by Perry Rhodan
"You going to see the Chief?"
Manoli looked at him in astonishment. "Yes, but how did you know that? Rhodan gave me strict orders to keep my visit a secret."
Bell concealed his own surprise. "Do you know why he wants to see you, Prof?"
"He wants a post-treatment checkup."
Bell nodded. "Maybe with enough time I’ll get used to Perry’s cloak and dagger antics. Did Marshall and Pucky see you, Manoli?"
"A few hours ago, sir. I take it you’ve been informed, right?"
"And how! What do you make of these shadows in Rhodan’s brainwaves?"
The Professor shrugged somewhat helplessly. "Unfortunately we are not telepaths. Our equipment can’t come near to matching the abilities of a mind reader. So all we have to go on is their own data, which is anything but reliable from a medical standpoint. We need curves, values, charts. We would have to have precise measurements of the intensities..."
"So you and your buddies don’t have any of that," Bell interrupted. "I’d like to get your private opinion of the Chief, Manoli. Is Perry healthy or sick? Yes or no—no fooling around!"
This was typical of his nature: no fooling around. He always preferred to strike to the bottom line, straight out. He had often taken some awful nosedives this way but just as often he had beat everyone else to the punch.
Being accustomed to think only in medical terms, Manoli tried to squirm out but Bell’s merciless glare finally forced him to express a personal view. "The Chief is well, Mr. Bell. It’s only that he suffers from a certain depressiveness..."
Bell thought he hadn’t heard him correctly. "What’s he suffering from? You mean he’s in the dumps or something? And that you call healthy? Come on now, don’t you know by now that Rhodan’s mentality isn’t geared for depressive thinking? How come you don’t buy this bit about the shadows that Marshall and Pucky noticed?"
"Because medical science has no knowledge of shadows appearing in brainwave patterns! What the two telepaths say they’ve seen is layman nonsense! Mr. Bell, what do you think would happen if the Chief caught onto the fact that the mutants are poking around in his thoughts...?"
This was the wrong way to go with Bell, who interrupted him abruptly. "What do you think that I will do to you, my dear Manoli, if you tell Rhodan anything about it? Do we understand each other?"
"You just made yourself quite clear!" replied Manoli, obviously shocked.
In a friendlier tone, Bell added: "Let me know the results of your examination, please."
"No—! Bell, there’s no way I can do that. I’m a doctor. The code of ethics..."
"Jam the code of ethics!" Whereat Bell left the bewildered Professor standing there. His former comrade from the long-ago moon-landing project in the 20th century had never spoken to him in this tone before. Until now they had always been the best of friends. When Bell disappeared into the lift shaft, Manoli continued to stare at the spot where he had last seen him.
Could there really be anything to the observations the two telepaths had made, he asked himself—but why couldn’t they give him a better explanation of these ominous shadows? When he continued on his way to the Chief’s office he decided to give him more than the usual checkup.
• • •
Meanwhile Bell was already in a surface car and had driven to the headquarters of Solar Intelligence. "Is Mercant in?" he asked as he entered the reception lobby of the big building.
"Yes sir. Solar Marshal Mercant is in his office."
Shortly thereafter, Bell was seated across from him.
"Well?" asked Mercant unsuspectingly.
"I see you’re sitting down, Mercant. These days it’s a good idea to be in our seats when either one of us comes in to say anything. The Ironduke is being cleared for takeoff."
"I’m aware of that, Mr. Bell."
"OK, so nothing special about that, right?" retorted Bell with a slight note of sarcasm. "But why the Chief has cleared the Ironduke for just a little toad-hop to Pluto... well, is that something else again, Mercant?"
Mercant’s eyes narrowed cautiously. "You mean—the Ironduke is only going to Pluto?"
"So you don’t have any idea about the second step, do you, Solar Marshal? I learned about it by pure accident. It often happens in Terrania that even the top-drawer secrets can’t be buried. Perry called the positronic brain on Venus and asked for the galactic coordinates of Wanderer!"
Mercant’s words were like an explosion. "The Chief wants to go there—?!"
"Yes, Mercant. A little more of this and I’m going up in smoke, with Perry’s help. He’s never lied to me before. But a short while ago he handed me a whopper! What do you say to that, my friend?"
"Nothing, before I know what the Chief is planning. I suspect he has something big on his mind. Perhaps I can guess his purpose: he may be hoping to regain our shaken confidence in him by pulling off some very surprising action."
"You still believe in Santa Claus!" cried Bell. "But I wonder if it could be possible..."
"What?" asked Mercant.
"Nothing!" Bell waved it off. He had hoped to meet with understanding here in the office of the Solar Marshal, to find a reasoning partner who might also be convinced as he was that something was very wrong with Perry Rhodan. And what was the result? Mercant believed the Chief wanted to pull a big surprise on everybody so that he could regain their confidence in him. "Glord!" he groaned aloud.
Mr. Bell, I almost have to assume that you’re biased toward an idea that isn’t at all related to the facts," said Mercant in a tone of slightly irritated reproach.
Bell shook his head moodily. "Assume what you want, Mercant, I’ll not yield on one point, and that’s Perry’s condition—he’s really sick, mentally or psychologically. On the way to see you I ran into Prof. Manoli. He’d been called by the Chief to give him another checkup. But that’s a secondary matter. I know the Chief like nobody else and when I say he’s changed you’d better believe it!
"Sometimes he seems to be his old self when he starts to make a lightning decision. Then he seems closer to me and I know what’s going on. But as soon as he pulls back into his shell and starts making decisions under a lid, all by himself—then I’m looking at a stranger.
"Now Rhodan has lied to me! He gave me the old 84 when he put on that he simply had to go to Pluto—telling me it was of critical importance for him to inspect the Springer layout there. Mercant, since when has he bothered about such minor details? What’s Solar Intelligence for? And if he only wants to hop to Pluto, why take the Ironduke? Why the request to the Venus Brain for the galactic coordinates of Wanderer? What’s our business on Wanderer at this time?"
"But Mr. Bell, are you saying that I should put the Chief under surveillance or something?" At least Mercant’s protest revealed that Bell’s words had made an impression on him.
"Who’s talking about surveillance? He’s supposed to be healthy! But I’m more convinced than ever that if he’s sick it isn’t from any so-called depressive condition, which Manoli was trying to sell me. No—the Chief is hiding another kind of sickness.
"Thomas Cardif?"
"That’s my bet. When that kid got the upper hand on his father there on Okul, something in Perry must have snapped. Forget low spirits and depression! Since Okul, something’s been missing from him completely: the human touch, maybe, a spirit of animation, zombop! Mercant, what I’m trying to say can’t quite be described!"
"Are you saying that he never speaks of his experiences with his son on Okul?" Mercant appeared to be more convinced now that Bell’s concern for Rhodan might be well founded.
The video intercom rattled out an announcement: "Attention, urgent message: takeoff schedule for the Ironduke has been advanced to hours 18:35, standard time. I repeat: takeoff schedule for the Ironduke..."
Bell cut the connection swiftly. The speaker’s metallic clamor had suddenly grated on his nerves. "Are you flying with him, Mercant?"
"I’ve received no orders to do so."
Mercant let out a low whistle. "Mr. Bell, you’re sure sticking your neck out! I don’t know what the Chief’s reaction will be when he finds out you and the mutants are on board."
Bell laughed bitterly. "And think what a surprise it’ll be when he also finds you there, Mercant!"
The latter stared at him through a moment of frozen silence but finally took a long deep breath. "You know, Mr. Bell, ever since you began to suspect that Rhodan isn’t himself, you’ve developed some faculties I would never have expected of you. Alright, I’ll join you on board."
Bell left his office without having mentioned how very exposed he considered his own neck to be.
• • •
The vast steel sphere of the Ironduke dropped down toward Pluto. At 20,000 meters the ship’s searchlights flared to life and illuminated the desolate, hostile surface of the Sol System’s next-to-outermost planet.
Out of quadrant Green, 30 degrees, came the instrument approach beam of stellar defense fortress Pluto-6. The guide beam touched the ship, ready to bring it in on computer course. The nearer the Ironduke came to the surface, the mightier loomed the gun installations of the base in the glare of the lights.
Here were the heaviest-caliber thermo-cannons and on either side of them the disintegrator and impulse batteries became visible. A few km farther south were the powerful tracking and sensor stations which were capable of detecting any transitional spacewarp in the outer void and tracking approaching vessels over tremendous distances. The main base’s towering antennas were under a super-powerful defense screen that could hold up against salvos from half a dozen super battleships.
Even during the landing manoeuvres of the Ironduke the great screen was not shut off. This was by strict orders from Cardif-Rhodan himself. He had also requested alternate beam course to the small spaceport which the Galactic Traders had established by use of their own equipment and materials. On the eastern edge of the port under the sheltering cliffs of an ice-covered mountain chain was the trading settlement of the united Springer clans. This was Cardif-Rhodan’s goal.
What his objective was in this visit to the Springers was a mystery to everyone on the ship but this wasn’t the first action the Chief had started in which only he knew the purpose. Nevertheless there was such a high level of tension in the Control Central that it fairly crackled.
Was it because of the big surprise only a few minutes before when Reginald Bell walked in unannounced with Allan D. Mercant and John Marshall? Even Jefe Claudrin the Epsalian-born Terran—a stocky colossus with dark leathery skin—was heard to gasp harshly when he saw the three men enter and simultaneously he swore he was going to haul a certain airlock officer over the coals for not having reported these people on board.
Other than a momentary gleam in his eyes, Cardif-Rhodan had not revealed any sign of surprise. "Oh—!" was all that came from his lips and then he merely nodded to Bell.
While Mercant and Marshall remained in the background, Bell came forward without hesitation. "I had enough of this during those last hours on Okul, Perry," he said to the man he still thought to be his friend. "This visit you’re making—I mean, I don’t trust these sky gypsies any more than I do the Antis!"
"So?" Cardif-Rhodan answered. "The next time, Fatso, I expect to be informed about your security measures—do you understand?"
Bell only shrugged and the incident was ended. But no one suspected the inner turmoil he had caused in Cardif, not even John Marshall, who now tuned into the Chiefs thoughts for the third time. Rhodan’s double deliberately maintained a fragmentary train of thought. He guessed that Marshall was giving him a mental surveillance, which he compensated for as calmly as possible. Cardif-Rhodan only thought on his father’s wavelengths and completely concealed his own impulses.
In his cogitation the proposal of the Galactic Traders played the heaviest role, with here and there tatters and fragments of memories out of the past. The pseudo Rhodan thought of former treacherous manoeuvres of the Springers and he began to calculate how great the danger might be if the Traders established another 100 commercial bases inside the Sol System. He allowed his thoughts to circulate to this extent but he was careful not to think of what lay beyond that. Only a few times he permitted a surge of anticipation and hopeful triumph, picturing an end result where the Galactic Traders would turn out to be the swindlers who were betrayed.
Meanwhile under Jefe Claudrin’s guidance the Ironduke had made a safe landing at the Springers’ spaceport. The mighty telescopic struts, of the gigantic sphere had made a few feathery contacts before the ship settled firmly on the frozen soil of Pluto, at a distance of more than 20 km from Pluto-6 and its bristling defenses.
The tense atmosphere caused by the appearance of Bell, Mercant and Marshall now reached a new high. The man whom everybody took to be Rhodan laughed at Bell in a strangely crafty tone.
"Just so you won’t try to play nursemaid next time I’m taking the liberty of playing this one solo. And when I say alone, I mean just that! I’m visiting the Springer post without an escort. Let me have a spacesuit, please..."
The Epsalian commander’s mighty hands clenched the arms of his special Right seat. He simply could not comprehend what he had just heard. But he was not the only one who couldn’t understand Rhodan’s actions.
"Sir—" Allan D. Mercant started to protest but was forced to silence by a swift signal from Cardif-Rhodan.
Against all expectations, Bell said nothing.
By now Rhodan was inside the heavy spacesuit. With an exemplary calmness he inspected his weapons. Since the first encounter with the Antis, everyone’s armament included an old-fashioned .44 revolver with non-metallic bullets. The special plastic bullet heads had an astonishing penetrating power. At present these bullets were the only means of breaking through the priests’ bodily defense screens, which they rendered super powerful by mental forces.
Cardif-Rhodan merely gave the old-fashioned weapon a passing glance. He was more interested in his energy weapons and he checked out their charge readings.
"All set," he announced. "Bell, I think I’ll be back in about an hour. Emergency communications by minicom. Thank you," he said when he noted that Bell was about to accompany him, "I’d also like to go alone to the airlock. Somehow I’ll have to show you my appreciation for all your precautions, my friend."
It could have been a jest—but also sarcasm.
The bulkhead hatch slammed shut behind Cardif-Rhodan. Bell looked questioningly at Mercant. He winked at him secretly and then left the control room. Shortly afterwards he was followed by Mercant and Marshall. Purposefully they sought out Bell’s cabin.
"Well?" he asked them as they came in. His question was really directed at Marshall.
The telepath shrugged helplessly. "The Chief has some wild plan in his mind—about the Springers and the 300 additional stations—but unfortunately he didn’t do me the favor of thinking it out. I only know that at this particular Springer post he’s looking for something specific..."
"What’s that?" Bell interrupted.
"That’s just what I don’t know. He kept it out of his mind somehow. As for our unexpected arrival, he wasn’t a bit disturbed about it..."
"What?" Bell jumped up and stared at Marshall. " John, don’t give me any fairytales! Look—we came here completely unauthorized, strictly AWOL! You mean to say he didn’t show a trace of steam? What the devil! Any other time he’d be ready to chew me out for going against his orders like that. Has he been mentally turned inside out or something?"
"There’s nothing more I can say," replied Marshall.
"Then I’m stumped for what I should think!" grumbled Bell, and he sat down again. He put the subject aside but asked Marshall another question. "Do you have contact with the other telepaths on board?"
"They are waiting for your instructions, Mr. Bell."
"OK, so let’s w
ait for another half hour. At the moment, all the Ironduke’s polar gun turret is doing is keeping close tabs on the Springer movements out there. I have to presume that those sky-hoppers won’t try anything with the Chief—not here. Anyway, Perry did a beautiful job of pulling the rug out from under us with this solo caper of his. And I’m glad of it! It’s more typical of him. There’s some hope yet that he may come around to his old self again. Well, Mercant, what do you say?"
"Nothing," was the reply. "I’ll wait and see..."
• • •
Catepan, Springer chief of the Pluto trading base, had sent his biggest ground car out to the Ironduke. The vehicle was waiting for the First Administrator at the foot of C-ramp, which had extended outward from the spherical ship.
Fearless, cold-blooded, calm, Cardif-Rhodan came down the ramp. He was quite familiar with the hostile environment of Pluto. As a lieutenant in the Solar Fleet, Cardif had been transferred here for disciplinary reasons and had put in some service time, until all of a sudden the mighty alien fleet of the Druufs challenged the Sol System’s defenses. At that time the fate of the Earth appeared to be sealed but then Arkon’s robot fleets came to the rescue along with the Galactic Traders and their fighting long-ships.
At that time he thought only fleetingly of it but not about his desertion. He switched his thoughts quickly. As he returned to Rhodan’s wavelengths a grin came to his face that would have been alien to Rhodan himself. It was an expression of cynical satisfaction. The mutants, whom he had first considered to be his greatest danger, foundered against the hypno-induced knowledge of the genuine Rhodan, a surface screen which served to conceal Thomas Cardif. And since they continued to sense Rhodan’s mental patterns they did not suspect that this very corroboration was their obstacle.
The young Springer’s face was illuminated by the spotlight of the car as he greeted the First Administrator of the Solar Imperium. In good Intercosmo he invited him to take a seat inside the vehicle. Cardif-Rhodan curtly acknowledged the greeting and then sank back into the car’s upholstered seat.