by Perry Rhodan
In stumbling back, Marshall discovered the cave. Desperate hope flamed up within him. The thought 'cave' somehow seemed connected with the thought 'water'.
And they did find water!
A puddle reflected back the shine of their lamps! A puddle the depth of a man's foot and three paces wide!
"Water!" gurgled Rodrigo, falling to his knees to take a drink.
Then the ray-pistol hissed and blasted the stinking liquid into steam. Marshall had caught wind of the water's vile smell at the last second and acted instinctively.
With an insane cry of anger, the disappointed Duke hurled himself at the telepath. John Marshall's fist was still stronger than the weakened Grandee, however, and Rodrigo fell wordlessly to the ground. John saw Laury's desperate look, then heard her dry and unrestrained sobbing.
Would their end come here in the cave—whose temperature was low enough that it seemed to give them a little more strength, perhaps enough to think a little more clearly?
Hypercom...whispered something distantly in Marshall's brain. Somewhat later it whispered again: Hypercom...
But the destruction of his small spacecraft had taken the on board hypercom with it. It was only thanks to his foresight that he had left the ship with a number of handguns. Had he left those behind, the froghs would have had better luck with their hunting.
"I've got it!" John Marshall suddenly exclaimed. His voice echoed in the cave. "Don't ask me anything... don't ask..." he whispered to the other two before they could bombard him with questions. "Concentrate... concentrate..."
He was half-mad with thirst but he had to broadcast the strongest telepathic message possible. Even under normal circumstances, it was a difficult feat, requiring as it did far more energy than usual mental processes.
Rohun had to help! Rohun had to come! Rohun had to fulfill his promise now!
Concentration!—but no results.
Marshall could call on Springer captain Rohun—and over hypercom!
And now a glass of water, John Marshall, he thought. The torturing thirst was draining him of all his strength. Something to drink, drink—just one cool little swallow!
He slapped his own face, trying to drive away the energy-sapping thirst. Concentrate! Concentrate!
He did not give up. Perry Rhodan had never given up, either! He could not fail Perry Rhodan. Perry
Rhodan had never deserted any of his men when they ran into trouble.
Now... but it was all gone. Try again! And again!
Yes...
And the telepathic impulse had been sent! But was it strong enough to activate the auxiliary hypercom built into the ceiling of his slum quarters?
Probe... probe on to Trulan and convince himself that he had not fallen victim to a hallucination.
The hypercom was working! He was positive of it!
A new burst of telepathic energy to the auxiliary hypercom—tune it to Rohun's frequency!
Suddenly John Marshall felt strong. He had conquered the thirst madness.
Then he heard the Springer captain's voice!
Yes, and now—now the hypercom converted telepathic impulses into words and even switched on the coder and distorter mechanism. No Ara could listen in on the conversation now.
"I'm coming, Ixt!" were Rohun's final words.
And then they waited.
• • •
Rohun stormed "Skartash phikrac!" He reviled Otznam and Tulin with the most drastic obscenities in the Springer lexicon. "Bishdawk gratskel plog!" John Marshall, Laury Marten and Rodrigo listened silently to the tirade and neither Otznam nor Tulin had anything to say either.
"...What in the name of all the star-devils got into you two, bringing these three people on board my ship? Pack them up in the shuttle-boat and take them back down to Tolimon! Which one of you fools came up with the idea, anyway...? I'm talking too much! Take them back to Tolimon, land them anywhere they want to go but don't take any risk doing it! I don't want to be turned into a gas cloud along with all the ships in my clan! Now get going!"
Marshall was already at the door when Rohun called after him The Galactic Trader was struggling against his inner feelings. "Ixt," he said, depressed, "I'm keeping to my word. Otznam and Tulin..."
"Very well," Marshall interrupted. "When your agents take us safely back to Tolimon, we'll still be the best of friends, Rohun!"
He meant it sincerely for he knew well how much the Galactic Trader had risked rescuing the three Terrans. To ask more of Rohun would not only be impolite but it would also mean for Rohun and his entire clan the danger of being ruthlessly annihilated by the Aras.
Shortly thereafter five persons left for the Ara world Tolimon in Rohun's small shuttlecraft.
• • •
Trulan, Tolimon's capital city, lay on the planet's dayside. Otznam did not dare fly there.
"All frequencies are jammed with radar impulses," he said despondently, indicating the overworked communications equipment on board the shuttle. Marshall, sitting in the copilot's seat, also saw no possibility of landing unnoticed. Something happening down below must have sounded the alarm on the Ara world all over again. He did not suspect that he was the cause of the new alarm.
Tulin looked at Marshall again from one side. Marshall noticed and decided to glance inside the Springer agent's mind.
Tulin had been by chance with Capt. Rohun when Marshall's call for help came in. Neither he nor the space captain could have recognized the voice as Marshall's; only the code word had assured them that the message was not a trap.
"What's wrong?" the telepath asked the red-haired agent.
"I keep wondering where the hypercom you used to call us for help is! You didn't have one in the cave when we landed; and not only that, your message sounded to us like a computer was reading it out loud. Whatever it was Rohun and I heard, it wasn't anything human!"
"Here is my hypercom," John Marshall lied coolly, showing him his watch. "This right here is the loudspeaker and here, this tiny bump—inside that's the microphone! A hypercom doesn't always have to be an enormous apparatus, does it?" Marshall knew that he was bluffing outrageously but no other alternative was left to him.
The eyes, of both Springers widened. "The hypercom is in that little thing?" demanded Otznam, not believing a word of it. Just as Marshall was reading Otznam's thoughts to find out what the Springer was going to say next, an Ara ship suddenly appeared in space and made its course towards them. "Oh no!" exclaimed the Springer angrily. "No more halfway measures now—it's all or nothing!"
Before Marshall could intervene, Otznam had wrenched the tiny spacecraft's nose downwards and was bulleting it at an insane velocity towards the surface of Tolimon.
Marshall suddenly understood what the agent had in mind.
Otznam was flying towards the Ara police landing field. There air traffic was heaviest and an enormous amount of activity was always in progress. The sheer bulk of traffic was their sole chance—they could escape detection in the confusion of incoming and outgoing air and spacecraft.
The thickening atmosphere around the small shuttlecraft began to howl as Otznam continued his headlong flight. The Ara ship following them had not expected such a manoeuvre and changed its course much too late. The Springer agent had won valuable seconds.
"Get ready to jump!" John Marshall alerted Laury Marten and Rodrigo. Like the others, the man from the 17th Century was wearing a spacesuit of the best Arkonide construction. Laury Marten tried again and again to explain to him what a deflector field was—how a person could fly with this suit—what gravity was and what its neutralization meant—but he did not understand.
"Many thanks, Springers!" Marshall called to Tulin and Otznam as he entered the small hatch last and closed it behind him.
Marshall, Laury and Rodrigo left the shuttlecraft at an altitude of 30 miles. Duke Rodrigo hung in the middle, believing devils and ghosts were responsible for it all, while above them Springer agent Otznam brought his ship around and rocketed back tow
ards open space.
The three Terrans dropped straight down. Marshall, like Laury Marten, knew that they would be picked up on the radarscopes in the ground station below. The quicker they reached the ground, the better their chances of success would be.
Rodrigo dangled on a plastic cable between the other two, quite convinced that he had died and was falling into the pits of hell. He no longer had any conception of the passage of time and then, when he cried out in terror because invisible pressures seemed to be trying to squeeze him to death, Marshall let out a sigh. of relief. They had reached the ground.
They touched down just over half a mile from the edge of the police landing field and next to a roadway.
"Get these suits off!" Marshall ordered. "We'll stick out like sore thumbs if we keep them on!"
The expensive Arkon suits were hidden behind the handiest bushes. Marshall peered through the night at the lighted landing field. More insistent than ever came the thought of making a jump from there to Trulan. Laury, who knew what he was thinking, grew increasingly enthusiastic about the plan. Out loud she said: "It'll be daylight in three hours."
"We'll have been in Trulan long before then," Marshall replied, almost threateningly.
Even so, an hour later still found them at the Ara police spaceport for despite their intensive search they had not yet been able to find a suitable aircraft.
Then, coming out of the night, a small courier airboat landed with two men aboard. An Ara left the airboat while the pilot remained dozing in his sleep.
John Marshall and Laury Marten divided their prey between them. She took the Ara, who had been picked up by a car and was being driven to the administration building, and Marshall worked on the pilot with his psycho-beamer. When three people came aboard and had him fly to Trulan, the influence of the beamer would prevent the pilot from asking any questions or even wondering.
The thoughts Laury found in the Ara officer's mind left her speechless. The commotion on Tolimon was due to John Marshall! He was the one the Aras were so feverishly searching for! They had put all the evidence together that proved he could not be Ixt the Galactic Trader despite his claims.
"Get ready!" said Marshall, getting up. "Tell the Duke he's not to say a single word, no matter what happens! Laury, I'm holding you responsible for the man!"
Again they put Rodrigo in the middle while Laury whispered to him without any interruption.
Once they met two Aras, passing them at a distance of three paces; two short applications of the psycho-beamer took care of. the galactic physicians. Then the courier ship came into view in front of them. The hatch was open and the small entrance ramp had been extended. The pilot didn't even turn around as John Marshall stood at the inner hatch, allowing Rodrigo and Laury to enter first.
"Ready?" asked the Ara in the pilot's seat.
The hatch doors closed with a hiss.
"Ready!" answered John Marshall calmly despite his inner turmoil.
Would a ship taking off without reporting to headquarters be noticed on the landing field radar? They hurtled into the night.
Dawn was breaking as they approached Trulan. Here they were spotted by the traffic control, which radioed its demand for identification. The pilot gave the number of his craft and the Ara of Traffic Control became unusually friendly. "We'll hold space open for you and send a car to pick you up!"
Marshall and Laury Marten glanced at each other. Now they were playing their daring game to the utmost!
Why should they go on foot when the Aras would drive them? And where would they be safer than in an official car of the Ara police or Secret Service?
The pilot, who had been hypnotically influenced only to ask himself no questions about the purpose of his flight or passengers, and who had been instructed to return to the police landing field immediately after landing in. Trulan, landed the courier airboat gently in space 11.
The car was already waiting.
Not wasting a second, the two mutants brought the driver and the Secret Service officer accompanying him under the power of their suggestion. Again John Marshall climbed out last and again the impulse-beamer in his pocket was ready to fire. Again nothing untoward happened.
"Where to?" asked the driver, turning towards them. The Ara from the Secret Service stared straight ahead and took no notice of them.
"Street of the Great Mob," said Marshall. Then something happened which he had not figured on: the Ara Secret Service headquarters called their car over the radio. Neither the driver nor the officer reacted. Again came the call from headquarters. Marshall then decided to elevate his audacity to unbelievable impudence.
Motivated by an irresistible order from Marshall's psychobeamer, the driver spoke into his microphone: "Vehicle KK-107 in special action! Purpose top secret because of danger of being overheard! Will report again in half an hour! Over and out!"
"Turn the sender off!" Marshall ordered the driver. He turned it off. The police vehicle raced towards the Street of the Great Moh with the certainty of a homing pigeon.
John Marshall took no notice of the traffic jams on the expressway. Instead he tried to pick up Futgris' thoughts and learn what had happened in his shop during his absence. But Futgris was no longer in the animal shop! Not one of the salesclerks was still there! But there were Aras, nine men from the Secret Service were even just about to have his office undergo a thorough examination.
But that will mean they'll find the new make telecom! were Marshall's first thoughts.
"Where do you want me to stop?" the driver of the defense car interrupted Marshall's thoughts.
"Not here! I've changed my mind. Make it the column of the Great Moh." The driver expressed no surprise at the change. The officer at his side kept staring straight ahead. Both men were kept under constant hypnotic control by Laury Marten's psycho-ray beamer. John Marshall neither saw nor heard anything any more. He was concentrating, thinking of his office and the small incendiary bomb inside sitting on his writing desk. Beneath its camouflaging wrapping it was no larger than a hazelnut.
Ignition!
The telepath was issuing a command. There it was again, behind his forehead, that sensation as if a circuit had been closed. Marshall breathed heavily as he leaned back. He felt sure of the success of this affair. Very soon there would be a fire alarm in the Street of the Great Moh and the pet shop run by Ixt would burn down. He was not concerned that for days the Aras would unsuccessfully be trying to find an explanation of why the so harmless appearing fire could not be put out by any means at their disposal...
Once again the Ara defense central came in on the receiver: "Car KK 107, respond at once and..." Suddenly John Marshall's sixth sense warned him of impending danger. "Stop here!" he instructed the driver. The car had not come to a complete halt when he jumped out, dragging Laury Marten and Rodrigo with him. He saw two other service vehicles stop on the other side of the street. When, four hours later, the Arkon-steel door was locked and Rodrigo looked disapprovingly around
Marshall's slum hideaway, Laury Marten smiled for the first time. But John Marshall knew that the Aras had not yet given up their pursuit of the Terrans. They had left an all too obvious clue behind. The clue was named Rodrigo de Berceo—with hip-high top boots, sleeveless jersey, lace trim and a broad-rimmed, plumed hat! Rodrigo would lead the Aras straight to even this slum hideout! "Wonderful prospect!" muttered Marshall, half in thought. He looked at Laury and shook his head pessimistically. She did not return his look. Dejectedly, Laury sat down on the edge of the bed and sank her head in her arms.
• • •
Perry Rhodan listened to the message coming in to Hellgate over the steel-dome hypercom. A new report from John Marshall was in progress and this time it was a long one. The longer Perry listened, the longer his face became. Only once did a flicker of satisfaction cross his features: when Marshall spoke of the life-serum capsule.
"And the Springers?" Rhodan asked sharply. Marshall had not been able to make contact with them.
>
They had all vanished.
This affair was too dangerous even for them!
This information Rhodan digested instantly and his response was the music of the spheres to Marshall's ears. Even Laury Marten's blue funk changed from mood indigo to great white hope when she heard the two words Perry uttered:
"I'm coming!"
LIFE HUNT
Copyright © Ace Books 1974
Ace Publishing Corporation
All Rights Reserved
THE SHIP OF THINGS TO COME
ONE DANGEROUS MISSION has been accomplished by Terranian undercover agents John Marshall & Laury Marten of the Mutant Corps: they have secured a small sample of the Aras' guarded serum which prolongs life. But what good is the miracle substance if the mutants can't remove it from the planet Tolimon?
Enter: Inspector Tristol from Arkon. And a personal servant who's the expectorating image of a world-known mouse-beaver with telekinetic and other extrasensory powers. But the fickle finger of Fate throws a great big 8-ball into the equation when the Real Inspector from Arkon meets up with—
THE PSEUDO ONE
by Clark Darlton