The Plasma Monster

by Perry Rhodan

  PROLOG HUMANITY stands on the threshold of a New Era!

  Since the death of Khrest, 57 years have passed—it is now 2102 A.D. and much has happened in the meantime.

  With the support of Earthmen, Atlan has succeeded in consolidating his position as Imperator. The treaty between Arkon and the Solar Empire has borne fruit—especially for the Terrans, many of whom have already taken over important positions on Arkon itself. Atlan has to tolerate this because he cannot depend on most of the members of his own race.

  The Solar Empire has become a major commercial power along the rim of the Milky Way. For the past 22 years a virtual stream of emigrants has been flowing out to suitable colonial worlds. Also on many of the planets inhabited by other intelligences, Terran embassies have been established as well as far-flung trading settlements.

  In spite of all this, however, the situation is tense. An ominous discovery has been made: there is a super power in the galaxy which is friendly neither to Arkonides nor to Terrans! These are the Akons of the so-called Blue System. This terrible race will unleash the most incredible and frightening creation humanity has ever seen...

  Perry Rhodan

  Posbis #95

  —————————————————

  THE PLASMA MONSTER

  —————————————————

  1/ INTERSTELLAR ALERT

  "THIS MAN I would like to meet," said Perry Rhodan.

  He folded his copy of Europa News, then pointed out the byline of the leading article. "Walt Ballin..." He muttered the name half aloud to himself while sitting at his desk and gazing out through the windows at his view of Terrania.

  Today a rare note had been struck by the daily information that his Press advisers had selected from the virtual ocean of news sources within the Imperium. Although he was neither friend nor foe of the Press, he had just expressed the wish to actually meet a journalist.

  Rhodan appeared to ignore the questioning stare of Allan D. Mercant, Chief of Solar Intelligence. Instead, the First Administrator of the Solar Imperium continued to look out the window across the expanse of rooftops comprising Terrania, even beyond the great city to the park-like countryside that had once been the Gobi Desert.

  "You know, it's a matter of both duty and courage, I'd say, to address ourselves to this question of whether or not our overall policy is basically a destructive one, Mercant. Usually it's not very practical to even bother to read the kind of aggressive outpourings that Walt Ballin is capable of, but in this case he's brought up some considerations that we should also be concerned with. I'm especially interested in his assertion that we may have neglected to prepare the man in the street for thinking in terms of a galactic perspective. Mercant, don't you think this Walt Ballin has a point?"

  The Intelligence Chief's lean face had not moved a muscle as he continued to fix his gaze on Rhodan. "It's quite easy to be a critic, sir," he contradicted calmly. "We can't accelerate man's development any more than we have already. Our duty is to direct ourselves to the average level of intelligence. If we were to attempt a thorough explanation in detail of what's cooking out there in the galaxy, if we tried to point out the dangers that are the most acute for the Solar Imperium—or if we told them that we've just discovered a race at the core of the galaxy which is far superior to the Arkonides in every sense of the word—it would not only serve to throw the majority of the population into confusion but might also start a wave of panic uprisings."

  "But I think, my friend, that it would be better to face such potential upheavals now rather than to have them shoved upon us at precisely the wrong time. However much I'd like to follow your advice, Mercant, at present I think it's best to give Walt Ballin the benefit of a doubt. In fact I'm ready to join him in saying that we are indeed on a course of self-destruction if we don't go to every Terran— and I mean the man in the street and make every one of them a true citizen of the universe!"

  "Every last individual has to feel that he is united with us. But how can he feel that way unless he is able to share our apprehensions and the responsibility for our needs? That is exactly what we're not doing, my dear Mercant, and it's what Walt Ballin is holding up to our faces. We shouldn't forget the panic that swept over the Earth when the Druufs made a sudden appearance in our system, followed by Arkon's robot fleet, with the ships of the Galactic Traders joining the fray."

  "No, I think we should prepare mankind, step by step, for the reality that a far superior race of people is living in the center of the galaxy and we should be counting on their paying us a perhaps unpleasant visit. And if Walt Ballin is all that his article seems to promise, then he's the man for the job. That's why I'd like to meet him as soon as possible. When can he be here, Mercant?"

  Allan D. Mercant smiled ironically. "Sir, Walt Ballin is a journalist and journalists are a very unusual lot. Hopefully he can find his way to Terrania if Intelligence asks him to come here, in your name. I hope I can have him here by tomorrow."

  • • •

  While Walt Ballin was talking on the Europa News seefone to Yvonne Berclais, he was no longer thinking about the lead article he had written for the first June issue of his paper. The visitor out in the reception room could just cool his heels, the stranger didn't seem to be very important. Walt Ballin didn't know anybody named Garibaldi. Besides, the main thing on his mind was to date Yvonne for this evening so that he could finally come to an understanding with her.

  "OK, Chérie, then it's all set for tonight at eight at Trois Poulardes? If it's OK with you I'll reserve our front table on the left side."

  Yvonne Berclais was an enchanting young woman, an elegant brunet who was world famous in spite of her 22 years. Whenever 'La Berclais' opened up with her brilliant soprano on the networks, her goddess-like voice was listened to by 100 million viewers. But just now Yvonne Berclais was not the singer, she was a happy young girl who was in love with Walt Ballin.

  "I'm happy about tonight, Walt, and this time I'll be on time. You won't have to wait for me. So until then...!"

  She had cut off the connection with Walt who in spite of his 27 years was the lead writer for Europa News, yet he continued to stare at the screen. However, the muted sound of his buzzer reminded him of the visitor waiting in the anteroom.

  So let him come in!

  Ballin found himself in a euphoric mood. He was still thinking of Yvonne as he absentmindedly greeted his guest. Even as he made a gesture inviting the man to sit down, he could only see Yvonne before him. Tonight she wouldn't keep him waiting at Trois Poulardes and if he didn't want to miss having a table he'd have to reserve it within the hour.

  But now who was this visitor, anyway?

  "What... I mean, would you repeat that, please?" He stared in sudden bewilderment at the bald-pated man with the tremendous belly, who, in sitting, was so short in stature that he hardly came up over the arm rests of the chair.

  The little fat man repeated his message and Walt Ballin suddenly sharpened his ears in astonishment. What was this? Day before yesterday his lead article had been brought to the attention of the First Administrator? "Yes, and so?" Ballin was alarmed. As his mind raced ahead he had a presentiment of very big trouble and a headache for the Editor-in-Chief! The Head Office had already expressed its reservations about the article even while he had been insisting on an editorial release so as to meet the issue deadline.

  "On the basis of your article I have been commissioned by my superior, the Chief of Solar Intelligence..."

  All Ballin heard was Solar Intelligence and he could already see himself walking the streets as an unemployed journalist. He might just as well cross off tonight's date with Yvonne from his appointment calendar. But why was Solar Intelligence concerned w
ith his article in the first place? Since when had Press censorship reared its ugly head again on Earth?

  "Where am I supposed to go? To Terrania?" he asked sarcastically. Again he had missed half the context of the invitation to visit Terrania. He still tied the whole thing to Solar Intelligence.

  "That's right, Mr. Ballin, because after all you can't expect the First Administrator to come here to Paris to talk with you."

  Talk? That's what the bald-headed little fatso had said. A conversation with Perry Rhodan!

  Walt Ballin got to his feet. "April Fool's Day has passed, mister," he said rather sharply, "and I'm sure the First Administrator hasn't got time to spend every day reading lead articles in the world Press..."

  The little man had opened his briefcase and now he handed over a small plastic foil about the size of a postcard. "Mr. Ballin, your ticket. But this isn't for any scheduled airline. At 13:40 a space jet will arrive at the spaceport at berth 68-B, where it will be waiting for you. Would you be kind enough to connect me with your editor so that I can arrange for your leave of absence, Mr. Ballin?"

  Ballin finally gasped. "Hold it! Hold it!" he protested, suddenly on the defensive. "I'm not on my way to Terrania yet! What did you say your name was?"

  "Jeff Garibaldi, Mr. Ballin, but in my case the name has no significance. Of course my parents did come from Italy..."

  "And your grandfather was the notorious...?"

  "My great-great grandfather, sir—but I'd rather say he was less notorious than he was well-known among his contemporaries."

  Allan D. Mercant had known very well the kind of man to select from the ranks of Intelligence to send against a journalist like Ballin. What only appeared to be a superficial conversation was actually a psychological manoeuvre that served to water down Walt Ballin's initial excitement.

  In spite of himself, Ballin was forced to smirk slightly when he compared the small fat bald-headed figure of Jeff Garibaldi with the fiery Italian freedom fighter of old. On his part, Jeff Garibaldi knew what was behind the smirk but said nothing. He was satisfied with the present development of the situation.

  "And what am I supposed to do with this ticket, Mr. Garibaldi? What business do I have in Terrania? That the First Administrator of all people should want to parlay with me about my article is pretty absurd! There must be something else behind it..."

  "Mr. Ballin, Solar Intelligence has merely been commissioned to carry through with this invitation. My directives do not go farther than that."

  "But this is ridiculous!" exclaimed Ballin. He suddenly grasped the portly visitor by the coat collar. "You have other plans for me? Your reason for my accepting Rhodan's invitation is very sleazy, little man! You know that our first issue this month carried my lead article in which I attacked the government of the Solar Imperium and that's why you want to shut me up. If that fails, then you'll make trouble with my Head Office and see to it that I'm fired! So now tell me, Mr. Garibaldi, once and for all—why have you come here? It seems that your name is significant, after all. It still means trouble!"

  But the little fat man only laughed at him pleasantly. "Mr. Ballin, my ancestor was not la bandit and Solar Intelligence is not in the gangster or kidnapping business. Now, please—are you familiar with the seal of Solar Intelligence? Then read my orders. It's against regulations to show them to you but I'll take that risk if it will convince you. Perry Rhodan wants to talk with you—not Intelligence. And that, Mr. Ballin, is an unusual opportunity. What journalist can say's he's interviewed the Administrator alone?"

  Walt Ballin was still suspicious. The thought of Rhodan's having been influenced enough by his lead article to take interest in a mere newspaper hack like himself was such a shock that he simply couldn't believe the invitation. "Mr. Garibaldi," he finally inquired, "would Solar Intelligence cover the bill if I were to put in a call to Terrania?"

  "With whom do you wish to speak there?" asked the little fat man maintaining an outward indifference. "You mean Rhodan?"

  "Who else? If as you say he wants me to come to Terrania, then he probably won't have any objection if I speak to him briefly—or would he...?"

  Jeff Garibaldi could not answer the question but he explained that the Paris headquarters of Solar Intelligence would assume the cost of a call to Terrania.

  "Good! I can hardly wait!" was all Ballin could manage to reply. He got up from sitting on the edge of his desk and made a connection with the main switchboard of the Europa News. Although it did not have a French name, in terms of circulation it was the largest of the French language newspapers. "This is a call to Terrania," he said into the seefone. "Put me through to the First Administrator."

  "With whom, please?" The voice that rang in the speaker was that of a robot operator.

  "Perry Rhodan," Ballin confirmed positively while glancing across at Garibaldi.

  The Terrania connection came through only a barely perceptible flicker of the viewscreen betrayed the action of a positronic relay as it opened a security circuit to Rhodan's line.

  "Yes?"

  Walt Ballin swallowed involuntarily. He was looking into a pair of calm grey eyes as the mightiest man in the Solar Imperium faced him on the viewscreen. It was the latter who was first to speak.

  "If I have my signals straight, you must be Walt Ballin. May I expect you today in Terrania, Mr. Ballin? Just let me know when you arrive. Will you do that?"

  The Parisian journalist was plainly flabbergasted. "Yessir... uh, sure thing!" he managed to stutter in reply.

  A fleeting smile touched Rhodan's lips. "I'm looking forward to chatting with you, Mr. Ballin. Was there anything else?"

  "No, sir... thank you, sir... there's nothing else, sir!"

  Ballin was already bathed in sweat as the viewscreen started to darken but then flickered to life again. At the other end of the line was Mr. Jacquuse, the owner of the Europa News.

  "Mr. Ballin!" he snapped sharply. "You have just made a global call without permission!"

  By this time, however, Walt Ballin was no longer in doubt of where he stood. "Of course!" he answered confidently. "I was just thanking the First Administrator for his special invitation, Mr. Jacquuse."

  "You, Mr. Ballin?—with Perry Rhodan...?"

  Ballin ignored the other's amazement and took advantage of the situation. "Sir, at 13:40 a space jet will be waiting for me at the spaceport. I'd like to request unlimited leave for my visit to Terrania. My phone call will be..."

  Mr. Jacquuse interrupted magnanimously. "But my dear Ballin!" he exclaimed. "Of course you may have the leave—that goes without saying! And naturally we'll bear the cost of that call. But before you go to the spaceport you'll still hand

  in your article for the evening edition, won't you?"

  Walt Ballin wasn't aware of any article he was due to turn in that day.

  "But my dear Ballin..." And Ballin could not recall when the arrogant Jacquuse

  had ever addressed him as "my dear". The Frenchman continued hastily. "I'll hold the presses for you! We'll run a headline on the front page that our chief writer, Walt Ballin, has been called to Terrania as an adviser to Perry Rhodan..."

  In that moment, Walt Ballin turned in his notice without saying it in so many words. He abruptly interrupted the proprietor of the great Europa News. "Mr. Jacquuse, I am not Perry Rhodan's adviser or anything of the kind! And I will not allow you to bring out any such announcement. Since it is now 12:58 I'll be leaving the building in the next few minutes. Good day, Mr. Jacquuse!"

  The little fat man stirred and got up from his chair. "You might as well have said farewell, Mr. Ballin. After your interview with Rhodan is over, you won't find a chair you can call your own in this newspaper building. But don't forget your ticket. Without that pass you won't get by the robot. Shall we go?"

  • • •

  At 12:00 Standard Time, Lt. Harold Fitzgerald again took command of Relay Station Ori-12-1818. Since Sgt. Stainless did not have any unusual events to report, the latter retired to
his cabin as he did every day at 12:00 to get some well-deserved rest.

  Ori-12-1818 was stationed in an orbit around the largest system in Orion, that of the giant red sun Betelgeuse. The super sun had a diameter 500 times as large as that of Sol and had once possessed 14 planets but in recent times, only 118 years ago, the third planet had been lost in an atomic explosion. That was when the great fleets of the Springers and the Topides had clashed in this section of the galaxy. The Galactic Traders had mistaken the Topides for allies of the hated Terrans and the Topides had believed Conrad Deringhouse's warning that the Springers had come here to destroy Topide power in the region. The laughing third party in the background had been Perry Rhodan who at the time was fully occupied with the task of concealing Earth's position when Terra which was still comparatively weak. By a ruse he had contrived to falsify the vital data stored in the positronicon of a Trader ship, leading them to believe that Earth was the third planet of Betelgeuse. The horrendous power of a single Arkon bomb had annihilated the uninhabited world.

  Planet four was the world of Akvo, Earth-sized but with 95% of its surface covered by water. It was a life-supporting world containing a single continent that was about as large as Europe and here Terra had long since established a trading settlement and built up a military Fleet base. In the course of many decades the name Akvo had fallen into disuse. Now like all the rest of the satellites of Betelgeuse, it was designated by a number. Number four had thus become number three and the methane-gas giant in the farthest orbit was now #13.

  Every three months the crew of the relay station was relieved by replacements from the third planet. Lt. Fitzgerald had just completed his check of all the controls and now that he had time for musings he began to think about his forthcoming relief.

  At a distance of 172 million km beyond the 13th planetary orbit, Ori-12-1818 circled the Betelgeuse System, using its sensitive instruments to register every disturbance of the space-time continuum. Although the spherical station was not equipped with high-powered propulsion units it was an advanced bastion of the Solar Imperium on the outer fringes of the Terran sphere of interest.