by Perry Rhodan
"But under no circumstances must the Antis be allowed to leave Okul," Rhodan continued. "We know where their undersea craft is at the moment, roughly. The longer we wait, the harder it will be to determine their location. They can't remain forever at the bottom of the ocean. Sometime or other they'll come up. That's when we'll have to have enough ships to make a complete surveillance of Okul. Don't forget the possibility that the priests could get reinforcements from outer space. Even the Ironduke couldn't handle a massive attack by larger fighting ships."
"You're right about that, sir," rumbled Claudrin. Rhodan laid out his plan to the officers.
• • •
Gen. Deringhouse swung his long legs out of bed and scowled at the opposite bulkhead of his cabin. This is how he had spent the greater part of the last few hours. His orderly, Cadet Oscar Hardin, looked at him uncertainly. He could well understand the general's impatience.
"If the Ironduke isn't heard from in the next half hour, I'm going to take action directly," Deringhouse revealed to the startled orderly. "The deadline we agreed on has long since passed."
"But sir!" Hardin dared to interject. "If the Administrator ever thought the linear ship was in danger he would have certainly gotten in touch with the Fleet!"
Deringhouse struck his palm against the edge of the bed. It seemed to be a superfluous piece of furniture because he had hardly used it-only as a place to sit. However, in his anxiousness to be of service, Hardin was worse than a mother hen. He seemed to be trained to read his superior's slightest wish from his expression. Deringhouse no longer dared to give any sign of weariness because at once the cadet would be at the bed and smoothing out the sheets or asking him if he wanted a cup of coffee or something.
Of course Deringhouse realized that the young man was only doing his duty but with all due respect to discipline and regulations he didn't have to overdo the thing. So all the general could do was look at the bulkhead wall and conduct himself as inconspicuously as possible."Don't forget the Fantasy," he muttered. "Even the Ironduke isn't immune to shipwreck."
Hardin shook his head perplexed. Deringhouse suspected that the cadet was thinking desperately of how officers might be handled in a situation like this.
"That's true, sir," he replied diplomatically. Deringhouse got up and stretched out his arms but at the last moment remembered to suppress his yawn. Hardin was watching him worriedly. It was the loudspeaker that rescued him.
"Control Central to Gen. Deringhouse! Central calling Gen. Deringhouse!"
Deringhouse switched on his intercom and identified himself, whereupon an impersonal-sounding voice gave him his message.
"We have contact with the Ironduke, sir. The Administrator wishes to speak to you."
Deringhouse spared himself the words for an answer. In a few quick strides he was out of his cabin, to Hardin's unhappy amazement. He stormed through the passage toward the lift shaft. When he entered the Control Central of the Drusus he immediately recognized Rhodan's face on the hypercom screen and breathed a sigh of relief.
I hope you have good news, sir," Deringhouse told him while nodding to the two operators at the consoles. They silently moved out of his way.
Rhodan's expression was grave. "Okul is firmly in our hands," he reported. "We were able to destroy the main base of the Antis but some of them managed to escape in a submarine and they've gone into the depths of one of the many oceans here." The face on the viewscreen hardened. "Cardif is among the fugitives."
"Did you find out anything about the Liquitiv?" asked the general."Yes, but at the moment that's less important. I want to cut off the Antis and Cardif from any escape-that is, from Okul-and I don't want them to get any help from the outside."Deringhouse tensed and leaned closer to the screen. Veteran that he was, he knew what was coming next. "What do you propose, sir?"
"The Solar Fleet is on top alert," said Rhodan. I want these Antis pinned down, with no chance to get out of here. 5,000 units will fly at once to Okul and seal it off completely against any outside help."
"The ships are ready for takeoff, sir." The general's eyes were bright. At last all this waiting was over with. He knew that all crews in the Fleet were expecting his orders. They were ready for action.
Rhodan nodded to him. "Good, General. I want all super battleships on their way to transition, along with the heavy cruiser formations and the lighter attack squadrons. At least we have Okul, so that pares not going to change."Deringhouse gave him a promise: "You can count on that, sir!"
• • •
The fourth-dimensional space-time-continuum seemed to burst asunder as the great fleet formation virtually exploded out of hyperspace. The discharges created by the heavy spherical ships sent out a tidal wave of transitional warp shocks. This mighty cosmic disturbance even affected the minor system of three planets to which Okul belonged. Earthquakes and floods were the result. But these side-effects of space flight could be overcome by linear-drive ships, The Ironduke could make a close approach to a planet within the semispace zone and be free of any such consequences. Hyperspace jumps always required a certain amount of caution. It was theoretically possible for the entire Fleet to go into transition right after takeoff from the Earth but in that case the home planet's orbit could be distorted, with calamitous results.
In the Control Central of the Ironduke, Perry Rhodan was watching the arrival of the other ships.
"Quite an impressive show," Bell confessed. He had witnessed this phenomenon often enough but had never failed to be fascinated by it.
This strong taskforce of ships would be enough to close off Okul so completely that, practically speaking, not even an insect would be able to take off or land without detection. Thousands of supersensitive tracking and sensing instruments would be watching the surface as well as outer space.
"Those sky-hoppers are the good comfortable kind I'm used to," chirped Pucky. "It would sure be a pleasure to teleport over to the Drusus and pick up some real peaceful snore time." He looked about him disdainfully. "Capt. Graybound knew what he was talking about. You can't impress me with these semispace 'sneakers'."
Although Rhodan was fully occupied with communications from the oncoming ships' commanders, he took time to give the mouse-beaver an order. "You stay here on board the Ironduke Lt. Puck."
The Administrator instructed the individual commanders concerning the present situation. The veteran space officers responded at once. Within the hour, Okul was completely blockaded.
"So," said Rhodan, satisfied. "In any case we now have our friends pinned down. They'll really have to come up with something special to get away from us this time."
Jefe Claudrin manoeuvred the Ironduke into a stable orbit around Okul. With its high-speed capacity it was the best suited for this type of mission. The old-fashioned rocket batteries were aimed threateningly at the surface of the planet. Okul was surrounded by an impenetrable curtain of steel.
The staff officers of the Fleet gathered in the Control Central of the Ironduke for a strategy meeting. Rhodan was well aware that their actions: would not be able to produce results at the moment. Their ships were practically sentenced to a state of passivity. They could do nothing more than wait for the reappearance of the mysterious submarine.
For the second time the Administrator set up a contact with Terrania. He spoke with doctors Topezzi and Whitman and advised them of the discovery of the slime diggers. Since both doctors headed up the research operation they suggested that a couple of laboratory research ships be sent to Okul.
"That we will do," agreed Rhodan. "In the meantime we'll start collecting as many specimens of these creatures as we can. When the lab ships arrive, your specialists can get right to work so that no time will be lost."
Dr. Whitman revealed a new spirit of confidence. I firmly believe now that we'll find a remedy," he said. "After all, the technical postulates are behind us. Now we know what this glandular poison consists of and how it is generated."
"I hope that your optimism
is justified, Doctor," said Rhodan by way of conclusion.
He cut off the connection. When he turned around he encountered Bell's smiling face. The coldness vanished from the tall man's grey eyes. He turned to the assembled officers and began to speak in a firm and certain tone of voice.
AFTERMATH: CHAMBER OF THE LIVING DEAD
The nurse walks slowly along the row of white beds. Her gaze passes over the patients who lie motionlessly on their pillows. Sunshine floods through the large windows. The room has a clean and cheerful atmosphere. She smiles at one of the men but the staring face of the patient reveals no sign of response.
"Come on now," the woman says gently. The man does not move, his gaze unfocused. His eyes are dull. There is no sorrow in this face, no pain, no suffering-it is completely apathetic.
The nurse leans over him and slowly lifts his arm. Stiffly, he finally follows the tug of her hands."Careful now," smiles the woman.
She knows that her words are not understood. All the patients here can no longer understand. Sometimes she feels that she is working in a chamber of the dead. Now the man is standing by his bed. He does not seem to be aware of his surroundings. The nurse leads him down the long aisle but not a head turns to watch them nor is there a single shout or word from the patients.
"It's going to be a nice day," says the nurse.
When they come to the hall she guides her mute companion into the elevator. A little while later they come out into the park that surrounds the sanitarium. Birds are singing up in the trees. Men and women are seated on the benches with nurses beside them. All of the patients have the same horribly blank stare. They sit there stiffly, like so many puppets.
"Over there," says the nurse. The man follows her obediently. He knows nothing more of this world. Perhaps she does not even exist for him. He and his fellow sufferers are vegetating away to shadows.
They are victims of the Liquitiv. They are mentally deranged and perhaps beyond recovery.
The nurse walks with her patient a half-hour through the park. Then she takes him back. All patients have to be taken out and exercised. The doctors insist on it although the nurses don't believe there's any sense to it. They know that this condition continues until the sick people die. And they die fast. They depart from life without a struggle.
"Wasn't that a nice walk?" says the nurse. But there is no answer nor will she ever receive one.
But now and again she has to say something if she is not to lose her own mind. It is her profession to help the mentally ill but often he asks herself if there's any purpose to it where these patients are concerned.
The morning walk is ended. Now she is bringing the man back into the chamber of the living dead. Both of them walk along the long row of beds.
It is very still here. Only from a far distance can the song of the birds he heard. Meanwhile, assistant nurses have changed the bed, at the head of which is a small nameplate. The name of the man is printed there in black letters-a name he can no longer read. It is now only a record for files in the sanitarium but once it was a part of this man who has forgotten his former identity: Henry Mulvaney.
SPOOR OF THE ANTIS
Copyright © 1976
Ace Books
by arrangement with Arthur Moewig Verlag
All Rights Reserved.
THE SHIP OF THINGS TO COME
"OVER 200 MILLION disciples throughout the Galaxy, this Baalol cult!"
"A potent force."
"The sect has a temple for its followers on every planet."
"They are mutants, yes, and-even worse for us-Anti-Mutants!"
"With their mental powers they can frustrate the deployment of our own Mutant Corps."
"Things get worse. Somewhere on the planet Okul, Cardif and 250 Antis are hiding on the bottom of an ocean and we are unable to flush them out..."
In the next installment you will read of the pursuit "Into Unknown Depths," of the "Countdown to Conflagration," of "The Evil Alter Ego." All in--
FALSE FRONT, by Clark Darlton