Secret Mission Moluk

by Perry Rhodan

  Something was moving at the end of the corridor. Everson strained to make it out clearly. A withered, fragile-looking figure approached them. They stopped, waiting. The being came closer, although the Terrans had the impression it might break apart on the next step.

  It was Napoleon!

  • • •

  The Green tottered its way towards them. At its throat the communication units still dangled. The wrinkled gourd-shaped head looked even uglier in the strange light than before. All the suffering of this planet seemed to be engraved in its ancient face.

  If Napoleon had suddenly appeared in the breakfast room of the Hilton-Chevalier in Paris, the exclusive guests could not have been more surprised than Everson and his men. Of course the Green could have gotten there by the same means the spacemen had practically been forced to take. Everson thought feverishly. The simplest way to find out would be to ask the native.

  Before the colonel could do so, Napoleon's voice could be heard in their helmet loudspeakers. "I consider it best to meet you in this form, since it is already familiar to you," said the Green with a firm, steady voice. "Why should I shock your already strained nerves unnecessarily?"

  "What are you talking about?" stammered Everson. Had the Green gone crazy? Was he under hypnotic influence? Was someone using him as a tool?

  An outstretched arm with a shockpistol flashed into Everson's range of vision. The arm belonged to Weiss, whose face looked grimly tense beneath the viewplate. The commander of the Mexico knocked the biologist's hand to one side.

  "The young man is somewhat excited," commented Napoleon, or whoever it was, with an indulgent voice.

  "We mustn't condemn him for that. By the way, you can take your uncomfortable spacesuits off. The air on board this ship will seem to you as a pleasant refreshment." He folded his arms, clicked a little with his beak and continued in a tone of self-satisfaction. "Anyway, you'll have to get used to the atmosphere of this planet sooner or later because you will never leave it."

  Now it was Everson himself who pulled his thermobeamer and aimed it at the old one's chest. "Says who?" demanded the colonel.

  Napoleon gestured disparagingly. Somehow all his fragility and aged weakness had fallen away from him.

  "Threatening me with a weapon is not even half as dangerous for me as you no doubt think. If you shoot, there is no limit to what I can do. I can disappear, absorb the energy and give it off again, destroy the beamer, cripple your hand, set up a barrier between us or make you explode. Those are only a few examples. Remember Bellinger or the tornado and then you will realize that your weapon cannot trouble me."

  Their quest had not been for naught. They had found those from whom Perry Rhodan was hoping for help. For there was no doubt that Napoleon was a molecular transformite, He could not know that with the exception of Lt. Bellinger, the men standing before him had had a certain amount of experience with another member of his race.

  "Don't think that I regard you as enemies," Napoleon assured them. "You are only means to an end for me. The astonishing chance that led you to this planet will be my salvation. Now if you will follow me, gentlemen!"

  He moved his hand and an opening formed in the wall that was large enough to let them through. Goldstein was still unconscious. The room that they now entered was bathed in a pleasant light.

  "I'm sure you'll want to sit down in comfort," said the Green—no, the shape changer, Everson mentally corrected himself.

  As though from nothing, five chairs materialized before them. Napoleon gestured, inviting them to sit.

  "If you wish I can change the form of the stools. You need only tell me what sort you would like. As for myself, I prefer to stand."

  The entire performance was meant only to disconcert and intimidate them. Everson vowed not to be cowed by visual impressions. At the moment, the line between the two sides had to be drawn.

  "Your spacesuits," Napoleon reminded them in a friendly tone.

  Everson knew that resistance was pointless for the time being. He took off his suit and indicated for the others to follow his example. Bellinger peeled the unconscious mutant out of his clumsy spacesuit and raised him into one of the chairs. Napoleon waited until they had all taken their seats.

  "There are two possibilities for us," began the pseudo-native. "Either we will work together in a friendly manner, and I promise you that you will live out your days on Moluk very well, or you can resist my wishes and in that case I will have to carry out my plans by means of force."

  "Those words can come as easily from me to you, said Everson coolly. "Therefore I don't have to repeat them."

  "Your courage has no relation to your possibilities," answered Napoleon gently. "I don't wish to deprive you of your unjustified hopes but you will soon realize that you are in no way a match for me. Let me briefly summarize now how I came to be in my position."

  Goldstein came slowly to and lolled uneasily in his seat. Everson bent over to the telepath and shook him.

  The mutant opened his eyes. "Napoleon!" he whispered. "What happened?"

  "The Green is a shape changer," said Everson in English. "Be careful, Sammy."

  "I'm aware of your friend's weak ability," said Napoleon indolently. "There is no use in warning him. He cannot hurt me."

  Everson remembered Mataal with a grim smile. Even he had been defeated by Goldstein, although giving the mutant paramechanical powers had been suicide in a certain sense.

  "I am in the unenviable position of being the last of my people," Napoleon began. "That need not bring forth expressions of sympathy from you. I've had enough time to get over my sorrow. One can learn to bear loneliness. This ship was to have set 5000 members of my race down on Moluk. That did take place. Instead, all except five officers were dead! Our ship struck the planet's surface with the impact of a meteor. I must point out here that the drive of our ships is a mixture of technical and paramechanical forces, which working together produce incomparable results. The parapilots suddenly realized in the upper levels of Moluk's atmosphere that their connection to the engines had suddenly been broken off. A mental force that could not be overcome was forcing itself on us. We lost all control. Within seconds all our abilities had completely vanished. All attempts to save ourselves were in vain. We were in the position of a mountain climber who is unexpectedly blinded while walking along a dangerous cliff and is doomed to fall. I activated what remained of my power to brace myself for the crash. Perhaps that was what saved me. The other four who survived along with me were so severely injured that they died within a short time. Our dampened paranormal abilities had not been able to help us. After awhile the pressure gradually subsided somewhat. Meanwhile I had been able to locate its source, for I could localize some thought-patterns in the broad attack-front. My knowledge had come much too late to be of any aid to my race. The natives radiated a sort of parawaves that effectively blocked any similar waves given off by other beings."

  "Naturally the primitive creatures suspected nothing. More and more I was increasingly able to overcome the force. That was a matter of life and death for me because I had in any case to enter into contact with the natives to stay alive. I don't want to relate now what difficulty I had in approaching the village. The closer I came to the Greens, the stronger their mental influence became. Even so, I was able to assume the form of the comical old fellow you see here before you. He was living at the edge of the village even then and enjoyed the advantageous reputation of being immortal. The Greens don't get very old but I, Napoleon, could live forever without exciting any suspicion! The body of the old crank saved me the trouble of making a new imitation with each generation. In the village I could activate my abilities only with indescribable difficulty. That's why I came back here now and then. So that the natives would not get the idea of wandering in the desert and sniffing around in the vicinity of the ship, I caused some things to happen that were wonders in their eyes. From that time on they stayed in the neighbourhood of the village."

  He
paused. His dark eyes shone. When none of the five men said anything, he continued. "It was impossible for me to make the ship ready to take off on my own. The repair work would have presented a problem to experienced paramechanics. Moreover, I had no training as a parapilot. The mental force of the Greens might increase the higher one went, although that was only an assumption on my part that later proved to be wrong. Nonetheless, there was no chance of my ever leaving Moluk. I sat vegetating, living a life without sense or purpose. Shortly after this ship took off, my home world exploded. Our scientists had wanted to make it independent of the sun. They erected enormous domes and ignited the planetary interior by bringing different elements into an atomic fusion process. The atom fire was to be kept in check by paramechanical control—that is to say, it was supposed to have been kept in check. However, there were evidently tiny traces of unknown materials that had not been included in the original calculations simply because we weren't aware of them. It was not long before the fusion of two different atoms was taking place beneath the surface of the planet. That was the beginning of the end. The atom fire expanded in uncountable branches out from the source, growing rapidly like an ulcer, expanding invisibly farther and farther until it finally broke through the surface. The planet exploded just one day later. The last attempt of our dying race to preserve itself ended instead in its total destruction."

  Napoleon ended his commentary for a second time. Somewhat numbed, Everson sat up straight. He gulped. He had been involved in cosmic events long enough to understand the scale of the terrible catastrophe perfectly. Sympathy could help the molecular transformite no longer. He was a lost and lonely creature, embittered by the tragic end of his race. Opposed to the destruction of this unique species, the fact that the mission of the Mexico was for nothing lost almost all its meaning. An alliance with the shape changers was impossible... because there weren't any left. Napoleon was the last representative of these beings. Perry Rhodan had sent in vain the ultrafast cruiser to Moluk with its special mission. During the time of the operation, 150 experienced spacemen were tied up where they could be of no help to the Earth—and the result was precisely zero. 20,000 light-years separated them from the place where they were urgently needed. Rhodan and his most loyal aides would certainly have not been so foolish as to plan on an alliance with an unknown race in their actions. There was no doubt about the failure of the expedition. There was even the danger that the Mexico and 150 men would be lost completely, among the latter a mutant and a colonel.

  "When my apathy had gotten to the point where I did nothing but spend my days in my miserable hut, the miracle happened," Napoleon went on. "An alien spaceship penetrated the atmosphere of Moluk. It was not hard for me to find out that it used an antigrav field to make its landing. I developed a feverish activity. I overcame the radiations of the Greens and made parapsychic contact with the ship. I succeeded in finding the forcefield's control switch and bringing it under my paramechanical control. I waited until the vessel was close enough to the ground that a fall would not destroy it and it would be spaceworthy again after a few repairs. Then I switched off the antigrav field. The rest you know, gentlemen."

  "He attacked the Mexico!" cried Bellinger angrily, drawing his paralyzer. "He needs to be taught a lesson."

  Before Everson could intervene, the Lieutenant had pulled his weapon out completely and fired. At the same time, Bellinger's chair dematerialized and the heavy man tumbled to the floor. In any other situation it would have had a comic effect. The shot dissipated harmlessly. Bellinger picked himself up quickly.

  "We won't get anywhere that way, Lieutenant," Everson told him. "It would be best if you were to restrain your temper."

  Somewhat ashamed, Bellinger looked for a new place to sit. However, after what he had done Napoleon did not seem willing to grant him any favors.

  Everson looked at his watch. One hour had gone by and with it the time he had told Landi to wait. He wanted to inform Napoleon of this arrangement but the molecular transformite was just then in the process of disappearing. He did it by simply falling through the floor. The sight was so eerie that Sternal cried out in terror. Hardly had Napoleon disappeared when Bellinger fell to the place where he had been standing. The Lieutenant's hands found only solid matter.

  "I think we're now something like his prisoners," said Poul Weiss slowly and emphatically.

  Everson felt that those words flattered the situation. He had come to the conclusion that Napoleon was following a definite purpose. He wanted to win the Mexico for himself and leave the spacemen to something with which they would certainly not be happy: a life among the long-legged Greens.

  • • •

  At that same second in which Col. Marcus Everson looked at his watch, about 50 meters below in the midst of the desert sand Antonio Landi raised his voice and said: "The time has elapsed."

  Twenty-four pairs of eyes looked in dark threat at the alien ship that had swallowed up five astronauts and so far not allowed them to go free. Although the commander had given specific orders, every single one of them was ready to risk his life by plunging into the unseen calamity. The respect and the affection the men had for Everson was matched by very few other commanders in the Solar Fleet. Each of his men idolized him. He knew how to allow a large measure of freedom and demand only the most necessary of discipline without undermining his own authority. He spoke with the youngest cadet in just as friendly a fashion as with his officers and he upbraided them equally if they were guilty of doing something wrong.

  So it was not surprising that in this moment various men reached for their thermobeamers.

  "Keep cool, men," Landi said, although he would have joyfully stormed the eight-cornered wreck rising high before them into the pale green sky. "First we'll speak with Mr. Scoobey."

  He busied himself with that which hardly deserved to be called a 'radio' any more. Untroubled, as though the device were the most stable and rugged model on the market, the radio-man's rough fingers flew through the necessary adjustments of the switches. When the voice of the First Officer of the Mexico sounded over the receiver, there was no longer anyone who would not have sworn that Antonio Landi was a first-class genius.

  "Six minutes have already gone by since the time we agreed upon ran out, sir," said Landi. "The commander and his companions have still not returned. Everything is alright with us. What should we do?"

  Landi, who once would have liked to become an officer or even a commander, thanked his lucky stars that he had chosen a different course. He tried to imagine what he would do if he were the one to make a decision instead of the officer. No matter how hard he thought, no idea came to him that seemed even halfway reasonable.

  Walt Scoobey seemed to suffer similar difficulties, for some time went by before he spoke again. "Send the two robots into the ship," he said, "and have them search for the men."

  The idea was good—only there were no longer any robots. They had been lost in the previous night's sandstorm along with many other objects, something which should not have been able to happen to combat robots. Landi explained it to his unseen discussion partner.

  "Puuuh!" said Scoobey. It sounded as though he had heavy physical labor to perform. "Send four more men into the ship, Tony. That way we can stop, and occupy the invisible enemy for awhile. The rest of you should take the radio and pull back a bit—let's say to the limit of your range of sight. Observe anything that takes place. Above all, keep your radio in constant operation from now on. We'll track its signal and find you quickly that way. I'm going to assemble a small party of men here and send it out to you as fast as possible. We'll be equipped according to the circumstances. Perhaps we'll succeed in getting one of the lifeboats out. Over and out."

  Landi confirmed the reception. He adjusted the radio so that it broadcast a brief call sign every 10 seconds which could be picked up by any receiving unit within a radius of 500 kilometers. "Four volunteers," he said then. "We already have one." He indicated himself.

 
"If I may permit myself as a civilian to make a comment," Dr. Morton broke in, "then I would say that you ought to remain with your ailing device so that you can repair it if it breaks down again. Since, on the other hand, the health situation of the group is as good as can be expected under the circumstances, I see no reason why I should not go."

  It was undoubtedly the longest and most polite statement that Dr. Morton had ever made in his entire life. Certainly that was not the only reason no one contradicted him.

  "Agreed," said the radio man. "Delaney, Pentsteven, and Tanaka will go with you, Doc. Good luck."

  The young Pentsteven proved once again that he had not often endured such dangers for he shook Landi's hand, deeply moved. Before the astronomer could dramatize the scene any further, the doctor pushed him in the direction of the ship.

  "Go ahead!" he snorted. "What are you waiting for, boy?"

  Four men trudged through the sand towards the opening that still separated them from their unknown opponent. One by one they disappeared into it. Pentsteven was last to go in and before he did he turned and waved.

  A gesture of goodbye can be valid for a short while or forever. In this case, Landi thought troubledly, it looks like forever.

  • • •

  During the entire existence of mankind there have been prisoners. With space travel and the appearance of alien intelligences, that fact had been given new variations. Till now men had always been locked away by their fellows; now it was possible for another species to take men into custody. The taking of prisoners was a vice that had spread widely all over the galaxy, assuming every imaginable form. Uncountable variations had been added to the simple phrase 'put behind bars'. In the passage of time, some number of prisons had been so arranged that their inmates noticed nothing at all of their regrettable situation. But that was true only in the rarest cases. Generally, those who operated prisons were most concerned that their victims knew what was happening to them.