by Perry Rhodan
PROLOG
THOMAS CARDIF the renegade has taken over Perry Rhodan's place as Administrator of the Solar Imperium and nobody suspects that an impostor is at the helm-not even Rhodan's closest friends or the mutants.
When Cardif's actions differ strangely from those which would have normally been expected of Rhodan, an excuse for the Administrator's behavior is found in the fact that his mental health has suffered greatly as a result of his imprisonment by the Antis.
Knowing that no one has seen through his disguise, Thomas Cardif triumphantly wields his power at will-even though his actions may bring the races of the Milky Way to the brink of destruction.
However, the usurper has failed to include one factor in his plans: the mental being on Wanderer who is famed for a macabre sense of humor! But at least It is fair, having come forth with an unmistakable warning as the--
Perry Rhodan
Posbis #106
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CALLER FROM ETERNITY
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1/ RHODAN: MAD?
FOR TERRANS he was and remained: Atlan, the Lonely One of Time.
Many didn't even know that Imperator Gonozal VIII was that same Arkonide fleet admiral Atlan who had first set foot on Earth more than 10,000 years ago. This was why most people gave little thought to the matter when they read the official announcement in the Terran papers:
On the basis of the Special Powers Act, Section 4, paragraph 45, and Section 2, paragraph 193, First Administrator Perry Rhodan has issued the following directive, effective 25 August 2103: Within five days of date, all Terrans in any way connected with or active for the Imperium of Gonozal VIII are to return to the Solar System. This is an official order of the Solar Imperium Administration, approved and signed by Perry Rhodan.
Reginald Bell, Rhodan's First Deputy and second-in-command, had just sat down to breakfast. He had opened his favorite newspaper, the Terrania Post, and was preparing to become absorbed in its general contents when he chanced upon the announcement almost at first glance.
As he read it, his eyes slowly widened to an incredulous glare of anger. Suddenly he jammed the paper into a ball and threw it to the floor. It took him a few moments to regain his self-control to the point where he could bring himself to retrieve it and look at it again. He picked up the crumpled bundle and carefully straightened it out so that he could read the announcement a second time.
He leaned over the table with both hands before him on the spread-out front page and spoke aloud to himself: "So I'm not dreaming-it's for real!" He read the text again, very carefully. "Glord!" he exclaimed. "Everything we've sweated to build up over decades-is Perry trying to tear it all down in just a few days? Blast his one-sided decisions! I can't believe it! It's just not possible-!"
His stocky figure straightened up slowly. He stared at the newspaper for another incredulous moment-then made a dash for the videophone. The kitchen clock revealed that it was only 10 after six in the morning. No doubt Solar Marshal Mercant was still asleep at this early hour but Bell took no heed of such considerations now. The vid-screen's grey raster leapt to life.
After a number of urgent rings, Mercant's voice was heard: "Alright, I'm coming!"
Shortly after, Bell saw Mercant's face appear on the screen. Although he looked sleepy, the Solar Marshal's mental faculties were fully awake. He suspected that Bell wouldn't be making a social call at this time of the morning. "So what is it now?" he asked.
"Hold on!" Bell said, and Mercant saw him disappear from his screen for a moment. When he returned he held up the front page of the Terrania Post to the videophone. "This is what's up-can you read it?"
There was no answer. Bell finally pulled the paper away from the vid-camera pick-up. The two men stared at each other speechlessly. Finally one of them slowly shook his head. This was Allan D. Mercant, Solar Marshal and Chief of Solar Intelligence. His facial muscles were strangely rigid and his lips were tightly compressed as though in despair. But finally he spoke. "Bell, has Atlan been heard from yet?"
Bell shook his head. "He hasn't contacted me so far but maybe he's talked to the Chief."
"I'll be with you in five minutes, Bell-unshaven and unwashed, if you please."
By 7:30 a.m., Bell and Mercant had come to a conclusion: They did not propose to give Perry Rhodan a call. They knew it would do no good.
Ever since the catastrophe on Okul when Perry Rhodan had fallen into the hands of the Antis as well as his son Thomas Cardif, the Chief had changed to an alarming degree. Everything that had formerly distinguished him, the genius that had singled him alone out for his special position, none of this was in evidence anymore, or at least it appeared now only in very rare instances. Rhodan had never attempted to obtain dictatorial powers before but now he had wrested such authority from Parliament and had become a full-fledged dictator. The best example of this was his present edict to the effect that all Terrans within the stellar empire of star cluster M-13 were to return at once.
This autocratic command could unleash a galactic catastrophe and cause Gonozal VIII to doubt the quality of Rhodan's friendship. The Imperator could not dispense with the active assistance of several hundred thousand Terrans who presently occupied Arkon's most vital administrative positions. They formed the backbone of his structure of government since they were the only reliable leaders among billions of degenerated Arkonides.
Bell and Mercant had not spoken of these things. No one knew better than they what kind of interstellar mess was brewing. But they also knew how useless it would be to go to Rhodan and try to make him see these dangers or to get him to change his mind. Ever since he had begun to make vital decisions in solitude he had been closed to any advice whatsoever. He avoided everyone-even his best friend, Reginald Bell.
And where Bell was concerned, day by day Perry Rhodan became a bigger mystery. He placed the blame on the doctors for Rhodan's change of character. After Rhodan had been brought back from Okul in a greatly disturbed mental condition, Bell had been very suspicious of the shock therapy that had been used on him. Even the doctors weren't quite sure of themselves, having avoided any concrete statements on the subject.
But even Rhodan's second-in-command had failed to suspect that the man he took for Perry Rhodan could actually be Thomas Cardif. He and all the rest of Rhodan's closest colleagues had fallen into the trap of believing that the Chief was still sick and that for this reason they should not take any stringent measures against him.
"I can't take any more!" Bell suddenly shouted. "I can't stand by any longer in silence and blindly accept this insanity!"
Mercant looked up at him. Bell had finally stopped pacing the floor. With quiet deliberation, as was his custom, Mercant observed: "You know, ever since Okul, the Chief has been over-sensitive to your outbreaks of temper, Bell."
Bell frowned in response. "But we can't be accessories to the crime, Mercant-we can't just keep our mouths shut! If this keeps up, one of these days-not too long from now-we'll all be hauled before the public and stoned, because we gave Rhodan a free hand!"
Mercant remained calm. "Mr. Bell, we can't put up any resistance against him now. The way the situation is at the moment we'd better consider that he's liable to be ruthless with his special powers."
Bell stared in gaping astonishment at the Intelligence chief. It was only with an effort that he found his voice again. "Are you trying to tell me that Perry would just slammer us and call us enemies of the State because we don't support his views?"
"That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you, Mr. Bell."
Bell sat down heavily in his chair. "Alright," he growled, "so we're agreed on that point, Mercant. But I sti
ll haven't any taste for having rocks thrown at me one of these days!"
Mercant raised a hand to calm his impulsive friend. "Mr. Bell, it's a little too early for us to start talking conspiracy or to discuss any revolutionary actions. Such conversations are extremely repugnant to me. I'd much rather suggest that we place the Chief under much stronger surveillance and seek to slow him down wherever possible."
"So where will that get you, Mercant?" asked Bell peevishly.
"Perhaps we will gain time. Perhaps..."
Bell interrupted. "Are you starting all your sentences with 'perhaps' again, Mercant?"
The Solar Marshal smiled. "I discussed this subject yesterday with Deringhouse and Freyt. The three of us agreed to hold back our responses to Rhodan's orders as long as possible, whenever they involved possibly grave consequences-at least until our side had done everything we could to avoid a catastrophe."
"So what about this one?" asked Bell sarcastically as he held up the Terrania Post. "Come on, my friend, are you going to glue the splinters together after Rhodan's wrecked the place? Do you know what Atlan is going to tell him?"
"It could mean a break between Arkon and ourselves."
"That's the understatement of the year, Mercant!" retorted Bell grimly. "This fast shuffle of the Chief's has ripped the treaty with Arkon to shreds! We have broken the treaty-the Solar Imperium! We..."
The videophone rang. Bell got out of his chair and went over to it. The Solar Marshal's adjutant wanted to speak to his chief.
"For you, Mercant!" said Bell, and he stepped to one side.
Mercant took his place before the apparatus. "What is it?"
The adjutant's manner and tone were strictly according to regulations. "Solar Marshal, sir-I have just learned by hypercom inquiry from Arkon 1 that the Chief gave direct orders to agents of Solar Intelligence last night. All personnel operating on Arkonide planets have been reassigned. The general order reads: Effective immediately, all Arkonide fleet bases are to be placed under sharpest surveillance! All fleet movements of any nature are to be reported at once. Reports concerning combat strengths of Arkon fleet units are to be sent to Terrania every six hours.
"That is the content of the hypercom information, sir. I've taken the liberty of calling you because I don't find any documentation of the Chief's general order in your files."
Mercant did not reveal outwardly what an impact the message had for him. Over his head, Perry Rhodan had issued orders to Solar Intelligence which sooner or later would have to lead to a military entanglement with Arkon. In spite of this, Mercant answered with admirable self-control: "Thanks for taking the trouble, adjutant. I've known about it for some time. My confirmation orders are in process." When he shut off the videophone he still stood there staring at it.
He was not aware of the air shimmering behind him and he failed to see Pucky materialize. The little fellow had teleported himself from his bungalow to Bell's place and Mercant was only alerted to his presence when he heard his chirping voice. "I'd like to catch the wise-guy who said the early bird scratches the worm," he almost screeched in his excitement, "and shove him into a whole can of them-because that's what we've got right now! The Chief has ordered most of the mutants off on a special mission to Arkon and its colony planets-special surveillance stuff!" Pucky's great mouse eyes were glittering and his high-pitched voice was trembling with anger.
Meanwhile, Mercant had turned to him. "Tell us about it, Pucky."
There wasn't much more he could say. The majority of the mutants were already en route to the Arkon Imperium. The only reason Pucky was still in Terrania was that he was in the sixth detachment, which was due to board the State-class cruiser Burma by 10 a.m. standard time.
Once again, of course, the mouse-beaver had used his telepathic faculty on Bell and Mercant and had read their thoughts. He knew that he was going against a very long-standing order, which was still in effect, but he did not seem to care at the moment.
"Where's John Marshall?" Bell wanted to know.
"He blasted out with the first wave," replied Pucky in his typically non-regulation manner.
Bell and Mercant communicated with each other by their glances but the mind-reading mouse-beaver didn't have to hear them speak. In fact he surprised them with further news he knew they weren't aware of yet. "Also the special commando team in search of Alkher and Nolinov is on its way to the Arkon Imperium!"
This brought an end to Mercant's self-control. "Pucky, if you're kidding around...!"
But the mouse-beaver was equally agitated. "Allan, I know when to kid around and when not to! Right now isn't the time for fun and games. I've even been probing the Chief's mind, if you want to know! Since he's lost his telepathic sense I've been able to do it without being caught. But what do I pick up? Nothing. He seems to think only in fragments these days. You might figure that's pretty weird because thinking like that isn't normal-but it could be something else again. He could be learning to turn some of his thought impulses inward and he might be absorbing them-like a shock-wave damper in a hyper-compensator. What's more, each day that goes by he gets better at it..."
"Pucky..." Mercant tried to interrupt but once the mouse-beaver got into the swing of explaining his troubles it was hard to stop him.
Finally, just as Mercant found his chance to get a word in, a massive takeoff of spaceships outside made all conversation impossible. When the first thunderbolt of the hellish din shook the bungalow, the three ran out onto the terrace.
A magnificent spectacle met their eyes. In a concerted thunder of impulse engines, heavy and super-class units of the Solar Fleet were lifting up from Terrania's giant spaceport and heading into space. The gleaming spheres, measuring somewhere between a half mile to almost a mile in diameter, were escorted by both classes of cruiser formations. Surrounded in turn by the super-fast State-class ships, the whole mighty task force hurtled upward into the cloudless morning sky.
Pucky suddenly felt somebody gripping and shaking his shoulder. Bell was shouting into his ear: "What's going on? Who issued the order for that operation!"
Bell's question was not unjustified. He had figured that Pucky's unfailing curiosity would have caused him to probe the minds of some of the spaceship commanders and that way it would be possible to know where this massive fighting force was headed.
Pucky chirped back angrily: "Let's go, you big ape-or I won't tell you a thing!"
The threat produced results. Even Mercant leaned down curiously to listen to the mouse-beaver.
And Pucky reported: "Target zone-Arkon Imperium, star cluster M-13 in Hercules!"
"So what are our ships supposed to do there?" demanded Bell.
"I don't know, Fatso. Because no space commander out there knows it either! They all have orders just to go there and take up a standby position for further instructions."
The spherical spaceships rose higher and higher into the sky and the roar of their impulse engines ebbed away. Then the peace of a sunlit morning returned to the capital city of the Solar Imperium. Bell and Mercant left the terrace on their way back into the house but Pucky was ahead of them by means of a short teleport hop. When the two men entered the room, Pucky was just helping himself to some carrot juice.
"What's good for the juice is good for the panda," he said with a grandiose gesture, "and that goes for mouse-beavers once in awhile!" He wiped his mouth and drew his paw along the few whiskers he possessed.
"And using my glass, no less!" grumbled Bell, giving him a sharp look. He retrieved the glass from Pucky and rubbed its rim with his thumb as though to remove imaginary chin whiskers.
Pucky was in awe of only one man: Perry Rhodan. He was not concerned with the fact that Mercant was the Solar Marshal or that Bell was Rhodan's second-in-command. He addressed Mercant abruptly. "The Chief must be in telepathic contact with somebody. Unfortunately I can't make out who it is. In fact all I got was the words 'Perry Rhodan, you will become too big and too powerful if you do not...' That's where the con
tact broke off, as if the sender had noticed me. Isn't that a weird one for you? I've never run into anything like that before-and yet that mental voice was familiar!"
• • •
Cardif-Rhodan again heard the voice Pucky had mentioned. It sounded in his subconscious as though it were imploring him to listen: You have until the end of the stipulated time, Perry Rhodan, and that is only a few days more. I warn you! Remove the cell activator or you will become too big and too powerful!
Although it was still early morning and Cardif-Rhodan had worked late into the previous night, he was already at the window of his office, observing the mass takeoff of the warships into the morning sky. He knew that voice in his subconscious. Day after day since his return from Wanderer he had continued to hear it. The voice had urged him to lay the activator aide. It had given him a deadline of 50 days.
But he had only laughed at this warning from the multiplex entity on Wanderer. He could never become too big or too great! The Solar Imperium would grow, it would reach out in the foreseeable future and rule the entire galaxy! Thomas Cardif let It call to him as It pleased but he only laughed out loud. He had just reviewed Rhodan's knowledge of this community intelligence but could not find it within himself to regard the eternal being with the same degree of awe and esteem.
He had never yet had any respect for anybody he could deceive. The only thing It was good for now was to supply him with super technological weapons, precisely according to his specifications. It was a weapons supplier and nothing else.
Cardif lifted a hand to the activator on his chest. He had just felt the device pulsate and now he also sensed the new current of life-preserving energy course through his limbs. He was taking on immortality!
But it hadn't worked for the Antis.
A cynical laugh twisted his features. His was a face which billions of Terrans and Arkonides still watched in increasing wonderment. Cardif did not realize at this moment how ugly he looked; he was still less aware that he was adding new features to Rhodan's countenance-features which were beginning to reflect his original character.