Planet Mechanica

by Perry Rhodan

  Abruptly, however, the laughter ceased.

  Come closer friend! continued the soundless voice. What is on your mind? Ah, you know precisely what it is you wish from me: 21 cell activators with self-selective individual pattern adjustment. I shall stand by my word. You shall have them. You know, of course, how fond I am of being a spectator when the cosmic game of power extends itself into many spheres. Really, Terran, I believe that the time of boredom is past for me.

  The voice fell silent; the laughter became fainter and fainter as though receding into a great distance and finally it died out altogether. While the voice had resounded from his subconsciousness, Cardif had not been standing still. He continued exactly as Rhodan would have done if he had been on Wanderer. His borrowed knowledge continued to guide him as he went.

  Also he was more confident than ever now that It had also been taken in by this ingenious camouflage manoeuvre. However Cardif did not suspect that in this visit of his to the synthetic planet he had sentenced himself to death.

  He was in the great hall of the tower. Here he waited patiently. It took little concentration to keep his thought stream in the same level as father’s. He looked about him with an indescribable sense of exultation, yet suppressing curiosity in place of normal interest, like someone who beheld familiar things he had not seen for a long time.

  There stood the Physiotron, the unique device which had thus far sustained the life of Rhodan and his closest confidants. Every 62 years they had to come to Wanderer to receive their biological regeneration.

  For a long time Cardif had known that Atlan’s life expectancy had been made practically unlimited by means of an egg-sized cell activator. Now he had just requested 21 of them from It and It had given him to understand that they would be furnished.

  When he thought of this outrageous deception a mild shudder ran through him. He had to marshal all his forces of concentration to still the far cry of conscience somewhere in his depths. He coerced his mind, keeping his thoughts in Rhodan’s channels, and concentrated on the 21 activators. He even began to feel like Rhodan. He thought on the basis of his father’s knowledge and yet his ideations related to It were still not correct.

  He resolved not to be merely one of those who had to come here every 62 years for a biological cell rejuvenation. He was determined to acquire the kind of youth enjoyed by the Imperator himself, Gonozal VIII. His thoughts revolved around this single point.

  He was aware of the fact that It possessed an essential sense of humor and that It was fond of weaving certain subtle threads into the fabric of things but–

  Cardif stared visibly when without warning the voice called again out of the well of his subconsciousness: Old friend, you know you are giving competition to your own ancient hero Odysseus. A rather fascinating contest which makes me inclined to oblige. Shall I now place the 21st cell activator in the Physiotron and synchronize it to your personal frequency—Perry Rhodan...?

  Cardif felt the sweat break out on his forehead. Yes—he replied mentally. Adjust the activators!

  He could have sworn he heard some kind of cosmic tittering, which was the only answer. The pause which followed was short because soon the voice echoed again from somewhere within.

  You have raised my spirits today. Terran! And I shall pay you in your own coin. Wait outside the hall. Perry Rhodan, when I have tuned the cell activator to you, you will have the other 20.

  With a heady and rapturous sense of euphoria such as he had never before experienced, Thomas Cardif turned to leave. It would be less taxing for him to wait outside than in the great closed room. He forced himself not to run. He walked out, sedately and with measured tread, as Rhodan would have done.

  Once outside he sensed the mild and pleasant climate of this artificial world. The space-jet was out there only one km distant. Lts. Alkher and Nolinov had followed his orders and had not even left the small control room of the I-109.

  Thomas Cardif’s gaze took in the slender lines of the soaring tower. Done!—he thought triumphantly. Yet immediately he brought his mind under close control again. This cautious habit was a true hereditary trait from his father, who never took his victories for granted or endangered them by relaxing prematurely.

  Still he permitted himself the pleasure of breathing deeply of the tangy air.

  But something stirred in the depths of his mind; he thought he heard a haunting echo of whispered words—something about competing with Odysseus... Had It seen through him after all? Had his masquerade on Wanderer failed?

  But now suddenly his own ego whispered insistently to him, telling him that It had not perceived his mask. It had merely been amused by the fact that he sought by means of the activator to eliminate the need for coming here every 62 years to obtain the biological cell shower. Because of this little subtlety It had compared his cunning with that of the ancient hero of mythology.

  Cardif passed a hand over his brow. The tensions fell away from him once more. Again he drew in a deep breath of the scented air.

  He waited for It to bring him the 21 cell activators.

  • • •

  Homunk ‘heard’ the sound of mental laughter. During Rhodan’s first visit to Wanderer, this highly advanced humanoid robot had been created for him. Now Homunk heard Him, his master, chuckling in vast amusement.

  He had entered the great hall after Thomas Cardif had gone out. It did not wish any contact to be made between the two of them. The multiplex entity of Wanderer chose to speak with the humanoid robot in Its own fashion. The creature’s appearance here probably wasn’t necessary but the situation was so grotesque that It felt it had to be shared, if only with Homunk.

  Thus it was that a mental dialogue ensued:

  "Homunk, did you recognize him?"

  "At once, Master."

  "Anyone with even the name of Rhodan amuses me royally, Homunk. These cultural barbarians from the third planet of a ridiculously tiny sun are capable of ingenious ideas which have to be rewarded."

  "Master, will you give assistance to the son of Rhodan?"

  "If the little swindler is shrewd enough, why shouldn’t I? But he still has to prove how clever he is. Perhaps a clever fraud will use an alias effectively for outward appearances but if he’s wise he will never attempt to so identify himself in his thoughts."

  "Master, will he understand the question you asked him?—about adjusting the 21st activator to the personal frequencies of Rhodan?"

  "Homunk, today you disappoint me. Am I Destiny itself? Only fools attempt to sway the Ultimate Omnipotence. This is why I don’t even intend to help Rhodan. Whoever dares to risk so much, as he did on Okul, must also pay the price."

  "But Master, now both of them are in danger of extinction!"

  "I do not deny it, Homunk."

  "Master, you are placing Thomas Cardif in the greatest of dangers!"

  Not yet. Before it comes to that I shall warn him, Homunk. I shall give him a very cogent warning. He has absorbed all the knowledge that Rhodan possessed concerning me. When a man dares to operate as Thomas Cardif is doing, then he must be smart enough to work with alien knowledge. But now it is time to remove the cell activator from the Physiotron. Homunk, will you check to see if it is exactly attuned to Perry Rhodan’s frequencies—as Thomas Cardif wished it to be?"

  "But Master, Cardif is not Rhodan. He was not able to deceive you and me as he did all the others—but the cell activator will be contra-attuned to him!"

  "I shall warn him concerning this contra-attunement very clearly when it is time to do so."

  "And what will happen with the other 20 activators, Master—the ones which have been requested from Cardif by the priests of Baalol?"

  "A little entertainment, Homunk, and a constructive lesson—so that the Antis may clearly understand that no one may trifle with me, especially for evil purposes. But Thomas Cardif intrigues me—however, he must know the proverb of the cheated cheat. In any case, he is not as shrewd as his father."

  The strange
dialogue in the great hall came to an end, followed by more of Its delighted laughter. Homunk’s brain was electro-organic in composition and functioned on a sixth-dimensional basis. At this point he dared not make any further appeals to It. But he was not too worried. Knowing It as well as he did, he knew that Thomas Cardif was still in charge of his own fate and thus he could still determine the future course of his life.

  Homunk was still standing at the rear of the great ball as the cell activator came out of the Physiotron. He watched the egg-shaped device as it floated toward he exit door. Attuned to Perry Rhodan’s personal frequencies, it was supposed to give the Terran a relative immortality if he wore it next to his body as did Atlan. But Thomas Cardif was not Perry Rhodan! Therefore, would the activator fail to work with him? Or would it produce an effect that was only nebulously hinted at by the term contra-attunement?

  Homunk continued to watch the hovering activator as it moved slowly along. The amused laughter of It was not loud and yet it was vast enough to fill the great ball. It was intrigued by this Terran. In all of Its long existence, no other intelligence or being of any description had ever attempted to trick It but today this had been tried—hence the entity’s merriment.

  • • •

  Thomas Cardif was walking toward the space-jet.

  He had accomplished it! He was already wearing the activator on his body. Eternal life lay before him. Now it would take a very violent event to kill him. Henceforth he was immune to cell decay. Through the incomprehensible workings of the egg-shaped device on his chest his worn-out cells would be continuously replenished.

  He had actually pulled it off! Nevertheless he managed to keep his triumphant feelings under control. He was still on Wanderer. There was still danger that It might see through his ruse. Although the entity was silent now, It had said goodbye to him when he had put on the activator and concealed it under his uniform.

  Perry Rhodan, I have adjusted it exactly to your vibrations; and I was happy to do it, old friend. I am sending the other 20 devices along to you. You will find them in front of your spaceship’s airlock. Don’t worry about the container they’re in. When you will it to open, it will do so. If you will it to remain closed, then no power in the galaxy can reach its contents. Goodbye, Rhodan, your visit has given me more pleasure than I’ve known for a long time!

  After that the multiple entity could still be heard laughing in the incomprehensible sphere of Its existence. The laughter followed Cardif until he was halfway to the ship, then it ceased abruptly.

  Cardif was only 100 meters from the space-jet when he felt a quickening current flow through his body. It was something he had never experienced before in his life. The activator was working, he thought, and he had to use all the energy he had to keep from falling into a state of blind euphoria. He paused to analyze his sensations and then it became unmistakable. He suddenly felt that he was young; he was charged with a maximum of energy, which freed him from an oppression he had sensed since his arrival on Wanderer.

  When he reached the small ramp of the ship there was another surprise. Out of nothing emerged a sphere, perhaps 1½ feet in diameter, which was surrounded by a pale red glow. It floated in the air at the level of his head. Within the sphere he could make out the dark shadows of 20 duplicate cell activators. He stretched out his hand and touched the container’s surface. It felt cool but not cold; it seemed heavy but Cardif knew it was not Rhodan’s borrowed knowledge gave him the explanation. It was a time-field attuned to his own impulses and it could only be opened by his own will.

  He suddenly understood what the community being had meant when It said: If you will it to remain closed, then no power in the galaxy can reach its contents.

  When he entered the space-jet’s control room there was a lingering smile on his face. Stant Nolinov and Brazo Alkher had decided to relax and have a game of chess. They started to spring to their feet when they saw the Chief but he signaled them an "as you were!" and nodded pleasantly to them.

  Somehow he had to keep his triumph under control. At this moment he impressed the two young officers as being the Perry Rhodan they had once known, if it were really possible—the Rhodan who was frank and open to all.

  "But unfortunately you’ll have to break up your game, gentlemen. We’re taking off."

  Cardif-Rhodan ignored the curious stares of the two lieutenants, who couldn’t take their eyes from the dimly glowing sphere at his shoulder. He gave them no explanation for it.

  Nolinov and Alkher got up in a hurry and got into their flight seats. Using their panel controls they pulled in the outer ramp and closed the airlock door. The engines started warming up. The peaceful quiet inside the spaceship came to an end. There was a roaring and rumbling and howling. Automatic circuits integrated and synchronized the operation of many pieces of equipment. The main transformer set up a deep bass thrumming. A tremor ran through the I-109.

  The two officers had no time to look when they heard the Chief’s footsteps leaving the control room. However, while they were making the last preparations for takeoff, Cardif-Rhodan rejoined them, but this time he was not accompanied by the floating sphere of pale-red light.

  "Liftoff!" said Brazo Alkher from habit. Although he was weapons officer on board the Ironduke, like all of his peers he had gone through a heavy training period at the Solar Space Academy to learn how to pilot space-jets, State-class ships and even cruisers.

  The I-109 lifted up easily and described two long curves around the lofty tower. Brazo caused the space-jet to sway in its course by way of saying goodbye. It was a custom that had quickly become traditional in the Fleet but which could not be indulged in when one was flying the bigger spherical ships.

  The I-109 shot upward toward the zenith of the energy screen that arched like a bell above the 600-km disc-world of Wanderer.

  "There’s the gap!" exclaimed Nolinov.

  Alkher shoved the engines to maximum power and the I-109 hurtled through the slot into normal space. The small starship had hardly cleared the barrier before its viewscreens showed emptiness where the opening had been. Nor was there anything to be seen of the hemispherical energy screen itself. In their immediate vicinity the almost starless void appeared as if the mysterious synthetic world called Wanderer had ceased to exist.

  Without saying a word Cardif-Rhodan again left the control room. He had to be alone so that at last he could enjoy his triumph to its fullest. He, the immortal, had achieved his purpose. As for escaping the clutches of the Antis, he was through playing games. He had 20 pieces of bait now and they were foolproof.

  He closed his cabin door and sat down in a chair. The pale-red glowing sphere of the time-field hovered in a corner of the room. He finally concentrated on it and thought: open!

  The sphere floated over to him and came to a stop just a few inches above his lap. An opening appeared in its surface and inside he could see one of the egg-shaped shadowy forms move upward. A cell activator came out of the container and fell into his lap.

  He picked it up and examined it from every angle. This device differed only in one respect from the activator he himself was wearing. Here on top of the two-centimeter slot in its surface was the contact for the automatic frequency adjustment. It had especially emphasized that cell activators could not be transferred to another without causing them to cease functioning. Cardif laughed aloud when he thought of this.

  "20 chances at eternal life, you priests!" he sneered, and he wished at this moment that he could see their faces.

  For much less than 20 activators they would have to pay the price he would demand of them! He wondered why he couldn’t force them to do his bidding with only one activator. Eternal life was beyond any price, wasn’t it?

  He shoved the device back through the slot in the time-field. The glowing sphere closed automatically and, as if it were endowed with an intelligence of its own, it floated back to the corner of the room.

  "Done!" exclaimed Thomas Cardif triumphantly.

  4/ L
ONG ARM OF BAALOL

  After patriarch Catepan and the other Traders had been put through several hours of cross-examination there was nothing much left to be done on board the Ironduke.

  Initially the Terrans had been pretty rough with the Springers but that was understandable because no one had forgotten the calamity that had been brought to the galaxy through Thomas Cardif and the Antis. The death of millions of narcotics addicts was attributed to these anti-mutants who called themselves ‘priests’.

  Allan D. Mercant had conducted the hearing. This was his proper place and forte and with the help of three Solar Intelligence agents who had been based on Pluto it had been possible to get through the interrogations with a maximum of efficiency.

  Patriarch Catepan swore by the gods of Arkon that he hadn’t the slightest suspicion that the man Rhodan had shot was a servant of Baalol. No one believed him at first but when three hours had gone by and every single Trader from the Pluto base had been mentally scanned by telepaths it became apparent that Catepan had not been lying.

  However the surprise was yet to come.

  The hearings had ended, the Springers had long since been sent back to their own settlement and the members of top command were asleep in their cabins when the latter were suddenly awakened by an emergency alert from the Ironduke’s medical department.

  Bell rolled from his bunk with a few typical expletives, hastily threw his clothes on and dashed to the main ship’s clinic station. In one of the lateral antigrav shafts he overtook Mercant, who also knew nothing more than the fact that he’d been startled out of some much-needed sleep.

  Dr. Pinter was in the clinic to receive them. Standing beside him was the Ironduke’s commander, Jefe Claudrin. This was not so unusual but it was another matter to see Jac Hannibal here, who was a specialist in hypercom equipment. Bell and Mercant glanced at each other significantly.