Secret Mission Moluk

by Perry Rhodan

  "Let's get out of here," Tanaka suggested. He spoke with a calmness that might better have applied to requesting the departure of the guests at a birthday party. Pentsteven whimpered his agreement.

  "And Everson?" asked the doctor. "Are we to leave the others in the lurch? We'll live through a little shaking, I think."

  He emphasized his words by continuing over the restless floor. Unseen objects groaned as though subjected to the heaviest strain. Dr. Morton reeled, staggered and swayed along like a spastic. He lit his way purely automatically. He did not look to see if the others were following him. He felt no fear nor even uncertainty. The wave of vibration gradually ebbed. Ghostly noises echoed through the corridors and rooms. Nowhere did he find even a tiny sign of Everson or the men that had disappeared with him. Three other beams of light appeared alongside his. Delaney's voice buzzed in his helmet loudspeaker like an angry insect.

  Then came the third jolt. There was a shock that swept the men off their feet and threw them down. Morton thought at first that someone had tripped him but as he ungently hit the floor he saw that the others had fallen as well. As he tried to stand up again, three further tremendous shocks following in rapid succession so shook the ship that the physician wondered why it didn't break apart. He had fallen on the left side of his rib-cage and it hurt considerably.

  Dr. Morton told himself that it would be best to stay quiet until the vibrations were over. He didn't want to think of what would happen if the strange shaking were to become even more violent.

  • • •

  Sammy Goldstein stood with his back leaning against the wall. In front of him, Everson, Bellinger, Weiss and Sternal tumbled about uncontrollably. The mutant felt the power of the molecular transformite: a constant assault on the mental plane. Napoleon left no stone unturned in his struggle to defeat him. However, Goldstein had been preparing himself for the battle so it had been going well so far. His action had been based on theories whose correctness he had not been able to determine. Till now he had resisted the Greens' radiated energies, fought against them and forced them out of his extra sense. But when the old Green had shown his true face, Goldstein had done an about-face and allowed the paranormal currents of the native brains to flow into him unhindered. Napoleon had already admitted that he, too, suffered from the natives' unconscious paranormal radiations. The telepath soaked up the thought patterns with full concentration. His suffering brain seemed ready to explode as the uncontrolled paranormal force of the Greens' flowed into it. At first Goldstein had believed that the distance to the village was too much to reach the natives mentally. However, between the ship and the, village, his extra sense came upon some sort of relay station over which he could establish contact. Goldstein could not know that it was Murgut he was using for this purpose.

  When the molecular, transformite began the first attack against the mutant, Goldstein immediately and without resistance let him penetrate. He knew that he was lost if his reasoning should prove to be wrong. For some seconds, Napoleon's mental assault robbed him of his consciousness. When he came to again, he was finally sensing the force from the village coming through. He did not take any time to celebrate his triumph, for he did not know if the pseudo-Green would be defeated. Having grown bold, he redoubled his efforts. But Napoleon had blocked his mind. That showed he was not able to best Goldstein in this situation. Nonetheless, Goldstein did not deceive himself. It would not be long before Napoleon would set himself to attempting a second surprise attack. The only defense was the force radiated by the Greens.

  When Napoleon attacked again, it happened so that Goldstein did not notice it until it was almost too late. Edward Bellinger stood solidly on his feet once more. Before Goldstein could wonder about it, the Lieutenant had yanked out his thermobeamer and aimed it at the mutant.

  "Edward!" cried Goldstein. "Don't do it!"

  Bellinger laughed helplessly. He raised the weapon a little. As if in a slow motion movie, Goldstein watched as the officer's finger began to tighten around the trigger. He threw himself forward. A hot beam shot over his back. He twisted desperately around. Then Napoleon attacked him with paranormal force. Fiery lightning flashed before his eyes. In his subconscious he heard Bellinger scream out in terror. Then came the thunder of the weapon Goldstein had the sensation that his skull was expanding like a soap bubble. He had to do something. With his last energy he renewed the connection with the Greens' parawaves. Someone was sobbing. It was himself. He had to leave the place before Napoleon had everyone shooting at him. He sprang up and tried to run away. A fearful shock knocked him to the floor. The ship shook in every joint. Goldstein was not sorry, for now the men could hit him only with difficulty if the last living survivor of a strange race forced them to shoot.

  A slight feeling of nausea rose up in him. He wanted to cough but his lungs, which were trying to take in air, pressed together. Small circles danced up and down in front of Goldstein's eyes. Stabbing pain raged in his chest. Oxygen starvation, he thought. He's withdrawing the air from the corridor.

  Once more he struggled against the vibrations. He could now breathe only in short breaths. What was happening to the others? There must be some way out. Someone fell heavily on him. Gasping, Goldstein freed himself. Only now did he hear the indescribable noise of the vibrating ship. He felt infinitely tired. He longed for rest and sleep. His eyelids sank.

  With that, Napoleon had won the first round.

  • • •

  At first it looked as though there were a shimmering layer of air between the alien spaceship and their current position and that everything beyond it was made to waver slightly. Landi wiped his eyes. "Chancey," he said, "what do you see over there?"

  Somewhat lazily, the man addressed stood up and knocked the sand from his spacesuit. Then he looked into the indicated direction. "The thing's shaking," he said excitedly.

  The spacemen became aware of the uncanny occurrence.

  "What are we waiting for, Tony?" demanded Ogieva, an enormous black. "We've got to get our men out of there before it's too late!"

  "Scoobey can't get here very soon," said another. "There's no sense in waiting for him. The Colonel might be fighting it out in there and needing our help."

  "No," Landi decided.

  He paid no attention to the loud protests and recriminations. Dr. Morton and his three men had not returned, either, and it could be assumed with certainty that yet another group of men would share the unknown fate of the first two. Antonio Landi was a volatile and impulsive man but his feeling of responsibility was stronger. He told himself that it would be better to wait.

  "Get in touch with Mr. Scoobey," suggested Ogieva. "Ask him what we should do."

  The radioman had no objections to make to that. However, he doubted if the first officer of the Mexico would have an idea that would help them any. It had been known on Earth that their mission was a risky one. Landi began to wonder if Perry Rhodan would have permitted the search for allies if he had suspected what would happen on Moluk.

  He operated the radio device, hoping it would stand up under the new demand on it. His voice was hod rse and excited when Scoobey answered.

  "Landi speaking, sir," said the radioman. "As yet none of the men have returned and we can't raise them over the helmet radios. For some minutes the alien ship has been shaking like a leaf. The men think we should go find out what became of the commander."

  "Do you have any idea what it could be?" asked Scoobey.

  "Not the slightest. It's shaking back and forth constantly. I can well imagine it isn't a comfortable place for people to be."

  "Do you consider the situation dangerous?" asked Scoobey.

  Landi thought that everything on this planet was a threat to life but aloud he replied: "Not directly, sir."

  "Stay where you are," instructed the officer. "Don't undertake anything before my group and I reach you. Should a situation arise in which you fear for the lives of the nine men, then I'll let you have a free hand. We're having d
ifficulties too. Murgut the native is with us and seems to be going crazy. Dr. Lewellyn has not been able to help him yet. Over and out."

  Landi switched the device back to the automatic call signal by which Scoobey's group was orienting itself. It was now up to the radioman when they would follow Everson's trail. His new power of decision did not make him any happier.

  Landi looked over at the source of all their trouble. The trembling had eased somewhat but now he saw something else. Thin clouds of dust hanging low over the ground were moving in their direction. Unless he was mistaken, they seemed to be growing thicker and rising into the air.

  "It looks as though we're going to get another sandstorm," observed Dealcour. "The wind strength has already picked up."

  "The hurricane will blow us all away," Landi speculated gloomily. "We'll lose sight of the ship."

  Landi wanted to do something before it got to that point. He glanced quickly at Ogieva. The black stood, legs apart, in the stand, a mighty figure that would not be troubled by all the storms in the Universe put together. One's first idea is always the best, Landi thought. Aloud he said, "Let's go."

  He did not have to say where they were going—they all knew.

  • • •

  As Dr. Morton forced his aching body back into a standing position, he realized that he had no time in which to be sick. The constant vibrations had died away to the point that one could walk along without fear of being hurled to the floor.

  "I'm one solid bruise," said Sgt. Delaney. "I feel more beaten around and abused than a piece of steak pounded into being tender."

  Even in connection with the sergeant, the thought of steak was cheering to Dr. Morton. He ascertained that Tanaka and Pentsteven had also withstood the torture. Then he turned the beam of his light forwards. He heard Pentsteven groan.

  "Take an accounting of your injuries later," he told the astronomer. "We're going on."

  That was the sole plan Dr. Morton had for continuing the undertaking. It was, he admitted, rather simple and unimaginative. However, he doubted if anyone would have come to a better idea... even after long consideration.

  They went through the corridor, four pain-buckled figures. Each carried a lamp in one hand and with the other felt carefully over the body.

  While Dr. Morton wondered if he should call Col. Everson over the helmet radio, a man fell into their circle of light a few meters ahead. He was not wearing a spacesuit.

  It was Bellinger. He was in bad shape. His hair was disheveled and the shirt of his uniform was torn. He staggered toward them, moving diagonally from one wall to the other, pushing off with his arms.

  The doctor caught Bellinger as he was about to reel on past. The lieutenant did not seem to see him for his eyes stared past Dr. Morton. He tried to push the medic away with a feeble shove. Delaney hurried over to help support the not exactly light man.

  "Can you understand me, Ed?" asked Dr. Morton penetratingly. "We want to help you. You must lead us to the others."

  Lt. Bellinger raised his right arm with an unendingly slow motion. He narrowed his eyes as though trying to envision a goal and then bent his index finger, firing an imaginary weapon. With a glance Dr. Morton realized that the spaceman was lacking his thermobeamer.

  "There's been a fight, Ed," he said pointedly. "Tell us about it."

  Bellinger looked at him for the first time. His eyes widened somewhat. He trembled violently. "I shot and killed the boy!" he exclaimed.

  Then he collapsed and the two men could hold him on his feet only with effort. While not being a conspicuously courageous man, Dr. Morton was no coward. Still, the lieutenant's words sent a chill down his spine. "Do you mean Goldstein?" he asked.

  But Bellinger had suffered such a severe shock that he could no longer speak rationally.

  Unconsciously, Dr. Morton stood up straight. "Try to get out of the ship and into the open with him," he told Pentsteven. "Don't stop for anything."

  The astronomer nodded, his face pale, but certainly he was glad for the opportunity to leave the alien ship. The escape will hardly be pleasant with poor Bellinger on his hands, the doctor thought.

  "We'll search farther," he said. "Everson can't be far away now. It's possible that we'll be drawn into a fight. We'll act accordingly."

  He drew his shock pistol. For a brief moment its barrel caught the light from Tanaka's lamp and reflected it brightly.

  If there's only one shape changer here,thought the bearded man,then this weapon is about as effective as a pea-shooter.

  • • •

  A human—even if he is a mutant—cannot simultaneously struggle for air, keep his balance amid constant vibrations and repulse a super-being whose paranormal power is almost inexhaustible. The natives' parawaves were no longer enough to hold Napoleon back. Crouching on the floor, Goldstein felt his control of his own mental faculties fading away.

  Napoleon's face appeared in his mind. The Green smiled. His head swayed somewhat from side to side. It looked as though an old man was thoughtfully shaking his head to show his disapproval of misbehaving children.

  It was not my intention to fight you with such ruthlessness, the molecular transformite told him telepathically, but your conduct forced me to extreme measures. Your reasoning should have told you that any resistance was useless.

  Goldstein's telepathic feelers could no longer take hold of the Green's radiation. His enemy now had him completely in his power. With growing terror, the mutant realized that soon he would again be a helpless tool, carrying out all orders and acting at Napoleon's whim.

  He lay there, overcome by exhaustion and hopelessness. Everson, Weiss and Sternal had collapsed into unconsciousness. Goldstein had only to stretch out his arm to touch the commander.

  It would be best if we left the ship together, said Napoleon once more. It is not in good condition. I had to activate a few devices which could lead to a catastrophe. I was forced to do so by your obstinacy. I needed time to adjust myself to the mental pressure that you were concentrating in your mind and relaying on to me. The idea was not bad but in the long run you could not stand up against me. Since I could not seize you mentally, I first overcame you physically. When we go out now, a storm will be underway which will prevent your friends from attempting any uncautious acts. They will have enough to do staying on their feet. When I have put them one after the other under my control, the wind will die down and we can go back to your spaceship. I'll have enough time until it's flight-worthy again to pick out the most docile members of the crew. With their help, I'll then take off. The others will be left behind on Moluk. They can busy themselves with the primitive natives and their further development.

  Goldstein did not ask to which group he belonged. No matter which side from which one looked at it, the prospect of spending the rest of one's life among the Greens was not especially cheering. Even so, it seemed better to him than mental enslavement aboard the Mexico. He did not dare think of what the shape changer had in mind for the Terran cruiser. Napoleon's action was piracy, according to the laws of the Solar Imperium, but there was no one who could punish him for it.

  Once again the telepath tried to concentrate on the Greens' parawaves. However, no sooner had he thought about it than pain spread out in his brain and he became incapable of using his paranormal powers. Napoleon had paralyzed the relevant section of his brain with a psychoblock. The mutant's force of will was not enough to do anything against it. His extra senses were involuntarily crippled systems that refused to perform any function.

  "I hope you've finally convinced yourself of the uselessness of your experiments," said Napoleon aloud. "You'll save yourself hard measures from my side that way. After all, I wouldn't want to leave you behind on Moluk, a mental wreck."

  Everson came to preventing Goldstein from making a dangerously sarcastic reply. The Colonel sat up with difficulty and somewhat uncertainly got to his feet. Goldstein looked up at him and smiled wanly.

  "It doesn't look good, does it?" Everson inqu
ired.

  "No sir," said Goldstein, indicating Napoleon. "He wants to go out with us now. He only led us around in here so that he could get me under his control. And now he's done it."

  In a single smooth motion, the Colonel ripped out his thermobeamer and fired. Goldstein would have sworn that no being could have reacted at that speed.

  However, the glowing beam that the mutant had expected did not come.

  "Don't he a fool," warned Napoleon. "There'll be no more of that."

  Everson shrugged and shoved his weapon back. He glanced down at Goldstein. "I only wanted to try it," he murmured.

  He gently prodded Weiss and Sternal with the tips of his boots. The biologist grumbled something. Ten minutes later, they were all on their feet. Bellinger had disappeared. Goldstein decided not to mention the lieutenant's unsuccessful attempt at shooting him. Without a doubt, the man had been under Napoleon's influence.

  "You can put your spacesuits back on," said Napoleon, his tone friendly. "I will accompany you. Reaching for your weapons is useless. They aren't usable."

  At that moment a small, stocky man in a spacesuit appeared at the other end of the corridor. His helmet was open and a bearded face could be made out inside. He held a weapon in his hand.

  "Hello, Doc," said Everson.

  Dr. Morton stretched to look past the commander at Napoleon. He put his light back in its case, for the area was now brightly lit. Sgt Delaney and Eiji Tanaka appeared behind him. When they saw Everson and the others, their faces showed relief.

  The doctor pushed past Everson and trained his thermobeamer on Napoleon. His cheeks grew red with anger.

  "Doc," said Everson, "I think there are some things I'd better tell you before you get us all into trouble."

  • • •

  Antonio Landi would never have believed that 100 meters would be a distance it would require him more than a few minutes to traverse. When they bad gone a third of the way, the ship was already hidden in clouds of dust and sand. They had to march against the wind and the radioman had the unpleasant feeling that they were being blown three steps back for every step they took forward. He knew that the other men were struggling on with the same senseless obstinacy without doing any better than he was. Landi had become a machine moving his legs in silent resignation, although he was aware of being in motion. Sand and dust pattered against him, swirled around his suit, flooded about him like water. He bent into the wind as though it were a solid wall. With all his strength he strained forward, step by step, with one free arm paddling wildly against the thrust.