The Man With Two Faces

by Perry Rhodan

  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.

  "Something's making me think of our good old Tiff about now," muttered Bell.

  "I had the same idea," Mercant confessed.

  The man they referred to was Gen. Julian Tifflor, who was known to his friends as Tiff, and Rhodan himself usually called him that. As a cadet in his earlier days he had been known also as the Cosmic Decoy and as such he had performed seemingly miraculous services. But all this had been due to a micro-hypercom tracer transmitter that had been planted in him surgically and which he still carried in his body to this day.

  This locator-beacon transmitter had a range of several light-years and in its time it had often served as a trail-marker for Rhodan which brought him unerringly to the center of action. By this means he had been able to make split-second decisions at the last moment, enabling him to strike at the right place with all the forces at his command.

  But the other men present were not able to interpret the brief exchange between Bell and Mercant because in the days of the Cosmic Decoy operation they had not been alive.

  "May I ask you gentlemen to follow me into the laboratory?" said Dr. Pinter.

  They let him lead the way. It was Bell's first visit here. He didn't like anything that smelled like hospitals, clinics or sick bays, having always felt an aversion for all such institutions.

  "Please have a seat," invited Dr. Pinter.

  "Thanks, we'll stand," replied Bell. "I'd just as soon not be here any longer than necessary. What's up?"

  Hypercom specialist Hannibal went over to an instrument table and picked up a pair of tweezers. On a glass plate lay a pea-sized object. Hannibal picked this up with the tweezers and held it for everyone to see. "This, gentlemen, is a type of hyper-transmitter you don't see every day. It isn't just because it has a range of more than 50 light-years: this little technological miracle uses the human eardrum as its microphone. And there's one little problem with that: the dead anti-mutant's tympanic membrane continued to be responsive about two hours after he died. This main capsule was embedded in the muscles of his upper left arm and it was able to pick up every word spoken in the vicinity of the body during that space of time. Unfortunately the device was only discovered about three hours ago. Meanwhile I needed the three hours to figure out how it worked. Do you wish to see this, Mr. Bell?"

  Bell didn't need to see it. He had something new to worry about. He was thinking of Rhodan's flight to the synthetic world Wanderer. He tried in vain to remember what might have been mentioned in the presence of the dead man. Certainly somebody must have mentioned that the First Administrator was on his way there in a space-jet.

  Mercant must have had the same idea because he tugged at Bell's sleeve. "Let's go!" he said in low tones.

  Jefe Claudrin had noticed the swift interchange and looked at the two of them questioningly. When Mercant nodded to him he got the message and followed them. Hannibal watched them go, in some disappointment, but Bell stopped at the door and turned around.

  "Thanks very much, Hannibal," he called to him. "I think we may all be indebted to you." Then to Dr. Pinter: "Who located that infernal gadget in the Anti's arm?"

  "I did," replied the doctor modestly.

  Bell gave him a significant nod of appreciation.

  While en route to Mercant's quarters, Bell was already into the problem. "I don't see how it's possible that our own Com Central and the main Pluto base didn't pick up that transmission. Ordinarily that kind of equipment can hear a butterfly burp!"

  "Have you forgotten the Swoons, Bell?" Mercant reminded him.

  "Don't tell me those pickle people on Earth and Mars are working with the Antis!"

  "I'm not talking about those Swoons-I'm referring to the cucumber people on their home planet, and if they're the ones who constructed that super-powerful hyper-transmitter, I wouldn't be surprised if it worked on a pulse-burst principle. You know that any coded pulse-bursts of less than a nanosecond's duration can bypass our signal-trace screens."

  "Now that's a cheerful outlook! And what's going to happen to the Chief if it hasn't happened already? Are you deliberately avoiding that question-playing ostrich or something?"

  Mercant gave him a thin smile. "You seem to forget about Lts. Nolinov and Alkher The Chief couldn't have selected a better flight team. If anything had happened by now on that space-jet, or if they had run into any danger, we would have at least gotten a distress signal. We're all well aware of what a lightning bolt that Alkher can be."

  "Let's hope he still has the old zap on this trip!"

  Meanwhile they had arrived in front of Mercant's door and Mercant stopped suddenly to look at Bell closely. When Reginald Bell the optimist became pessimistic, something of an unexpected and unpleasant nature was likely to happen. Both of them checked their watches.

  "Well anyway, maybe we can catch another three hours of shuteye," commented Bell. He yawned and said goodnight.

  "Good night, what's left of it," said the Solar Marshal, and he went into his cabin.

  Although he went to bed, sleep did not come to him. His thoughts continued to revolve around the Chief. And the longer he concerned himself with Perry Rhodan the more uneasy he became.

  He stared into the surrounding darkness, which did not prevent him from forming a mental picture of Rhodan's face. He was familiar with every feature of that face and yet now as he looked at its image in memory he thought he detected something strange. But in what respect it was strange he could not say. He only sensed it and then his thoughts wandered off on the wrong course. Without being aware of it he had missed seeing a logical conclusion: he had failed to consider the validity of its instincts.

  Solar Marshal Mercant had lost all sense of time and he did not know how long he had lain there brooding alone in the dark when the Ironduke's sirens startled him. Their shrieking clamor announced an emergency, Condition 1.

  • • •

  Space-jet I-109 was traveling at more than half speol but no attempt was being made yet to go into transition. Cardif-Rhodan had called through on the intercom and given an order to make the jump when they had reached 0.99 light-speed.

  An order from the Chief was law to these young officers yet it could be seen in their worried expressions that they were not personally in agreement with this instruction.

  Nolinov turned to Alkher. "Buddy, do you have any idea how far we are from our nearest patrol cruiser?"

  "Not the foggiest notion. If you want to know, ask the positronicon."

  "Too much trouble," Nolinov grinned. He was kidding, of course: he had only to swing his chair around to face the computer console. He knew that in a matter of seconds the positronic brain could shoot out a coded tape that would tell him where the nearest cruiser of the Solar Fleet was located.

  The space-jet's velocity continued to increase. Brazo Alkher took a look at the tracking board. Everything zero. Before and behind them, to the right and left of them, nothing but empty space, if one were to discount some very distant stars. Next, Alkher inspected the weapons board.

  "What are you doing there?" asked Nolinov, mildly curious.

  To Alkher, all types of weapons controls were familiar enough to operate in his sleep. He didn't have to even look at the switch panel to see what he was doing. "One never knows, Stant-and it won't hurt at all while we're still not at top speed to dump one of the power bank outputs into the weapons system. Man, every time I'm sitting in one of these nut shells I'm always happy to remember the kind of armament these
space-jets carry!"

  "I guess it takes a weapons type like you to work up enthusiasm. I'm in terrible awe of every kind of energy gun. I can still remember my fast sharp shooting run at the Academy. Man, did my trainer ever make cannibal stew out of me!"

  "What kind of boner did you pull?" Alkher deftly depressed the last contact for his weapons setup.

  "What do you think, when a cadet's in the middle of training? We were flying around in the asteroid belt and my target was a big chunk of rock that measured 300 meters in diameter. It might have gone alright if there hadn't been an asteroid in back of it, 10 or 12 kilometers or so, and I think it was maybe 40 km's wide. Well, being all anxious and trigger-happy, guess what I hit?"

  Alkher shouted suddenly and Nolinov's reveries were ended. The hypersensor had flashed to life. Simultaneously a gigantic, cylindrical spaceship emerged from the void. The space-jet's automatic magnification system brought the ship in close on the screens so that the ponderous cylinder with its rounded ends seemed to loom directly before them and yet they were separated by a million kilometers. It was a distance, however, which meant little at 0.60 light-speed.

  In the I-109 three sirens sounded the alarm.

  And instantly Brazo Alkher became another person. All he could see was the unknown ship racing toward the space-jet. His hand had reached out for the synchro-switch that would flick them into transition but in a split-second decision went past it. He had caught the flash of a heavy energy beam from the long-ship, which moved his hand at once to the weapons board. With the other hand he hit the over-ride on the engines. The propulsion system thundered in response and the alien beam missed the space-jet by several thousand km.

  "I'll take over!" came Nolinov's voice, hard and flat. In a lightning cross-switch of the dual controls he was in charge of the flight.

  Alkher had both hands free for his weapons board. It had all happened in fractions of seconds and now Alkher leaned into the battle in earnest. A long-ship was out to get them! That shot had been meant for the Chief!

  In this same instant the red-call button sank into the panel. Being tied to the ship's computer, the positronic circuits immediately determined the I-109's galactic position and the powerful hypercom transmitter blasted a distress call into the void.

  Even as this happened, Brazo Alkher fired a burst from his three impulse cannons. The chance course manoeuvre the long-ship was making resulted in more damage than was anticipated. Instead of hitting the blunt bow of the vessel as intended, Alkher's shots burned into the enemy hull in the propulsion area.

  Then both ships had passed each other.

  "Merk!" barked Alkher in a tone that could not be contradicted.

  Nolinov, however, could not have contradicted if he had wanted to. The instruments revealed the reason, they also indicated the identity of the attacker.

  Antis!

  The power banks of the I-109 were putting out energy as before but with no effect. The servants of Baalol had placed a mental force field around the small but supercharged power installations of the I-109!

  Alkher and Nolinov were thus cut off from their engines and power sources. The energy being delivered could only build itself up inside the mental forcefield. If they didn't shut down quickly they could reach a critical point and turn into a bomb.

  Nolinov acted. The main switch slammed to zero. Then the man they took for their Chief came running into the control room.

  "Antis, sir!" announced Alkher and he pointed wearily to the viewscreens. The great long-ship was curving back toward them.

  "Antis-?" Cardif-Rhodan blurted out. His eyes were fixed on the screens.

  "Sir," added Alkher unsuspectingly, "I think I was able to get out a distress call!"

  Thomas Cardif went rigid, momentarily jarred out of control by the thought of a distress call now. "What-?!" he shouted at Alkher "You mean-over hypercom, to the Fleet?" Even as he spoke this last word he was aware of his slip.

  "Sir?" Brazo Alkher could say no more, merely staring at him dumbfounded.

  "Oh, yes-fine, Alkher Cardif answered, attempting to get himself back on course. "But how do you know we are dealing with the Antis?"

  "Sir..." The young lieutenant's amazement was in his voice as well now. "Can't you hear? We had to cut off the engines to keep from blowing up. The Antis have thrown a mental shield around the power and propulsion sections. Not even a radiation particle can get out-"

  "Thomas Cardif cut in harshly. "I don't believe I need a lecture on it!" he said coldly, whereupon he turned and went out of the control room.

  "Broth-er...!" Nolinov exclaimed. "What's happened to him?!"

  Disheartened by the Chief's unjustifiable retort, Alkher waved off the question. "How would I know?" But his eyes were on happenings outside. "There! They've put a tractor beam on us-we're being pulled in! Why in the devil didn't I just blast straight into their engine section in the first place? There are no holds barred with pirates!"

  At present there was nothing that could change their situation. The only hope they had was the Solar Fleet, provided that the hypercom distress call was beamed from their antenna. As Alkher switched the positronicon to emergency power and prepared to ask it something, a shadow beside him made him look up.

  It was the Chief, whose tone was as cutting as before. "What are you trying to find out, Alkher?"

  "I've just keyed in a question, sir, to see if our hypercall went out..."

  "And?"

  The Chiefs ton was peremptory, which Alkher also swallowed, but it was costing him an effort now to remain calm and civil. "Its signal is positive, sir. Our call was sent..."

  "We're going in!" exclaimed Nolinov, pointing to the screens.

  The viewscreens revealed that the I-109 was entering a large hangar lock on board the Anti ship. Cardif-Rhodan had leaned closer to the screen in front of him, taking note of the evident hull damage on the other vessel.

  "Is that one of your hits, Alkher? You mean you opened fire on them?"

  The weapons officer was at a loss to understand such a question. "Of course, sir! Unfortunately I could only make one pass at them because all I had was just a few seconds."

  A sharp jolt ran through the I-109 as it came to rest inside the alien long-ship. There was a following slight tremor which must have been the closing of the great hangar lock behind them. The panob screens only revealed the interior darkness of the hangar hold for a minute or two. The Antis must have been pumping air back into the vast chamber because when the big room was suddenly flooded with brilliant light they saw a man enter the area and he was not wearing a spacesuit.

  Thomas Cardif instantly recognized him: the man who was approaching the space-jet was the high priest Rhobal Then the I-109's screens went dark.

  At last Cardif realized that he had underestimated the Antis. They were not so easily fooled after all. They had evidently anticipated the possibility that he would attempt a reverse extortion by holding back the activators for bargaining purposes.

  He cursed aloud, incautiously.

  Simultaneously he berated himself for this further slip. Once more Thomas Cardif had surfaced instead of Rhodan. For even in this situation Rhodan would have remained calm and self-controlled.

  Nolinov and Alkher were exchanging glances significantly.

  Cardif snapped out an order. "Nolinov, open the airlock!"

  "Yes sir!"

  "And one thing more, gentlemen: in case the Antis aren't aware of our distress call, don't mention it under any circumstances. It may be our only chance." With that he turned and went out alone. For his meeting with Rhobal he didn't want any witnesses.

  Nolinov turned to stare at his companion, who sat in his flight seat as though in a frozen trance. "Brazo, get hold of yourself! Isn't it bad enough for the Chief to be rocko?"

  Alkher shook his head despairingly. "Can you tell me what's flipped him around so completely?"

  "There's only one answer for it-his sickness! I'm ready to lay odds on it. Rhodan is much
worse off than any of us thought!"

  At this moment the man they still believed to be their Chief was facing Rhobal, who made a bow to him.

  "The servants of Baalol are pleased to welcome the First Administrator," said the priest. "May I ask you to follow me?"

  Cardif didn't move.

  "If you please, Administrator!" repeated the Anti. His gaze moved warily to his right and his left, which forced Cardif to look in the same directions.

  Beyond the main light-banks in the far shadows of the large hangar were fighter robots standing shoulder to shoulder. Their ocular systems were focused on the one item they were programmed for-the simple uniform of the First Administrator of the Solar Imperium. Also aligned with his midsection was the dimly glowing muzzle of every weapon in the room.

  As Cardif finally complied, Rhobal almost whispered to him: "I was sure you'd see it my way."

  • • •

  While Bell was clashing for the Control Central and the sirens were still in an uproar, the Ironduke took off.

  The impulse engines thundered in the supercharged ringbulge as the double circle of telescopic struts pulled back into the spherical hull and hundreds of crewmen hurried to their stations. Many of them shouted questions as they passed each other but no one knew the cause for the alarm. None except two men: Reginald Bell, Perry's First Deputy in command, and Solar Marshal Mercant, Chief of Solar Intelligence. They, at least, were closest to the truth in their suspicions.

  When Bell rushed into the Control Central he had to wait like everybody else. The takeoff of the Ironduke required maximum concentration by the deck-watch crew who were present. Jefe Claudrin's great bulk was bent over his flight panels as he brought his mighty bird into free space. The powerful Epsalian was among the greatest of commanders, having practically been born with a talent for handling the larger fighter ships. His voice of thunder was issuing commands as he worked.

  Bell turned as someone stepped to his side and he saw that it was Mercant. An officer hurried out of the Com Room and after a moment of hesitation ran to Claudrin's custom flight seat with a message.