already extrapolated the potential consequences.

  Instead of launching into prolonged explanations he said: "Alright, no comment. I'm taking off in two hours with the entire Mutant Corps. Hold onto your nerves until then and clear the way for me. I don't want to be held up by patrol ships or directed to Arkon 3 for inspection. I'll land on the Imperator's spaceport with the Drusus and two State class cruisers. Just take care that those local donk sleepyheads don't get in my way and hold me up with a bunch of donkish questions, Once more—hang onto your nerves. Over and out!"

  In this infinitely vital situation, that was all Perry Rhodan had to say to me. I was already uneasy again as the screen faded. Immediately, however, the symbol of the Regent appeared there.

  "The communication has ended, Your Excellence," came the sharply accentuated words from the loudspeaker.

  I nodded and turned off the connection. Marshall looked at me pensively.

  "That was fast. He can be here in a day. Did you ever mention the fact to him that you're only good for 60 hours without the activator?"

  "He's known that ever since our second encounter. At that time we were still enemies—or at least we assumed that we were. Let's see how that shoulder is coming along."

  I inspected the transparent bioplastic bandage. Obviously the healing process had already begun.

  "Have the pains returned?"

  John shook his head. "Thank you, no. I'll let you know if it gets rough again. Why don't you lie down again, sir? We've had enough conversation for one night."

  I went over to my couch and sat down. Who could have known how irreplaceable the activator was? But above all: who had given this knowledge to Arkonide traitors? To me this was the most important question.

  Once more I succeeded in overcoming my heavy case of nerves over the loss I had suffered. Deep in thought, I ran my fingers over the broad ugly scar on my stomach. During my long sojourn on Earth I had been forced more than once to swallow the small device in menacing situations. Often it had been necessary to be operated on under conditions that caused me to shudder when I thought about them. Unfortunately there had been no other way to extract the activator from my stomach.

  I could vividly recall the field surgeon of the Roman legion. Without any anesthetic and with totally unsterilized instruments he was about to attack my body. I had taken precautions, however, and was able to fight my way to my hidden flight suit. At the last moment I was able to get away and return to my undersea dome, where the operation was at last performed by specialized robots.

  On other occasions it had no longer been possible for me to fly to my stronghold.

  This time, however, I had not been forced to swallow the device in order to preserve it from the hands of slow-witted barbarians. This time they had stolen it from me.

  "How did they get in here?"

  The voice startled me. Marshall sat in a form-chair, having turned off its automatic couch conversion feature.

  "What did you say?"

  "I was wondering how the thieves got in here. While I was present, you locked off all access routes with the energy screens."

  I laughed bitterly. "John, you don't know Arkon! This palace was built at a time when attempted assassinations were the order of the day. Here there are probably numerous secret passages which the Imperators in power may have used as a means of escape. Such access routes were camouflaged by every trick of the most modern Arkonide technology, so it's out of the question to discover them. Not even hollow space sensors and all similar detection devices would help. The thieves must have known of at least one of those passages. Otherwise they could never have gotten past the robot guards and the energy screens."

  "Hm-m-m... so that's the way it is! Well, you can rest assured that my colleagues will find something. You know, you ought to have your own house constructed somewhere in the neighborhood."

  I laughed again. I looked at him almost pityingly. "My young friend, your thinking is too Terranian. For an Imperator it is unthinkable to leave the palace. Just the problem of reinstalling all the concentrated control boards is insurmountable in itself. And as for duplicating all this in another location, do you have any idea of what it would take? Forget it!"

  "That's a terrible way to live, sir. Frankly, I wouldn't care to be in your shoes."

  "Unfortunately, I have to comb it. John, get some sleep now. That shoulder wound needs rest."

  "Where did you get all those medical supplies?"

  "In the palace alone there are three operating rooms which are reserved exclusively for the Imperator. Every main suite of rooms has its own first-aid station. Spoiled or stale-dated medications are regularly replaced by the medorobots. So you can gee how much my predecessors were concerned about their own safety and well-being."

  Marshall said no in ore. He shook his head and turned on the auto-control of his form-chair. It immediately lowered for sleeping and reshaped itself to accommodate his body.

  It became very quiet in the large room. The many videoscreens on the walls and the console desk were like huge insidious eyes, glaring at me with a mixture of menace and scorn. After John Marshall had fallen asleep I began to pace restlessly back and forth. What was the purpose of stealing the activator? Who was behind the theft? Who had organized and commissioned the thieves to accomplish this crime? Why hadn't they simply assassinated me? There could not have been a better opportunity for getting rid of their new Imperator.

  Before my logic sector could come into play, I found the answer by myself. There was a reason the perpetrators had not taken the risk of murdering me in my sleep. The Robot Regent had been personally reprogrammed by me, which had required a number of weeks of intensive work. In case of my sudden demise the Brain would have taken over the power immediately and would have once more established the undesirable form of totalitarian rule which had existed prior to my appearance. Apparently the machinators behind the scenes had no desire to have to live again under the dictatorship of a machine.

  All of which went to prove that Marshall's premonition was well founded. Evidently the mastermind behind this was calculating that I placed as much value on my life as millions of others. So whoever it was figured that I could be blackmailed. I was the only one who had access to the Brain through its otherwise impenetrable energy screens and only I could reprogram it so that it would obey the commands of an outsider.

  As I began to speak out loud to myself
, Marshall opened his eyes. "Now you should be resting, sir," he said reproachfully. "Everything is going to work out. You Arkonides can't hang onto your nerves."

  "Which I suppose I should have outgrown during 10,000 nerve-wracking years while I was putting up with you Earth people," I said sarcastically. "OK, I'll go lie down."

  And with that began the period of waiting for Perry Rhodan. But it was strange how suddenly I had been forced to lean on my Terranian friend for help. I caught myself smiling as I recalled our sword fight in the Earth Museum on Venus.

  I even remembered the girl, Marlis Gentner. She had been pretty, in fact very pretty indeed...

  3/ VISITOR FROM A SMALL, PLANET

  The spaceport for the exclusive use of the Imperator and other authorized special personages lay a few kilometers beyond the rambling range of hills on which the various government palaces had been built. I had cordoned off the area with heavily armed robot units in addition to an entire division of Naat guards. The clumsy looking 3-eyed giants with their big round heads stood at an average height of nine to ten feet and were battle-experienced. They were more alert and reliable than the countless Arkonide armies of land and space, since the latter might as well have existed on paper only.

  John Marshall had used his paranormal abilities on the officers of the Naat contingent and had also made a similar probe of the thought contents of every member of their command. Through this it became certain that the Naat Imperial Guards had had nothing to do with the robbery. The triclops knew nothing about it.

  The extensive spaceport had been hermetically sealed off by 15,000 of these allied troops from the 5th planet of the Arkon System. They were equipped with the most modern armaments including special flying combat suits and individual defense screen units. All of this represented an unusually heavy concentration of troops and was even more emphasized by the presence of robot tanks and the special reinforcement of mobile energy screen projectors.

  Naturally it had aroused the excitement of everyone in the locality. I was besieged by questions from concerned courtiers and sycophants alike but I only smiled. Let them think what they pleased. The overbearing arrogance of the so-called upper class Arkonides was far too lofty to permit them to think of a man named Perry Rhodan. But certainly great consternation must have broken out in the ranks of the conspirators. Marshall guessed that the perpetrators had probably presumed by now that I possessed an extra activator, which would explain my apparent calmness.

  Meanwhile the case evaluation of the robot Regent had come through the machine had confirmed my deliberations on the matter to the fullest extent. No one would have dared to assassinate me. Therefore an extortion attempt was much more probable.

  I stood beside the mobile division command post, which was also capable of flight. The Naat officers appeared to be racking their ponderous brains in an attempt to figure out what all this meant. My robot bodyguards formed a semicircle around me. The muzzles of their weapons glowed with ready energy charges.

  Ten minutes after my arrival at the spaceport the tracking reports began to increase. By means of equipment in the command post vehicle I was in constant contact with the brain on Arkon 3. Three alien spaceships had emerged from hyperspace within the confines of the Arkon System: two light-cruisers and one super battleship of the Imperium Class. The 11th planet had been heavily shaken by a warp shockwave. There were reports from there of structural quakes on the surface and great hurricanes were said to be raging there at present as a result. This was immaterial to me since Arkon 11 was uninhabited. Where I was concerned, Rhodan was doing the right thing.

  The distance between Arkon and Terra was too vast to be spanned by a single transition. Even at the most unsparing maximum output of their power plants and propulsion equipment the ships would have required at least four hyperjumps to cross the tremendous intervening gulf.

  Thus I was able to observe the almost 1-mile sphere of the Drusus, the mighty flagship of the Solar Fleet, as it came in for a landing. The space giant settled down precisely on its widespread landing struts. Shortly in its wake came the two fast cruisers of the Terranian State Class, whose tremendous speed and acceleration capacity had yet to be outdone by any other type of ship.

  A superheated pressure wave rolled across the whole area. Then the rumbling engines of the Drusus were silenced. The huge mountain of steel dominated our field of vision to such an extent that the visible hemisphere of the hull facing us could not be encompassed at a single glance.

  I knew only too well the fighting power that was represented by this Imperium-type colossus. But my thoughts were much more concerned with the men who sat behind the controls than they were with the machinery, weapons and complex electronic installations on board. Even in an age of 98% automation, in the final analysis everything depended upon the minds and abilities of the living crewmen.

  A bitterness welled up within me. Here I was, the Imperator of the Arkonide stellar empire, with over 2,000 super battleships of this unprecedented size. One command from me would be sufficient to send every one of the Titans hurtling into the outer void. Yet I realized that a Terranian fleet of only 500 similar ships would be able to wipe them out very swiftly because, I did not have the highly qualified fleet personnel whom Perry Rhodan had at his disposal.

  We made a short flight in the command vehicle to the area where the battleship had landed. As the big exit hatch opened and the airlock guard detail appeared under command of a young officer I began to feel much better. Here were the old familiar faces and uniforms. These were men whom one could rely on unconditionally in any situation. They were veteran specialists who knew how to use their initiative—soldiers and crewmen who could make their own decisions in any unforeseen eventuality.

  In that moment I completely forgot my new dignified station. Throwing convention to the winds I rushed to the troops of the guard command and greeted them. In accordance with their strict Terranian discipline they stood there stiffly at attention but I noticed a welcome gleam in their eyes and the barely suppressed smiles on their lips. I'd have given a great deal right then to climb aboard and fly away with them.

  The C.O. here was Lt. Fron Wroma, a big wiry Terranian from the centralized confederacy of Africa. Strangely at the moment I recalled his wonderful baritone voice. Once he had brought me out of a severe case of nerves with his singing. Memory after memory came rushing into my mind. I paid no attention to the speechless staff officers of the Naat division and I was concerned even less about the mortified expressions of my court officials.

  While I was still talking to Wroma the air directly in front of me began to shimmer. The mere outlines of a figure appeared at first which was about three feet tall, finally to become materially stabilized. I found myself staring at a pair of large sharp eyes and an even sharper, white-gleaming incisor tooth of respectable size. It was Pucky the mouse-beaver from the planet known as Vagabond. He waved at me with his dainty little hands. He greeted me in his unmistakable shrill voice. "Hello, old Ironhead, how goes it?"

  My ancestral house steward and major-domo, a highly conservative Arkonide of the old but deteriorated bloodline, appeared to be visibly shaken. Scandalized by such a seemingly gross insult, he sought to keep his balance and was supported by a grinning Terranian.

  "The air may be bad for you, old fellow, don't you think?" asked the sergeant pleasantly. He kindly patted the narrow back of the court dignitary, who had the rank of a Minister. I had to struggle hard in order not to burst out laughing.

  Pucky was again wearing his custom-designed special uniform with the hole in the rear portion of it, and now he waddled up to me. The spoon-shaped terminus of his prodigious tail was raised stiffly upward. I was bound to the little fellow by a peculiar sort of friendship which had always been amply laced with mutual taunts and affectionate gibes. To the horror of my Arkonide escorts I picked him up in my arms and stroked his soft fur just under his ludicrous-seeming helmet.

  "Class!" sighed Pucky, rolling his eyes with
pleasure, and his mouse face fairly beamed. "Real first class! A real soft touch—not all scrabbly like some I know!"

  "Perhaps I should bear down on you a little harder, my little informer?" I laughed.

  "You brute! Oh well, but what can one expect from such an Imperator? I've read in books that such people usually execute their subjects. Did you ever know an emperor named Nero?"

  "Of course! I was even in his Praetorian Guard."

  Pucky wrinkled his dark nose as he looked up at me sharply. I kept stroking the fur at the nape of his neck. A few steps away from us, Fron Wroma had his hands full trying to make a Naat officer comprehend that the mouse-beaver was neither a monster nor something edible.

  I whispered swiftly to Pucky: "Don't get any ideas about making anybody fly through the air. It's very important to me that no one knows about your unusual abilities."

  He giggled. "Who's that guy in the snobby uniform?"

  I turned around. Toward the rear of the reception group was an older man with remarkably alert eyes. "That's Admiral Tara. He's Commander-in-Chief of the 22nd Battlecruiser Flotilla. Why do you ask?"

  "He hates you. Just now he was thinking of his own family, which also seems to have a claim to the job."

  "Job?"

  "Of course—your job! He's enraged over your comportment. What the devil— he's even thinking about me! Fishy-eyed moron! That's what he's thinking! Imagine that! Fishy-eyed moron!" squealed Pucky in a transport of rage.

  Before the deeply insulted little fellow could do anything rash, however, a familiar voice rang out. Its tone was decisive and demanded respect. "Take it easy down there. Control yourself, Pucky. My orders are to be clearly understood."