by Perry Rhodan
The smaller officer smiled his relief. "We made it," he said. "Coordinates are right on the nose. We're almost home, sir.
Now only one more hypertransition lay between the ship and the Earth. Every one of the 10 able-bodied men had given their best in order to compensate for the missing ones who were incapacitated. Everson was filled with a new spurt of confidence. He decided to make the next jump as soon as possible. Maybe by then Landi might even be able to get the telecom back on the air.
Everson bounded from his seat. The First Com Officer sat hunched over his equipment, only the black hair of his head showing above the back of his chair. As Everson came around beside him, Landi appeared to be deeply engulfed in the contemplation of the defensive circuits.
"You'll soon have it back in shape, Landi," said Everson and he patted the communications man on the shoulder. Under the pressure of his hand, Landi toppled from his chair. In the process of falling, he gyrated about with a horrible slowness, permitting Everson to catch a full glimpse of the twisted face that stared at him in silent fear. While the colonel stood rooted there in shock, the newest victim finally sank down onto the deck.
After awhile, Everson's hoarse voice broke the silence. "We might as well all return to our cabins," he said.
Landi lay on his back. The overhead lights glittered in his wide-open eyes. Dr. Morton dragged him finally to the group of other afflicted men and covered him with a blanket
Everson chanced to notice a white plastic strip lying under the radio equipment. Hastily he bent down to retrieve it. Here was evidence that the transmitter had been in operation if only for a brief moment. All outgoing radio messages were recorded on these narrow bands. Had Landi succeeded in putting through a signal just before he was struck down? Had he completed the necessary repairs? A short examination proved to the colonel that his hopes were unfounded-also that any radio contact with Earth was still an unresolved question. He turned his attention to the message strip. The one sentence that he could read made him realize that the paralysis of the men could no longer be attributed to a sickness.
Somebody was on board who was systematically reducing the number of his able-bodied spacemen. The words Everson saw were a bitter mockery. The one short moment in which the transmitter had apparently been back on the air again had been used to hurl a false message into the void.
Once more his eyes traced out the deliberate lie: ...everything on board is in order... K-262... Everson.
He stuffed the strip into the pocket of his uniform. He went over in his mind who had been closest to Landi during the transition. Wolkov's position was just to the right of the communications seat and slightly behind it. Sternal's seat was directly next to Landi's.
Before Everson could say anything, the automatic ship alarm began to howl. Its shrill tones grated on his over-wrought nerves. Two red lights flashed on the trouble board.
"Sir!" exclaimed Scoobey despairingly. "Two of our engines are out!"
Everyone shouted and chattered in confusion. Everson felt an overwhelming urge to just go back to his seat and let things fall as they might. The Fauna's propulsion system was multiply secured against any kind of accident or breakdown. It was improbable that two of the units would go out at the same time. If this were a case of sabotage, then Everson was faced with a riddle—because nobody had moved out of the bridge area.
He took a deep breath. He had to send two men into the module sections where the two drive units were located. First and foremost was Finney, who was his top technician. Wolkov would be a good second.
As Scoobey cut off the sirens, Everson broke into the ensuing lull of noise, calling both Finney and Wolkov. The two warning lights on the trouble board glared from behind the two men like a pair of malevolent eyes. "I want you two to try and find the glitch in those drive units and see if you can fix them. And be careful! Ship's com is wide open, remember, so that you can contact us at any moment."
Without visible concern, Finney asked: "What if we have to go outside?"
"Then you go outside," said Everson.
Finney nodded indifferently. Together with Wolkov he climbed down the companionway ladder. Everson watched them until they had disappeared from view on a lower ladder behind the crew quarters. Then he turned to the remaining men,
"Each of you knows what to make of the situation," he said. "But I still expect you to hold onto your nerves. We still have no definite information concerning the engine damage. Most probably Finney and Wolkov can repair whatever it is."
He nodded to Sternal, who was staring at the trouble board as though transfixed. "Sternal, during the last hyperjump you were sitting next to Landi. Did you notice anything unusual?"
"No sir," replied the navigator. "Only when Landi fell out of his chair." The memory of the scene made him swallow hard.
Everson turned to the bewhiskered physician. "Dr. Morton, do you think it's possible that any one of us would be capable of paralyzing the men? Is there even the slightest hint of such a possibility?"
"This kind of paralysis could be produced by someone having the proper equipment and the necessary medical knowledge," admitted the doctor gravely. "But who among us would be excluded from that prerequisite? We've all taken various specialized courses designed to help us take care of ourselves if stranded on some remote planet. Still, I would say that the guilty one is not to be looked for among the crew." Dr. Morton reflected a moment. "There are certain poisons, of course, that could produce similar symptoms. But several of those I've examined—especially Landi—show no evidence of having had any kind of poison introduced into their bodies. Besides, all my tests on each patient enable me to state with certainty that poisoning is not involved here. There is much more evidence of some kind of a shock, even though that approach gives rise to a whole lot more riddles."
"What are we still waiting for, sir?" yelled Weiss suddenly. His outstretched hand pointed to Mataal's motionless figure. "You've just heard that nobody in the crew could have caused what happened!"
"Alright, Weiss, cool it—quiet down," Everson retorted sternly. "How are you going to explain the breakdown of the telecom system or the two space engines? How would the Eppanian have accomplished that kind of technical sabotage?"
The atmosphere was highly charged with tension. The men watched each other warily and with rising suspicion. But their greatest suspicion was aimed at Mataal.
Everson made a quick decision. "Dr. Morton will place the Eppanian under sedation," he said. "For some time he will be in a condition of deep sleep. If during that period any more of these mysterious events occur, then we can be convinced once and for all that he has had nothing to do with paralyzing the men."
He repeated his statement in the Eppanian language. The extraterrestrial looked at him indifferently.
"Naturally I had nothing to do with these occurrences," came his reply. His slitted eyes were unusually narrow. "But before you try to force an injection I wish to say that I accept your suggestion."
Everson nodded to Dr. Morton but just then Fashong let out a cry of alarm behind him. He whirled around. Both of the red warning lights had gone out on the trouble board.
"But that's not possible!" the colonel gasped inadvertently. "Finney and Wolkov have hardly had a chance to begin their repair work!" A frightening suspicion came to him. He was at the intercom mike in two steps. "Finney!" he roared. "Wolkov! Do you hear me?"
An uncanny stillness ensued. The loudspeaker remained silent. Goldstein raised up from his improvised bed on the deck. He seemed not to know where he was because he gazed about him in wonderment.
"Finney!" bellowed Everson again, while his throat threatened to close up on him. "Finney! Wolkov!"
He knew instinctively that there would be no answer. Neither Finney nor Wolkov would be heard from. Somewhere in the ship their bodies were lying paralyzed, staring stiffly with wide-opened eyes at nothing. As Everson envisioned this he felt the grip of horror on the back of his neck. The invisible enemy had cleverly contriv
ed to lure them from the group and he himself had been the cat's-paw.
"I'm going to look for them!" exclaimed Sternal loudly. The navigator started to leave the bridge.
"Halt!" shouted the colonel. "Stay where you are!"
Sternal ignored the command and continued on his way. Determinedly. Everson drew his paralyzer and fired. Sternal collapsed on the companionway steps.
"Weiss, bring him back up here!" ordered Everson. "He'll come to in a few moments. I'll repeat this once more: nobody leaves the Control Central, no matter what happens."
He felt weary and despondent. The few men who remained active were not enough now to carry out the final transition.
The insidious enemy had them in his grasp.
7/ THE SUPER MIND
Goldstein traced the path of his pseudo-body without effort, yet it was still difficult for him to guide this grotesque, unheard of creation in the desired direction. Of course with each passing hour he had been able to comprehend the atomic structures of uncomplicated objects with an increasing facility but he had to be careful not to attract the slightest suspicion to himself. This marvelous faculty he had discovered in himself while on Eppan had to be built up and developed with careful circumspection. His idea of pretending to be out of his head had worked out splendidly. Nobody paid any attention to him.
Goldstein chuckled triumphantly. While he navigated the monstrous material formation along with his paranormal powers, his eyes observed the desperate spacemen around him. They were close to the breaking point.
Goldstein considered whether or not he should give them a little spectacle. A slight regrouping of molecular structure would be sufficient to make the pilot's seat look like a riding saddle. But maybe he'd save such items for later in his plan to force the men to his will; because it was still too soon for him to return to the Earth. He knew that his new talent was not to be compared to anything else in the Mutant Corps but the Corps as an overall entity still represented a force factor that he couldn't safely handle.
Not yet! As though it were child's play, Goldstein parted the molecules of a light metal wall apart and drove the pseudo-body through the opening thus created.
He was a brand-new link in the mutant chain—a psychokinetic who was capable of molecular rearrangement. This was more than mere telekinesis which had only permitted him to move matter. He could alter matter! With the power of his mind he was able to make it take on a desired form and then keep it under his control. He was still not practiced enough to handle more complicated material forms. It had to suffice with the men to shut off certain nerve channels in order to paralyze their bodies. Since he would need them all later for putting the guppy to his own uses, his method of dominating them was immaterial at the moment.
With such a mighty mental weapon as this he would never again subordinate himself to any man. Rhodan and his mutants had no right to tell him what to do. If he gave his new faculty time to develop completely there would be nothing that could threaten him. This little spaceship was a wonderful testing ground for his experiment.
He looked on apathetically while Weiss placed Sternal's body near him on the deck. The colonel shoved his paralyzer weapon back into his uniform pocket. Goldstein might have easily taken them all by surprise but he had to condition them for it systematically—specially Everson. He had to demonstrate his powers to them, had to prove that any resistance was useless. If he should suddenly try to bring them under his will all at once they would remain rebellious and always ready to cause him trouble.
He allowed the pseudo-body to disintegrate into micro-particles of molecular dust. For the moment he didn't need it any more. Finney and Wolkov were lying helplessly by one of the engine modules. Painstakingly, the mutant had selected the most spirited or mettlesome of the crewmen and put them out of action.
Scornfully he looked over his selection: there was the Commander, overstuffed with his ideals and sense of responsibility; Walt Scoobey, the First Officer who had lately lost his sense of humor.
Leisurely, Goldstein then rested his eyes on the man who was next in line. This was Fashong, whose asiatic calm would be the most difficult to break through. Then came Poul Weiss, the man with the unbridled temperament. Werner Sternal would be the next victim and then Inoshiro the Japanese, whose thoughts were playing around too close to the truth—even if he didn't realize it.
There remained the doctor, who was preparing a hypo for Mataal. These men comprised the elite of the crew and their resistance would be hard to overcome.
Goldstein's goal was to take possession of the Fauna. He hadn't yet worked out any definite plans beyond that point. Everything would depend on how his skill continued to develop. So far there had been no cessation of the growth of his strange new powers. He had to probe and test ahead slowly because a single mistake could mean his undoing. So he would have to keep on playing the role of the debilitated mental basket case. Under no circumstances could he take the chance of over-estimating his powers. It was important for him to control his progress and take things easy at first. After he had improved his techniques and capacities to some extent, he could assign his brain to more complicated tasks. He had time. Everson could not carry out another hypertransition and the provisions on board left him enough leeway for careful handling of the situation.
The young mutant was contented with the successes he had achieved thus far. Thanks to his new faculty he had been able to outsmart an experienced group of astronauts without much effort. What was possible with this small number of men should also apply to a city, perhaps a large city. Goldstein pushed these thoughts from his mind. The time was not yet ripe for such larger considerations. It would be preposterous for him to rush headlong into larger undertakings. He was young, intelligent and possessed a gift that no others had had before him. He could unfold tremendous powers and besides he also had the faculty of telepathy. He was able to penetrate the thoughts of his companions and discover what kind of plans and ideas were milling about inside their heads.
For example, Everson was in the process of pondering whether or not he might yet accomplish the final transition jump. Goldstein did not follow the Commander's thoughts farther since he saw that Everson would not arrive at any effective decision. Dr. Morton was preoccupied with his newly incapacitated patient. On the other hand, Fashong was brooding over the possibility that Everson himself might be at the bottom of their troubles. The most dangerous thought-train was going on in the mind of the Japanese. Inoshiro had some definite ideas about how the paralysis phenomenon could be produced. If a paralytic state were not brought about by exterior, physical means, the Japanese was asking himself, then what other possibilities remained open? Goldstein was determined to keep Inoshiro under constant observation. Scoobey was trying to figure to himself how long the guppy could wander around out here in the void before everybody died of hunger. The mental processes of Weiss were also quite interesting. He was trying to picture what he would do when the guilty one was discovered. Sternal was the most frightened of them all and he kept hoping that Everson would do something that would save them.
Goldstein heard Everson's voice ring out: "Now pull yourself together!" The ship's leader was talking to Sternal, who had fully recovered from the effects of the paralysis gun.
"But we can't just let those two lie there!" protested Sternal. "It's possible that the radiation down there in those power modules is so intensive..." His voice faded to an inaudible whisper.
Everson replied in a somewhat softer tone. "I'm thinking that maybe they didn't even get that far."
I'll give them a jolt, thought Goldstein. Their nerves have to be held at the breaking point.
He looked for a suitable object. He finally chose the cover that was lying on Stanford. He ascertained that nobody was watching the patient. His brain registered the molecular structure of the light blanket. He etched into his mental vision a blueprint of the carbon molecules which were the main ingredient of the woollen coverlet He could have regrouped the structur
e and created a yard-long piece of rope, after which he could break it into a thousand fragments, but this was not his intention. Under pressure of his will, the coverlet rose up easily from Stanford's body. Goldstein scanned the men sharply again and then he put the molecules in motion. A flying carpet seemed to glide away from Stanford. The mutant worked swiftly and deftly. He manoeuvred the cover so that it came down over Zimmerman. The paralyzed communications man was now doubly blanketed whereas Stanford lay there only in his uniform.
Scoobey was the first one to notice it. "Doc, did you uncover Stanford?" he asked Morton.
The physician, who was standing next to Everson, looked across at the patient. "No, of course not." He raised his voice. "Who took Stanford's blanket away?"
Nobody answered. Perplexed, the medico came closer to the paralyzed men.
"Somebody seems to be taking special care of Zimmerman," he remarked, somewhat nonplussed. He covered Stanford carefully again.
Goldstein realized that he couldn't shake them up this way. They were far too uptight now to give much heed to such minor items. Everybody seemed to think it had been an oversight.
Except for one of them—Inoshiro!
Tensely, Goldstein followed the thoughts of the Japanese. Inoshiro had observed the patients a few minutes before Goldstein's action. He was sure of his facts: up to that time, Stanford had not been lying there without a cover on him. In the meantime, nobody had been near the patient. It was impossible that one of the paralysis victims should have been able to make the change in the covering arrangement, much less even considered such a thing. Only Goldstein was not paralyzed among the patients here on the deck. Could the crazy mutant have perpetrated such a piece of nonsense?
He would have had to stand up, pondered Inoshiro, unaware that he had a 'listener'. Even if he stretched his arm way out he couldn't reach over to Stanford. A person could almost believe that the cover had been moved by an invisible force, and... The mutant!