by Perry Rhodan
But before Atlan could consider what he should do about the situation, Pucky appeared. He had searched mentally for Muzzel from his cabin and so had become aware of this incident-also that Atlan had started an audacious line of reasoning as a result but one which Muzzel's deportment had quickly deflated. Especially by means of the fresh blood from the wound.
"Atlan, why do you have to be blundering around in just this particular passageway?" Pucky inquired shrilly with a hint of anger. "The ship's a mile wide and yet you-"
The immortal interrupted him. "Would you do me the kindness of taking Muzzel to sickbay so that his wound may be treated?" he asked. "I'd appreciate it very much. Next time I'll be more careful."
He nodded to Pucky and walked away. However, he was careful not to brush anything against his right hand, which was still smeared with the dog's blood.
Pucky watched him go with narrowed eyes but he sought in vain to penetrate the mental screen that Atlan had placed around his brain. And so it wasn't possible for even Pucky to find out what the Arkonide was thinking.
The mouse-beaver sighed and turned to Muzzel. "Does it hurt, little guy? Come on, I'll take you to the sawbones and they'll patch you up again."
It isn't necessary, Pucky. It doesn't even hurt any more at all.
"No back talk, Muzzel! A bandage doesn't hurt. Come on, hold on tight!"
Muzzel whined again but obeyed the command. When the two of them materialized in the medical section, Chief Physician Dr. Arnold Skjoldson was almost frightened to death. The somewhat portly man with straw-blond hair recognized Pucky, of course, since the mouse-beaver was known to everyone on the Drusus, but who wouldn't be startled out of his wits if something suddenly appeared out of the air in front of him without the slightest warning?
"Good heavens!" cried Skjoldson and he backed up a few steps, momentarily pale, to support himself against a table. Another doctor who had been busy at an instrument cabinet turned around quickly without understanding what had caused his superior to have such a shock. He assumed merely that Pucky and Muzzel had entered through the door.
"Don't get Heaven mixed up in this," advised Pucky and he pointed to Muzzel. "This poor dachshund just ran into some very hard shinbones and came close to breaking every bone in his body. Do you have some gauze bandage?"
Skjoldson had recovered from his astonishment. He was a great animal lover and was especially partial to dachshunds. He had hardly perceived Muzzel's wound before he became maudlin about him. "There now, my poor little puppy!" he murmured and he stooped down toward the dog, which was an effort in view of his portliness. "Where's the waw-waw, hm-m-m? Does the little tyke bite at all?"
Pucky rolled his eyes up in his head and plopped down on his hindquarters. "Who'd ever think that a grown man could ask such childish questions? Instead of talking silly you should be helping!"
"Skjoldson cast a scornful glance at Pucky. "What do you know about psychological therapy?" He straightened up and turned to the other doctor. "Behrends, bring me some disinfectant and bandages. Let's hope it's a simple case. We might have to use Q-ray if there are any broken bones."
Fortunately, however, such was not the case. A superficial examination revealed that it was only a harmless flesh wound. Only the skin was ruptured, nothing more. Minutes later, Muzzel went out of sickbay wearing a bandage on his back and he allowed Pucky to teleport him to their cabin.
The incident could be forgotten.
However, Atlan was of another opinion.
Pucky and Muzzel had no sooner disappeared than he altered his leisurely pace. As fast as he could move, he got to the antigravitor and directed himself toward the physical sciences department, which was closely associated with the analytical laboratory.
When he arrived, Maj. Hill looked up with sudden interest, noting that his visitor was Atlan. His eyes widened when he saw blood on the Arkonide's hand and he jumped from his chair.
"Good heavens, Atlan, are you wounded? Is it bad?"
"Hardly," replied the immortal reassuringly. "It's not my blood that you see. But I have a favor to ask: I want you to analyze this substance."
"Substance? I thought it was blood.
"Yes, it's blood, too. Nevertheless I'd like to request that you perform a careful examination of it. Use your facilities here as though you were being asked to investigate an unknown chemical and to find out what it consists of. I won't answer any of your questions, in order not to influence you. Please don't take my mysterious reticence amiss. I have my reasons. And you can believe me when I tell you that those reasons are vital and perhaps decisive for all of us. Can I count on your full support?"
Maj. Hill nodded and smoothed out his white smock. "Naturally I'll do what you wish. I know very well that it will be all right with Rhodan. Incidentally, does he know about this?" He pointed to Atlan's hand. "I mean, did he send you?"
Atlan shook his head. "Don't ask any questions, Hill. I beg it of you..."
For a moment Hill looked as though someone had just poured a bucket of cold water over his head but then he desisted in his efforts to get anything out of Atlan. He went to work with a machine-like precision. The blood was carefully removed from the Arkonide's hand and placed in several capsules, which were then sent into the laboratory.
"How long will it take?" asked Atlan.
"At least a good hour or so," replied Hill.
"Let me know immediately about the results. You'll be able to reach me either in my cabin or Rhodan's-otherwise in the Command Central. And thanks very much, Hill. Once again, I'm asking you to take special pains with this. It's extremely important!"
Hill nodded his acquiescence.
Atlan took the conveyor belt and happened to run into Rhodan before he had a chance to knock on his cabin door. "Hello, Barbarian. You going in for hiking these days?"
"I wanted to see Pucky, but he wasn't there."
Atlan tensed. "When was that?"
"About 15 minutes ago. Why?"
Atlan smiled and told him about the recent incident. He did not conceal the fact that he had been with Maj. Hill and requested a full analysis.
Rhodan looked at him for awhile and then said, "I'd like to ask you a few questions, Atlan. Should we go to my room?"
"It's closer than mine," agreed the immortal.
It was only after the cabin door had closed behind them and they were seated in comfortable contour chairs that Rhodan opened the conversation and revealed what was on his mind. "Atlan, do you harbor some suspicion concerning Muzzel?"
The Arkonide nodded. "Yes, I do," he confessed candidly. "I still suspect that he is the spy. Nobody can read Muzzel's thoughts."
"Pucky can."
"It's still a mystery to me how Pucky is deceived by that. There are no robots that can emit thought impulses like organic life. If Muzzel is supposed to be an actual robot, he would be constructed along completely new concepts which would make it impossible to detect the disguise. Perhaps the blood sample may shed some light on the matter."
"It's still surprising that he even bleeds," Rhodan remarked.
After some moments of silence Atlan said: "In my past I have been familiar with the possonkal breed of dogs. For more than 10,000 years they have always been considered as lovable house pets among the ancient Arkonides. They even took them with them on their migratory expeditions. They caught vermin and went hunting with them and were generally very easily trained. Muzzel may be an especially trained animal."
Rhodan smiled. "Aha, so you even took them with you to Atlantis? Then maybe the claims of many dog lovers may not be such a joke after all-that is, that dachshunds aren't really dogs."
Atlan stared at his friend in some amazement. "Do you mean to say that some people make that claim?"
Rhodan nodded. "Yes, there are such people. But it's easy to see why. Dachshunds are unusually self-willed animals who have a pronounced sense of individuality, as though they had psyches of their own. They usually do exactly what they're not supposed to do. Actuall
y there's a whole humorous tradition about the dachshund breed which links such a characteristic to the comical little quadrupeds but of course nobody has yet conceived the idea of linking them to an ancient immigration from the stars. Yet it's close to the point. For instance, consider the cat. It can be proved that it's the only creature on Earth that can orient itself perfectly in a weightless condition. If you throw a cat into the air, it will turn and put its paws toward the Earth in the exact moment of weightlessness at the top of its flight. Mind you, that's at the peak of the trajectory, prior to falling again. I take that as an indication that cats have a sort of racial memory of weightless conditions elsewhere. Now, the dachshund..."
"We always had antigrav fields on our ships.
"That's just the point!" said Rhodan. "And I was getting to that next. The possonkal is not accustomed to weightlessness. Nor are dachshunds. So I'm convinced-and this is my main point-that at one time some of your dear Possonkals ran away from you and learned to become self-sufficient. The result is the charming but puzzling mystery of the dachshund psyche-a subject which men have long wracked their brains about."
"Very bold theories but not so easily proved," admitted Atlan. "But since you know so much about dachshunds, can you imagine that one of them could run like a greyhound?"
"No, that I cannot."
"Aha! Then you should have seen Muzzel down below on C-deck! I thought for a moment that a cannonball had shot between my legs, the rascal was coming so fast. He almost bowled me over."
"Is that so?" Rhodan narrowed his eyes at this.
"I'll admit that Possonkals can run fast but not like that!"
Rhodan finally shook his head. "That still is a long way from proving anything against him. If Pucky heard you talking like that you'd be in trouble."
"And I'll bet you-!" Atlan began but was interrupted by the shrill buzzing of the intercom.
Rhodan got up and switched on the connection. Maj. Hill's face appeared. He apparently could not see Atlan. "Excuse me, sir-I thought Atlan was with you."
"He is. Do you wish to speak with him?"
"Yes, I would, sir." Hill waited until Atlan came before the pickup camera. "We have finished the tests. The result..."
"Yes?" interrupted Atlan tensely. "And what was this red fluid that looked like blood?"
Maj. Hill's face remained expressionless. "Sir, the red fluid is blood. Just ordinary blood..."
5/ MYSTERY MALODOROUS
After spending some time in the Control Central, Rhodan went back to his cabin again. At the moment of entering it, he noticed that it was filled with a strange odor. He sniffed about, seeking to trace its source but without success. After some minutes of investigation he found that the smell had abated finally so that he, couldn't detect it any more. So he put the incident-if it could even be called that-out of his mind. There were other things to think about.
Atlan, he mused, had followed a wrong clue; this much had been determined. There was nothing wrong with Muzzel or at least he was not a robot. Such mechanical creations do not bleed nor do they feel pain.
He called Bell on the intercom. "I want Sikermann to prepare for the next transition-again toward the middle of the galaxy. One hour."
"Will do, Perry. What's new?"
"Nothing. Set up the same precautions and preparations as last time for the hypertransit. Have you seen Pucky?"
"No, he isn't here. Why?"
"I'm looking for him. Maybe he's in his cabin. I'll be with you in Command Central within a half hour."
"I'll get the transit calculations started in the meantime and I hope that spy character has run out of transmitter pills."
Rhodan cut off the connection and got under way. This time he found Pucky at home and Muzzel was with him. The dachshund crouched in one corner of the daybed and didn't appear to feel well. There was a sad expression in his golden eyes. He looked almost imploringly at Rhodan.
In place of a greeting, Pucky said: "Muzzel has pains-thanks to Atlan and his iron shinbones."
Rhodan raised a warning finger. "What business did Muzzel have down below on C-deck?" he asked sternly. "If you have to play, do it in the hangars. There's plenty of room there." He stopped talking suddenly and sniffed. Here was the same smell he had noted in his cabin. It was the same unusual odor that he had just dismissed from his mind. "What's causing that stink in here, Pucky?
The mouse-beaver sniffed industriously. "I don't smell anything unless maybe one of Bell's awful puns laid down and died somewhere..."
"Don't try to be funny!" snapped Rhodan angrily. "It stinks in here! And I noticed the same smell in my cabin! Strange..." His gaze traveled along the walls and stopped at the grating of the ventilator. Without saying a word he pulled over a chair and got up on it. With his nose directly in the incoming fresh air stream, he sniffed.
No doubt about it. The strange smell issued from the air-conditioning system.
He got down off the chair. "It seems as though somebody has dumped some kind of refuse or garbage into the airshaft. I think the cleaning detail is going to have an assignment. I'd like to know who that slob was.
"Not me!" protested Pucky.
Rhodan looked at him. "Has anybody accused you of it?"
Without waiting for an answer he went out of the cabin as though he'd forgotten what he'd come for. From the Command Central he ordered that the air-vents be inspected and cleaned. He designated the specific sector. "As soon as it's done, let me know."
Bell sat beside Sikermann, who was busy with calculations. "You mean the air vents smell bad?" he inquired with a grin. "And in Pucky's room too? I've been telling that little rascal to take a bath once in awhile!"
"Knock off that!" snapped Rhodan again. "It isn't a laughing matter. By the way, he made a disparaging remark about you in this connection."
Bell turned slightly pale. "That confounded carrot-chomped Blame it on me, will he! I'll flatten him on the deck!"
"And he'll flatten you against the ceiling, from what I know of him...!"
Bell fell silent, suddenly remembering past events.
The nav computer hummed softly and chucked out the coordinate data onto the console in front of Sikermann. The transition was imminent but the normal space drive would not be affected by it. Once more Farrington stood ready with his security detail. The widely distributed signal tracers were turned on. Perhaps the hidden transmitter would signal sooner than expected.
10 minutes before transition time the maintenance section called in on the intercom. "The cause of that bad odor has been located, sir."
"What is it?"
"Refuse, sir."
"What kind of refuse? Cheese wraps? Potato peelings?"
"We haven't gone into it completely yet, sir. This stuff seems to be pretty indefinable and it stinks terribly. One cadet has already gotten sick from smelling it."
"Take a sample of it and have it analyzed. We have to find out who's throwing garbage into the air vents. Do you happen to have found out from what location the rubbish was dumped?"
"The way it looks to me, sir, it wasn't dumped in at all. It lay in the vent as if somebody had carefully piled it up there."
Rhodan was dumbfounded. All he could say was: "Well, alright-look after the analysis. Tell Maj. Hill to let me know about it." He cut off the connection and encountered Bell's amused expression. "What have you got to grin about?"
"Hill's going to love this. First he has to scrabble around in a lot of dust samples and now smelly garbage."
Rhodan dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Analysts are accustomed to distasteful things," he said calmly.
• • •
The moment of transition drew near. Only a few minutes more. The intercom buzzed again. Rhodan answered. It was Maj. Hill.
"Well? Are you ready so soon?"
Hill nodded and held a hand to his nose in an expression of repugnance. "It's devil of a substance, sir," he said. "The basic components are simple: meat and carrots. But..."
> "Carrots...?" interrupted Rhodan. "Continue!"
"The mess is mixed with a kind of enzyme," Hill explained. "It's a ferment designed to rot the mash and cause it to decompose as rapidly as possible. That's what makes the murderous stink, which unfortunately is taking over the laboratory here. The curious thing about it is that this enzyme isn't known to Earth chemistry, sir. I've made every analysis possible but I am still unable to write down its composition. However, there can be no doubt that it's something alien."
Rhodan nodded slightly. "That doesn't necessarily mean much," he mused. "We have a number of creatures on board who were not born on Earth and who might produce such a substance by a natural process."
"That could be, sir," admitted the analyst.
Rhodan smiled. "In any case, keep studying that enzyme," he advised him. "Maybe you'll make an epochal discovery. And thanks."
The viewscreen faded. Rhodan supported his chin in his hand and looked into the room past Atlan. "Carrots..." he murmured.
"Perhaps I may be able to refresh your memory a bit," said Atlan suddenly. "Your nice little mouse-beaver feeds on-pardon me... Isn't he particularly fond of eating carrots and radishes?"
Rhodan looked up in surprise. "Of course! I remember now that the cook has standing orders to provide for such fresh vegetables every time Pucky comes on board."
"So what conclusion do you draw from that?"
Rhodan's suddenly narrowed eyes blinked thoughtfully. His answer did not reflect too much concern. "It's quite simple: Pucky swallowed too many carrots. He got sick on them and being the sensitive creature that he is he retreated into the ventilator shaft in order to disgorge the contents of his stomach without being observed. Would you say that's a fair deduction?"
Atlan laughed heartily. "Exactly. As you people say, you hit the nail on the head!"
Rhodan turned and picked up the microphone of the ship's P.A. system. As he spoke, the momentary touch of humor had faded from his voice: "A lot of refuse has been found in the ventilation system. It's possible that some unknown person dumped it there while we were at some other place, but this is a very unhygienic practice and is also dangerous for the whole air-conditioning plant. So, I want you to report to the commanding officer immediately whenever you detect any unpleasant odors in your quarters. That is all."