by Perry Rhodan
A few minutes prior to this observation, Perry Rhodan had just returned from a cultural event. He had been trapped into suffering through the recital of a simultan music composer and was forced to pretend that he was enthusiastic about it. He neglected however to tell me just how bad it was. The interweaving and swirling light symbols had always been too lofty and abstract for me at such performances and the terrible howling and shrieking that was generated and modulated by the artist's nerve reflexes as he lay under a mono-transmitter were always too much to endure.
In an adjacent room the teleporters of the Corps were coming and going. At two in the morning when the activity had subsided in the main thoroughfares of the city, Allan D. Mercant made an appearance in our comfortably furnished rooms. He had asked to be allowed to carry out the preliminary investigations on his own, so I had kept out of the action so far.
Rhodan had removed his dress uniform and slipped into his service outfit when John Marshall followed Mercant into the room.
The slightly built and usually smiling Intelligence Chief of the Solar Empire sat down with some ceremony on a convertible form-chair. He seemed to sense my inner tension.
"Well, speak up!" Rhodan told him impatiently. "Do you have a clue?"
"Presumably, sir," he replied in his deliberate way. "It has proved advisable to bypass the large number of passengers and crew members on those five spaceliners for the present. The vessels have been thoroughly scanned and the activator was not found on board. Which we expected." He looked at me thoughtfully and I had to clench my fists to keep control of myself. Mercant could often be very pedantic. "We're evidently dealing with pretty high-class criminals, so I don't think they'll try shipping out such a priceless item on a normal vessel. Actually, there's no logical reason why the activator should be smuggled out of the Arkon system. There might be a need for proving it's in their possession when the extortion threats begin. Then, when and if we pay, they can back up their threat— or deliver."
Atlan, I think he has a binary computer for a brain!" quipped Rhodan, desperately trying to relax the tension in the room.
The remark failed in its purpose. Mercant did not smile. I nodded for him to continue and without any change of tone in his voice, the man with the golden crown of gleaming blond hair continued: "By temporarily bypassing the passengers and crew of the spaceliners I was not jeopardizing the success of the search. Perhaps it gained us time. To me the important people to watch were: first, those who blasted off in private ships from Arkon 1 during the critical time period; then, second, those who landed on the middle world of this tri-planet inner system of yours. All told, 17 men have already been detained and just minutes ago I received some information that more or less took a load off my back."
I could hear Rhodan breathing heavily. Although he glared darkly at Mercant, the Intelligence Chief did not notice. He seemed lost in thought.
"My one great worry had been that the activator was still on Arkon 1. The loss of time would be fatal for Atlan..."
"Thanks a lot," I muttered tonelessly.
"On the other hand there was another weak spot in this picture. If the thieves evaded the takeoff clearance requirement—"
"Will you please get to the point?" I urged.
"I'm getting to it, sir," Mercant replied stiffly. "The 17 people detained by the Regent were secretly scanned telepathically. No one seemed to possess knowledge linking them with the theft. However—and here was a curious point—the pilot of the small interplanetary ship Heter-Kon complained about a severe headache."
I impatiently tried to control myself. It was only when I glanced into John Marshall's knowing eyes that I guessed something important was involved here.
"A headache?" whispered Rhodan pointedly.
"No—that's just the point," Mercant continued. "The pilot had been put under an illegal hypno-block by means of electronic equipment." Rhodan's gaze grew blacker. "It's been determined that he received orders from a high personage to bring two Arkonide Fleet Officers here to Arkon 2. Officially, those two officers never arrived. Nevertheless the pilot knows that they were on board the vessel when he took off and when he entered the atmosphere for a landing. From that point on an amnesia gap begins. We assume that the two mysterious officers jumped ship prior to the landing."
Weakly but fiercely, I raised myself from the couch. I glared angrily into the Intelligence Chief's strangely smiling face. "Who is this very high personage who gave that order to the pilot?" I demanded to know.
Mercant returned my gaze without expression. "You, sir. It was a personal order from the Imperator."
"I gave the order? Are you insane, Mercant?"
"No sir. I am merely telling you what the pilot himself actually knows, as determined by a complete telepathic exam. Naturally there's a trick to it. The man truly believes that he was personally commissioned by you to carry out the mission. We'll soon be breaking through his hypno-block. Pucky and Betty Toufry are already working on it. It can be assumed that traitors in the Crystal Palace managed to issue the order in your name, sir. We will trace down whoever it was when we obtain the information. But just now there's no time. Our focal point at the moment is the two unknown officers. The pilot must have seen them."
"How can that help us?" asked Rhodan after he pondered over this. "A personal description would be completely useless."
"Presumably, sir. But we will find out what area of the planet they were over when they dropped from the ship. The pilot followed the Torgona landing instructions to the letter. Then when, he checked through customs at the spaceport he stated that he had taken off alone and that he had landed alone. The Regent checked back on this and found that the Crystal Palace's flight control station confirmed the pilot's story."
"Unbelievable! How can that be possible?" I cried.
"The robots in charge there have been programmed accordingly by authorized Arkonides, sir. This was a shrewdly planned manoeuvre and even if you had put the Arkonide Secret Police to work on it they would never have seen through it."
I looked at my watch again. The hands moved inexorably onward. Naturally Mercant was right. But, after all, this was why I had called Rhodan for help. I had a sudden thought. Had Mercant overlooked it?
"Somebody should be making contact with me soon," I interjected. "They know I can't live long without the activator. Why haven't I heard from them?"
Perry Rhodan lowered his gaze from me. He seemed to know more than I did. My uneasiness increased even more.
"Mercant!" I said sharply.
But he only examined the tips of his fingers. "Sir, in the course of our planning I have deliberately discounted that possibility. You'll recall you appeared in the Council with the false activator. You gave everyone to understand—quite tersely—that you had a replacement device in reserve. As a result of your amazing self-control they believed you without question. No one doubted that a spare activator existed. Your whole appearance and composure indicated that you apparently did. Anyone practically sentenced to death by the loss of such a vital apparatus would normally take pains to retrieve it. Instead of doing anything of the kind you even appeared to be sneering at the thieves. In my judgment, the thieves will not expose themselves in a useless attempt to blackmail you... so nobody is going to contact you, sir."
I sank slowly back onto my pneumo-couch as pinwheels shot into my skull. My thought processes seemed to stop without my extra-brain intervening—which was in itself a verification of the logic behind Mercant's explanation. The man was like a computer. He seemed to overlook nothing.
It was some minutes before the seizure passed and I was able to collect myself again. When I straightened up, Rhodan was sitting at the foot of my couch. His face was ashen and his lips quivered faintly as we looked at each other.
Without any preamble he said: "There's something we haven't talked about, Atlan, but I know you must have been harboring the same suspicion as I—as we all have. Only one person knows what the activator means to you and
would use it against you."
I forced a wan smile. Naturally it had long been obvious to me. I had not thought it necessary to discuss the matter. It would not have brought back the activator. Rhodan remained stubborn, however, as though in a mood to turn an angry whip upon himself.
"Forget it," I pleaded. "It is useless to mention his name."
"There was only one besides my closest confidants who knew," he persisted. "It was my son, Atlan! MY SON! The same man who betrayed the Earth and the Arkonide Empire to make a treacherous alliance with the Galactic Traders. I was hoping to find him here. But not like this! There can be no leniency now. Thomas Cardif!" He spat the name like a curse. "I thank God that Thora has not lived to see this day."
Rhodan got up and solemnly walked over to the row of windows. He stood there quietly looking out. Marshall left the room. There was a clamor of voices in the adjacent chamber. Allan D. Mercant also got up. He looked at me somewhat undecidedly for a moment before he spoke.
"Sir, you should know that this is the only possibility. Not one word has slipped from the other people who know of your activator."
"I believe you're wanted in the other room," I said crisply.
With a sick smile, Mercant went out. By contrast, Rhodan's face was an emotionless mask. Only through the windows of his eyes could I see the play of emotions which tormented him.
"Someday we'll get him. Perhaps a solution will be found to his problem. Perhaps—but you should forget in the meantime that you have a son."
"Forget?" he repeated dully. "How easy it is to say."
I bit my lip remorsefully.
Seconds later the hypno-suggestor, Kitai Ishibashi, entered the room. The tall, lean mutant from the federal state of Japan said simply: "We have a picture, sir! The block has been lifted—do you wish to look at the synthesizer picture? It might help us to recognize the two missing officers."
I forgot my concern for Thomas Cardiff, who had not even been disposed to bear the name of Rhodan. Perry visibly tore himself out of his dark mood. When he looked at me I saw a thin, dangerous-looking smile play on his lips. I could see that he shared mutual responsibility.
"Let's go, Arkonide! How much time do we have left?"
I looked at my watch. The counter dial showed 45 hours and 58 minutes. "Still about 15 hours, Barbarian."
Our eyes met in silence. Ishibashi handed me the Terranian weapons belt which I strapped to my captain's uniform.
There was a hushed silence—I had pronounced my own death sentence!
5/ THE CULT OF BAALOL
The Synthesis Projector, a machine used commonly on the Arkon worlds, made it possible to synthesize emotions and thought impressions into a holograph of 'symbolization'. Its detector 'feeler' converted brainwaves into visible swirls of color and symbolic iridescent forms onto a large screen. The quality of the picture elements, of course, varied according to the mental capacities of the sender. In this case the ship pilot, Ikort, lay inert upon a table with the apparatus humming around him.
Ikort wore the uniform of a lieutenant of the Fleet with the special insignia on his chest which revealed that he was a pilot of the Palace Guard. So there could be no doubt that he was a member of my inner staff and of aristocratic origin. Nevertheless, I did not recall having ever seen his face, which was now expressionless and lifeless-looking.
He lay on his back beneath the hood of the detector pickup. The large screen was mounted into the wall as a standard part of the equipment in our quarters. Pucky and Betty Toufry, who had lifted the hypno-block, sat near the unconscious officer—exhausted as a result of their efforts.
Marshall took charge of the further interrogation. The 1st signs of success appeared within 10 minutes. A current of powerful suggestive force from Kitai finally forced Lt. Ikort to pour out his knowledge in an unbroken torrent of symbols.
I peered tensely at the screen where colorful, patterns began to form. Apparently Ikort was highly skilled in this kind of thought play, which confirmed my guess concerning his background. It would have been surprising had a young man from a well-to-do family not been familiar with the popular rage of Organic Synthesis Composing. The composition of images by emotion was the ultimate extension of oneself in an effort toward artistic expression.
I had been aware of the interrogation but as Marshall's voice became more insistent and Ishibashi leaned still closer to the prostrate man, my eyes continued to scrutinize the viewscreen. The color patterns soon faded and were replaced by the scene of a spaceport. The private port of the Imperator on Arkon 1. Two men appeared. Although it was night, their faces became recognizable in the airlock light as they boarded the small ship.
A camera hummed and clicked. The Terranian specialists captured the pictures as they occurred.
The next scene revealed outer space between the three Arkon worlds which my father had caused to circle the sun in a single orbit, thus forming an isosceles triangle—known to Terran astrophysicists as the LaGrange effect. Shortly thereafter we witnessed the re-entry manoeuvre into the atmospheric envelope of Arkon 2.
"Watch this!" said Mercant swiftly. A second camera began to hum.
On the screen we saw the flight controls of the spacecraft. A green line indicated the route on a relief map. Suddenly the synthesizer pictures became indistinct. At this juncture in the events the hypno-block must have become effective. Nevertheless we made out the figures of two men as they passed through the control cabin with antigrav backpacks and opened the inner airlock door. This time the faces were quite distinct. They leapt from the forward hatch and disappeared, after which both batches closed automatically. Shortly thereafter we witnessed the landing.
The pictures which followed were essentially of no interest to us. Marshall concluded the synthesizer-aided part of the interrogation and started direct questioning. The pilot knew where his two passengers had jumped from the ship shortly before the metropolis of Torgona.
A half-hour later the young officer was released by Mercant. He stood there in the middle of the room looking stupefied and still staring vacantly. Ishibashi provided him with a hypno-block which permitted him to forget that he had ever been removed from his hotel room.
Rhodan looked at his watch. Ras Tschubai, the tall, slim Afroterranian, stepped up to him. "Ras, were you the one who brought the officer out of his quarters?" As the capable teleporter nodded, he went on: "OK, then take him back to where you collected him."
Ras laughed. "He was lying on his bed with his clothes on, sir. He had a headache."
Rhodan merely nodded, Activities of this nature were minor miracles and yet to these Terranians they were commonplace. It seemed to me that Rhodan was not aware of the instrument of tremendous power he had in his mutant allies.
Two men lifted the seemingly drugged pilot onto Tschubai's back. I watched the mutant as he concentrated. As he jumped—which was the casual term applied to the phenomenon—there was a brief shimmering in the air. Then the teleporter and his passenger were gone.
When he returned 10 minutes later, just as suddenly as he had disappeared, the films were ready to examine. The mutant commandos each received colored photos of the two strangers. Using my command transceiver I called the robot Regent, and with the help of the video pickup he was able to copy the prints.
"Done, Your, Eminence. Do you have any additional instructions?" the mechanical voice inquired.
"Yes," I answered into the tiny microphone. "Find out if you know either one or both of these men. If so, contact me at once."
"Understood. Over and out." The robot brain on the neighboring world cut off the connection.
Rhodan had a gaunt look when he said: "Now I'm getting a feeling that this thing is starting to roll. Ras, did you take that pilot back?"
"Yes sir. He's sleeping. When he wakes up he'll think he never left his room— and by that time his headache will be gone!"
"Good work! Pucky, is something wrong?"
The mouse-beaver had curled up on another form-co
uch with his head in Betty Toufry's lap. The female mutant seemed lost in thought as she stroked the soft fur at the nape of his neck.
"Don't bother me, please! I'm meditating," chirped the mouse-beaver in his high-pitched little voice.
"You little fake!" laughed the left head of Goratschin. "You've just gone sissy, that's all. Meditating, he says!"
Pucky straightened up and his large eyes flashed. "Who's a sissy?"
I sprang aside just in time to avoid the hurtling giant body of the two-headed mutant as he flew past me through the air. Seconds later the green-scaled colossus was dangling from the ceiling. Pucky emitted a shrill laugh. His telekinetic powers were incredible.
"I didn't say a word!" cried the right head of the monster, known as Ivanovich the Younger. "How come?"
"I'll explode that silly incisor tooth of yours!" threatened Ivan the Elder. "You fishy-eyed moron, you!"
"Let him down!" said Rhodan irritably.
Pucky waved his delicate hands in resignation and allowed the 8-foot giant to sink slowly to the floor, where the two heads immediately began to argue with each other.
Ivan the Elder maintained that Ivanovich had indirectly given in too soon. I watched in fascination as their two separate brains struggled in the course of the argument to gain power over the giant body. It was a silent duel until Ivan finally succeeded in raising the left arm, contrary to the second head's will, and delivering the latter a punch in the ear. It was an audible blow, landing sharply enough to make Ivanovich gasp.
With that the fight was ended. The two heads made an agreement to rest their mutual body on a nearby couch. No one other than myself had paid much attention to this minor event. For these Terranians such things were quite ordinary.