by Perry Rhodan
"This is John Edgar Pincer of the Intercosmic Fruit Company. My wife and I are located on the Springer planet Alazee. This is the center of the narcotics operation. On Earth the business is run by Vincent Aplied in Cape Town. If any Terranian station can hear me, please advise Perry Rhodan immediately. Attention! I will repeat the message..."
"I'm going out of my mind!" yelled Woodworth. In his enthusiasm he felt like jumping into the air. "Durban!" he ordered. "Get in touch with Terrania at once and put me in contact with Rhodan!"
"With the Chief?" queried the Com Officer.
"Do I have to threaten you with a firing squad to get you to follow my instructions?" inquired Woodworth loudly. "Now something's finally happening in our sector and the Com man is asleep!"
"May I remind you, sir, that Alazee's planet is more than 1,000 light-years from us and that it is not in our sector?" But while he spoke he was already busy making the desired connection, which saved him from Woodworth's righteous wrath.
"Try to determine just where this Pincer is on the planet," said the major. "We're going to haul him out of there!"
Durban was unable to counter this enthusiastic statement with anything more than a few comments concerning service regulations but he was drowned out by the shout of joy that broke loose in the Control Central The Cape Kennedy fairly seemed to tremble with the crew's howl of triumph.
"The legend of James Woodworth in Nothingsville is ended," growled the major. "Now a new epoch begins for me and my men."
Durban would have preferred giving everyone a gentle reminder that nothing had happened so far, other than a hypercom message, and that it was more than
possible that nothing more would happen. However, all he could do was shake his head. By that time he had completed his connection with the Communications Center of the Solar Fleet in Terrania. The face of a young officer appeared on the screen and it was plain to see that he was not exactly pleased by the unexpected disturbance of his routine.
Woodworth leaned over Durban's shoulder. "This is Maj. Woodworth speaking," he said. "Connect me immediately with the First Administrator."
"For that you'd better have a damned good reason," retorted the Com Officer in Terrania. "Every time somebody gets a twitch in his—"
I am not twitching!" shouted the major angrily. "But you'll be twitching spasmodically if you don't make that connection—on the double, soldier!"
The Com Officer's cold-blooded stubbornness matched his sour disposition. "Give me the justification for this request, Major."
Woodworth realized that he could get nowhere without compliance. "We've found the narcotics ring," he said. Of course this was reaching rather far out but in his excitement Woodworth didn't care about preciseness of expression at the moment.
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" asked the man in Terrania. "I'll try to make contact immediately. Of course I can't promise to reach the Chief personally. Would you be satisfied with Reg—er, that is, would his Deputy, Mr. Bell, suit you, or Solar Marshal Freyt?"
Woodworth glared in anguish at the screen. I implore you, sonny—just get me anybody with the power of making decisions or I'll go out of my mind!"
More swiftly than he had expected, he saw Rhodan's impressive face looking at him from the viewscreen.
"You have found the smugglers, Major? As I recall, you're in command of the heavy cruiser Cape Kennedy which belongs to the task force of patrol ships. Your assignment is to be on the alert for any approach of alien ships."
"That's right, sir," confirmed Woodworth. He was amazed that Rhodan knew immediately what his cruiser's assignment was. Briefly he relayed to the First Administrator what they had picked up in the hypercom message.
Rhodan's decision followed at once. "It would be foolish to deploy a major Fleet force around Alazee's planet" he said. "We'd only stir up a bigger conflict with the Galactic Traders. At the moment, that's the last thing we should wish upon ourselves. However, I'd like to have you rescue this Pincer fellow. No doubt he could be of further help to us."
"Sir!" exclaimed Woodworth enthusiastically. 'You may count on me and my men. We'll pull Pincer out of there!"
Rhodan smiled. "Cool it, Major. Any precipitate action would be out of place here. Take the Cape Kennedy in as close as possible to the planet and then use a three-man destroyer. The only way you can help Pincer is by using a highly manoeuvrable ship like that in a purely blitz action. Meanwhile we'll get busy here with the estimable Mr. Vincent Aplied. If this whole thing is valid and not a tip from a crackpot, we'll have cured ourselves of a few headaches."
"We'll do our best, sir! Woodworth promised.
Rhodan gave him a friendly nod. "One more thing, Major. If your rescue attempt should fail, "Don't try it a second time. Also, you are not to land the Cape Kennedy under any circumstances. That would only bring the Springers to the boiling point. I don't want any kind of military demonstration. You will restrict yourself to one mission only, using the small-class destroyer."
"Yes sir!" said Woodworth. "And thank you, sir!
Rhodan looked at him in surprise. "What for, Major?"
"For the mission, sir. I have to overcome a bad reputation."
"No commanding officer of the Solar Fleet has a bad reputation," replied Rhodan earnestly. His image faded. The Terrania Com Officer appeared again and Durban signed off.
"Poulson!" yelled Woodworth. "What are you standing around here for? Get us up to light-speed at once! Felton—let's have the transition coordinated Make it a single jump—to within two light-years of Alazee's planet."
Durban interrupted with another precaution. "Sir, you know the crew isn't used to this kind of pressure." But he was grinning.
Woodworth looked at him for a moment and then the deep cleft in his chin began to tremble with anticipation. "You guys haven't seen anything yet!" he retorted.
In another half-hour the Cape Kennedy went into transition. The mysterious darkness of hyperspace swallowed it up, only to disgorge the cruiser again in a new location—not even two light-years away from Alazee's planet.
9/ THE KAMIKAZE CAPERS
Valmonze knew that his order for planet-wide jamming to provide a radio curtain had come too late. The Terranian had sent his distress call at least eight times through hyperspace. All the patriarch could still hope for was that no ship from Earth had picked up the message. It was pointless to brood about it now. If Pincer had actually succeeded in making a contact, the ones on the receiving end would be smart enough not to betray his position by sending him an answer. Valmonze knew his way around in events of a cosmo-political nature so he was sure that Rhodan would never take any action that would involve a direct attack on Alazee's planet."
But what would the Administrator undertake in order to rescue the two Terranians?
The longer Valmonze deliberated on the matter the more convinced he became that Rhodan would try to obtain their release by diplomatic means. In fact Valmonze foresaw a kind of business deal. An exchange of Pincer and his wife for the release of a few smugglers. Indeed, Rhodan's only alternative was to negotiate. The famous Terranian was far too great a logician to risk a war with the Springers over a situation like this.
Provided of course that Pincer's radio call had reached a receiver in the first place.
At present Valmonze was in the Communications Central of the headquarters building next to the spaceport. He had sent out word to all gliders engaged in the search operation. Within minutes the first of them would be arriving at the auxiliary station and Pincer and his female companion would be taken into custody. With that the search would be at an end.
Shaugnessy came into the room. His usual nonchalant attitude had changed to one of concern. "I took the liberty of listening in on your instructions," he said. "If that crazy devil managed to get through to somebody, the smuggling business has had it! Rhodan's agents will close in on Aplied and take him. And "Aplied will sing because he'll have to save his own skin. Being exiled would be the safest ro
ute for him, anyway."
Valmonze regarded him mockingly. "How lucky it is for you to be safe with us, eh?"
Shaugnessy mumbled disconcertedly. "You wouldn't send me back, would you? The whole Solar Fleet would be on my neck!"
"One thing I don't understand," said the patriarch, without answering Shaugnessy's question. "Surely Pincer must have known that he'd give away his location when he sent out that message. He knows that he can't get away from us now. Yet in spite of this he didn't hesitate to make use of that station."
"You're thinking like a Springer," said Shaugnessy. "A Terran thinks differently. That kid's first thought was of how he might be able to help his own kind. His own safety came second. If he's lucked in on that signal, then thanks to his courage the Earth will be saved from a possible economic collapse. So what were the tradeoffs, Valmonze? Maybe the only price tag will be two human lives. How's your arithmetic, Patriarch? You know very well how many humans there are. Almost all of them would have gone the same route as Pincer. That's why our race can't be stopped in its progress, Springer. A Galactic Trader thinks first of his clan and his hide and his race as a whole takes second place. You can see the answer for yourself. I'll bet you—"
"Silence!" Valmonze commanded sullenly. "I am not interested in your opinions. Besides, why have you collaborated with us if you are so certain that your race will triumph in the long run?"
"Because I'm a lousy human," muttered Shaugnessy gloomily. "And anyway, I don't count."
"You're a fool. The shock of what's happened has confused you. After all, one little setback is far from being a defeat."
Valmonze turned his attention to the operating consoles again. The smuggler stood silently behind him. The latter's face revealed no trace of emotion.
The patriarch switched on the radio voice-com system. He waited a moment and then asked, "Razmon, how are you doing?"
"We're almost there, Patriarch," came the answer. "You will soon have your prisoners."
Valmonze burst out with a triumphant roar of laughter. He tugged at his beard and glanced over his shoulder at Shaugnessy, who still said nothing. The Springer didn't seem to consider the possibility of a Terran intervention to be too serious.
"Pull yourself together, Shaugnessy. Quit your moping! We'll straighten this thing out yet!"
Shaugnessy met his gaze without facial expression as he replied: "Oh, I'll pull out of it, Valmonze that's for sure.
The Springer shrugged and went back to manipulating the panel controls. But Shaugnessy tapped him on the shoulder and took a step back. He drew the antiquated thermo-gun from his belt. "You didn't get the message, Patriarch," he said calmly. "There's been a slight change."
Valmonze turned slowly and stared at the weapon. Then he raised his eyes and stared at Clifton Shaugnessy wonderingly. "What will that get you?" he asked. "Do you plan to shoot me?"
"Let Pincer go free," the smuggler demanded.
Valmonze may have had many weaknesses of character but cowardice was not one of them. He ignored the threatening weapon and leaned back against the console with folded arms. He was still the mighty figure, a man who was accustomed to having his orders obeyed. "You overestimate the influence of that gadget there," he said, indicating the raygun. "Razmon is on his way to the radio
station with all available gliders. They'll capture Pincer and that woman of his."
"Call Razmon back," demanded the smaller Terran.
"No," answered Valmonze. But he reestablished contact with the gliders while Shaugnessy stood there motionlessly and listened. "Razmon, this is the Patriarch speaking. Shaugnessy has pulled a gun on me. He demands that I call off your operation and have you come back. But what I want you to do is to take Pincer prisoner in any case, regardless of what happens here."
"Patriarch!" It was all Razmon could say in his confusion and alarm.
Shaugnessy shouted swiftly toward the microphone. "If you want to see your head swindler again you'll let the Terrans go free! Turn around, Razmon!"
Then Valmonze lost control of himself. Heedless of the thermo-weapon, he hurled himself at Shaugnessy.
• • •
John Edgar Pincer made one last adjustment on the hypercom panel. "Of course I don't think it'll do any good," he told his wife, "but I've set up an automatic directional beam so that our friends can locate this place if they show up."
Cora's eyes lighted up with hope. "Do you think they will be able to rescue us?"
"They're bound to give it a try," Pincer lied. And he also lied when added: "I'm sure that somebody picked up our distress call. The Fleet won't stop at anything to get us out of here."
Cora smiled. She had sensed the change that had come over her husband in the meantime. He had lost his attitude of insecurity and uncertainty. His actions were systematic and sure. He no longer doubted his own capabilities.
"So," he announced, "we can go outside now and wait for our friends."
"Or the Springers," interjected Cora.
How right she was became apparent a few minutes later. Above the small landing field the sky virtually darkened with the flitting shapes of numerous gliders.
"The Springers," muttered Pincer. "They got here first."
But the small fliers began to mill about over the field as though their crews were not in agreement as to their next move. Still, Pincer knew that any attempt to run for it now would be futile. No doubt they had already been spotted from above.
• • •
Maj. James Woodworth had taken personal command of the rescue mission. He sat crouched in the pilot compartment of the 3-man destroyer-interceptor that the crew had launched from the Cape Kennedy's hangar. Besides himself, Buster Felton and Adam Spahn were on board.
Shortly after making an entry into the atmosphere of Alazee's planet they had picked up the tracer beam.
"If he had to use a direction beam," said Felton, "it means the Springers have blocked all radio traffic to the outside." It was obvious that by "outside" he meant outer space.
Spahn did not seem very enthused as he watched his tracking indicator. "The place is swarming with alien ships down there—all of them small glider types, judging by their blips."
He and Felton conversed in low tones while Woodworth guided the small destroyer into a landing approach course.
"Sir," said Felton finally, "that tracer beam is coming from the same direction—I mean, where Spahn detected the Springer ships. It would be pure suicide to land there. We may be faster than they are but they have the advantage of numbers. Besides, it's home territory for them and they're more familiar with the terrain. We'd hardly touch the ground before they'd have us converted into a glowing gas cloud. That wouldn't help Pincer very much—not to mention ourselves."
Woodworth tamed around. "Since when have you been so talkative, Felton? We have to at least give it a try. The fact that Pincer could get out a distress call indicates that at the time he hadn't yet fallen into the hands of the Springers."
"The situation could have changed in the meantime," interjected Spahn.
With apparent unconcern, the major guided the tiny craft into a steeper angle of descent toward the surface of Alazee's planet. Woodworth knew that if the Springers weren't asleep or too occupied with other matters they must have certainly detected the presence of the destroyer by now. At any moment he expected the viewscreen to show him the long cylindrical shape of a Springer ship, ready to give them a broadside. Yet everything appeared to be going smoothly.
The major was realistic enough not to underestimate the magnitude of the danger. Their momentary security would be blasted when they landed among the Springer ships that Spahn had detected. For understandable reasons he hadn't admitted to his two comrades that he actually intended to give it a try, because there was no other choice.
He knew that no man could be very happy about flying into the face of death with his eyes wide open.
• • •
Whether Terran or Springer, if a man has followed som
eone else's orders all his life it becomes difficult to act on his own volition.
When pilot Razmon heard the scuffling sounds of the two men in conflict coming over his loudspeaker, his confusion was complete. He knew that the patriarch was in mortal danger. In the headquarters building it seemed that a virtual battle was raging between Valmonze and Shaugnessy. In spite of the Terran's small size, since he was armed it was not difficult for Razmon to weigh the odds on the outcome of the struggle.
The patriarch had commanded that Pincer must be captured in any case, so Razmon was torn between two alternatives. Five gliders were circling over the small landing field in the center of the forest. He could see two small dots at the edge of the smooth landing runway: Pincer and his wife. There was only one way to balance out the dilemma and satisfy both of his instincts, Razmon reasoned. He had to take care of both duties simultaneously. On the one hand the patriarch must be rescued and on the other hand Pincer had to be captured. It meant that the glider task force had to be divided.
Razmon made radio contact with the other aircraft. He ordered three of the pilots to turn back at once to the spaceport and bring help to Valmonze. He himself and the crew of the second glider would land and see to it that Pincer was taken care of.
The two remaining gliders plunged swiftly downward toward the landing field—but then someone cried out sharply.
"Razmon—an alien Ship!"
The pilot glanced over at the tracking indicator but all he could see on the screen was a small blip. He growled out a curse. Of all times, now that his forces had been divided, the Terrans had to show up to rescue their man. He tried quickly to make radio contact with Valmonze but on that end nothing was stirring. Silence.
The blip on the sweep screen became larger. With an unsteady voice he ordered his crew to man the energy guns. Both gliders turned on their defense screens.
Once a very old Springer warrior had told Razmon: "The Terrans always come when you least expect them. They do exactly what you would consider to be the most unlikely or impossible. That is the whole secret of their success."