Renegades of the Future

by Perry Rhodan

  Oliver Roane got to his feet, grumbling to himself. "I don't know," he answered peevishly. "Once he turned something on the panel and claimed it was the air-conditioning."

  Ronson Lauer stood in the doorway. Both he and Suttney were watching Chellish sharply but Chellish noticed that Lauer seemed to react with a start, suddenly crouched as though to spring like a cat while staring intently at him.

  Chellish knew that he was the most dangerous of the three—quick and unscrupulous.

  Walter Suttney had also turned toward him with a penetrating glance. "What about it, Chellish?" he asked.

  Chellish didn't answer.

  Suttney came a few steps closer to him. "Answer me, Chellish!" he ordered emphatically. "Was it the air-conditioning?"

  "No," he answered calmly, while keeping an eye on Lauer.

  "What was it then?" Suttney demanded.

  "I don't know," he answered with as much indifference as he could muster. "I just pressed two buttons, that's all." Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lauer reach for his weapon that he carried in a belt holster.

  "Why?" persisted Suttney.

  "To gain some time," Chellish answered, rising to his feet. "What did you think?" Lauer moved toward him silently with a murderous gleam in his eye and his gun in his hand. "Well, the longer we're stuck here the better it is for me, isn't it," Chellish answered finally. "That's the whole bit."

  Suttney revealed the first signs of confusion. He didn't understand how anybody who was completely in his power could dare go against him and openly admit it. Oliver Roane stood a few yards behind him, awkwardly ponderous, his mouth agape in obvious stupefaction. But Lauer moved toward him with a feline swiftness. Chellish sensed his danger. He spoke with the last reserves of his composure. "Suttney! Look out for Lauer!"

  As Suttney turned, he added: "I'm the only man on board who can fly. this ship!" Suttney saw what Lauer was intent upon. "Cool it!" he roared. "Lauer, stay where you are—and put that gun away!"

  Lauer came to a startled halt but he obeyed. "He double-crossed us!" he snarled. "On account of him we'll maybe be stuck here for days." Suttney turned back to Chellish. "I could kill you for that," he said quietly. Chellish felt a sense of momentary triumph. "No, you can't do that," he retorted, "unless you want to lie out here forever. Of course you have a smattering of technology and Lauer knows a bit of galactic math; but the two of you together wouldn't be able to pilot a Gazelle."

  Apparently Suttney had thought of this because he didn't seem to be surprised. He only nodded slowly. "So that's the score with you, is it?" He turned to the others. "What should we do with him?"

  Ronson Lauer made a wild gesture with his arms. "Oliver! Go give it to him!" Chellish noted Suttney's smile as he stepped to one side. "Yes," the latter agreed, "maybe that's the best idea. Oliver, put your gun down and try to convince him we're through playing games."

  Oliver Roane dropped the weapon onto his chair and slowly approached Chellish, who was also standing. "Come here, sonny," he grinned at him. "Otherwise you'll get smeared across that console and wreck everything."

  Chellish did not move. "Come and get me," he growled.

  Lauer made a lateral movement, thinking that Chellish was totally absorbed by Roane's approach but Chellish was aware that he had slipped behind him and moved down several seats. "Come here, I said!" insisted Roane threateningly.

  Almost simultaneously Lauer let out a triumphant shout. "I'll send him to you!" Having heard the running steps behind him, Chellish ducked swiftly to one side, allowing Lauer to expend his full charge on empty air. At the same time he grasped the smaller man by his belt and collar and, using the other's momentum, ran forward with him and slammed his body against Roane's towering frame. The sequence of events had all been too fast for Roane, who had wound up a haymaker to meet him but instead the blow struck Lauer with its full force. Lauer spun around once and collapsed to the deck.

  Following up the advantage while Roane's guard was down, Chellish lit into him rapidly with his fists, taking him by surprise and forcing him back a few steps. Chellish pressed him further with a heavy pummeling, causing the big man to reel and stagger farther backwards until he was stopped by a large switch panel. Chellish nailed him against it, prepared to put an end to the contest as swiftly as possible—but then he struck a snag.

  He had forgotten about his wounded fingers which had been burned by a well-aimed shot from Roane's thermo-gun. The pain had gone out of them because a regenerative ointment had started a thin growth of new flesh over the wounds. But when he suddenly grasped his semi-unconscious opponent in an attempt to deliver a final blow, his right hand grazed a metallic protrusion on the panel, which tore open his wounds again.

  A wave of burning pain swept through his body, causing him to reel back, blinded by tears of agony that shot into his eyes. Roane didn't know what had caused Chellish to suddenly let up on him but he heard his sudden outcry and rallied to take advantage of his opportunity. He whirled away from the panel. Chellish saw him coming at him, tried to defend himself but was too weakened by the shock of pain. Two heavy blows from Roane's heavy fists caught him full in his unprotected face. He was barely aware of a third crushing blow that followed because the searing pain from his fingers seemed to drown him in a sea of fire.

  Then he sank into oblivion.

  • • •

  His desire to fight for time was so intense that it did not even leave him during his spell of unconsciousness. When he came to he knew at once what had happened and realized there was nothing more stupid he could do than to immediately open his eyes and let them know he had regained consciousness.

  He heard noises around him but his head was roaring so much that at first he couldn't distinguish them clearly. Finally he made out Suttney's words: "What did you get into the act for, anyway? Who told you to?"

  Then Lauer's answer: "Nobody tells me what to do. I do things on my own. But so what? With me that space jockey's had it... just as soon as we don't need him any more."

  "You lay off of him, Ronson!" retorted Suttney in half-suppressed anger. "We didn't pull this stunt just to go around bumping guys off!"

  Lauer's reply came after a slight pause. "Oh yeah? Who are you to talk? I don't see any halo on you, Suttney!"

  Suttney fell silent. Chellish heard somebody walk a few steps and sit down in one of the control room seats. Probably Suttney. It looked as though the latest episode had struck discord among the three deserters.

  Suddenly he heard Suttney say: "If he hasn't come to within an hour from now we'll splash a bucket of water in his face."

  Chellish decided to make the best use possible of the hour this gave him. Owing to his miserable condition it wasn't at all difficult to fall asleep on the spot.

  • • •

  The Drusus cruised along according to plan in its prescribed area, which was a particularly vacuous region of space, 45 light-years distant from the blue dwarf star Vollaal. 75% of the auxiliary craft were deployed searching the sector assigned to the Drusus but the rest were held in reserve in case of emergency.

  On board the Drusus was a contingent of those new recruits who had recently been absorbed into the Fleet: settlers from Grautier. A wall of suspicion and distrust had suddenly risen between them and the regular personnel, since after all the three deserters who had stolen the Gazelle and taken first Lt. Chellish hostage were also former settlers.

  Among the former settlers on board was Horace O. Mullon, former leader of the True Democrats, and the man who had finally brought about the demise of Hollander. Horace Mullon's personal dossier reflected backgrounds and potentials which by far exceeded the dry memoranda pertaining to him, as furnished by the civilian courts on Earth, attributes which according to reports from Chellish and Capt. Blailey during the time of Mullon's leadership of the colony development had certainly been demonstrated, and which had been of special great interest to Perry Rhodan himself. Moreover, Mullon was practically the only one who was excluded from
the general air of suspicion because no one could believe that Hollander's bitterest enemy could ever have any subversive connections with the latter's followers.

  Mullon could thank Perry Rhodan's special interest in him for the fact that he had not been transferred into the Fleet at the level of lowest rank—or rather, it was due to Rhodan's insight into his abilities and potentials. He had been classified as an officer candidate with the proviso that the regulations could be bypassed in his case and he would be given a lieutenant's commission just as soon as he had demonstrated beyond all possible doubt that he had divested himself of his former antisocial and revolutionary ideas. At 30 years of age he would be fairly old for a mere lieutenant but in view of his obvious organizational capabilities it seemed that nothing would stand in the way of his continued rapid promotion.

  When Horace Mullon received the order to report to duty on board the Drusus, he believed that the time had finally come to fully redeem himself. The Drusus had taken off with almost all other units on Grautier and it appeared that its first hypertransition had been a long one. All indications pointed to the fact that great events were at hand and Mullon was determined to distinguish himself.

  It was one day after their departure that he learned what the mission was actually all about. A Gazelle had been hijacked—by Suttney, Lauer and Roane, three men who had been members of Hollander's police troops during the latter's reign of terror in Greenwich. Also on board the Gazelle was an unwilling hostage: Gunther Chellish, Mullon's friend, with whom he had captured Hollander and given a hotfoot to the Whistlers.

  But this news had the effect of knocking Mullon's personal plans into a cocked hat. All thoughts of gaining personal laurels or racing to get a lieutenant's commission became minor considerations now. He could well imagine Chellish's current situation. He was familiar enough with the three who had stolen the Gazelle to know that Chellish could expect only the worst from them.

  If the Gazelle were not located before the three deserters were able to realize their plans, Gunther Chellish would be lost. The ship had to be found. This was now Mullon's single, driving thought.

  The personnel unit making up the transferred settlers was registered as Company 15, which for the moment was without specific assignment. These men were on board for training. They were given hard duty, of course, but for the time being it served no other purpose than to 'make men out of them', as Sgt. Delacombe had expressed it. With Delacombe's permission, Horace Mullon reported to the tracking control section. Since he had learned how to handle such equipment under Chellish's guidance, he was given duty at this station. He was assigned to the console section composed of the material sensors, or 'matter trackers', and after that nobody could tear him away from his instruments.

  The one thought of finding Chellish banished from his mind all considerations of his physical needs. Over a period of 70 hours, Mullon had only five hours of sleep. When they wanted to force him to get some rest he insisted on stimulants so that he could remain at his post.

  After three and a half days they transferred him to another console section having to do with hypersensor and ID frequency tracking. The hypersensor work turned out to be easier. The transfer had been made to keep him from having a breakdown but no one realized at the time that this transfer was precisely the move that would lead to a fulfillment of Mullon's driving desire.

  • • •

  Gunther Chellish was rudely awakened by a deluge of ice cold water. He rolled away quickly to escape the rest of it, which Lauer was trying to dump on him out of a large bucket. His swift reaction angered Lauer, who gave him a kick. As Chellish jumped up he dropped the pail and drew his weapon, aiming it at him quickly.

  "Come and get it!" Lauer snarled. "Go ahead—try something!"

  After his short nap, Chellish felt considerably better than before. His headache had vanished almost completely and his fingertips itched, which was a sign that the wounds had begun to heal again.

  When he saw Lauer he started to laugh, recalling that he had run straight into Roane's first haymaker. The signs of it were plainly evident. But his laughter only excited Lauer all the more and he noted that the latter's finger was slowly closing on the trigger.

  "I'll wipe that laugh off your face!" Lauer practically hissed at him.

  "Knock it off!" It was Suttney's sudden command, emerging from the rear of the control room. "Ronson, I warned you about that rattle-brain temper of yours!"

  Chellish forced a grin and turned around as though Lauer's threatening weapon didn't concern him. As he saw Suttney approaching him he also noticed Oliver Roane, who lay back all splayed out in a chair. He breathed with an audible rattle and three-fourths of his face was covered by a welter of bandages that he had apparently put on by himself.

  "You knock it off, too, Chellish," Suttney warned. "You've had it! From now on you'll get no further chances to give us any trouble. Sit down at your controls and find out what kind of damages you've caused."

  Chellish followed the order. As he went to the pilot's seat he glanced at the chronometer. Three hours had been consumed during his period of unconsciousness and sleeping. But it appeared that this had still not been enough time for the search ships to find them.

  He struggled to suppress his anxiety as he sat down before the flight console and took over those controls that had to do with the hypertransition. All he knew was that he had activated two switches in the wrong sequence. He hadn't the slightest idea of what damage this might have caused—or even if any damage had resulted at all. The only thing he knew was that the control system was an extremely complex setup. It wasn't just a radio set where a couple of conflicting controls could be activated without causing serious trouble. When you handled this system counter to operating instructions, anything could go out of kilter.

  The question was: what?

  His hands trembled as he went through the checkout. A bank of small parity and error lamps, more than 200 of them, all seemed to light up and indicate that so far nothing was wrong.

  Up to a point. Two lamps remained dark. The rear-lighted instruction plate underneath these two announced the trouble: Distributor 225, section 17; 15 mh inductor, H-compensator.

  He breathed a slow sigh of relief, hiding his reaction from the others. He had lucked in. The repairs involved only represented about an hour and a half of work, maybe even less. This time Suttney wouldn't be able to suspect that he was merely trying to gain time. And most important: Distributor 225 and the damaged 15 microhenry coil were located in the same maintenance shaft as the frequency absorber.

  "So—what did you find?" Suttney asked.

  Chellish pointed to the two darkened indicator lamps. "One pulse distribution card is down with a burned out coil."

  "Is that hard to fix?"

  "No chance of repairing the coil but the card itself can be fixed—maybe two hours."

  Suttney's eyes went wide. "Are you trying to tell me that we can't budge out of here just because one coil can't be repaired?"

  Chellish smiled, shaking his head negatively. "No. I didn't say that. The coil is a printed circuit element and can't be repaired. But you can replace it with a new chip—that's a printed circuit component for the card. We have plenty in stores, provided you didn't dump any of that stuff out the disposal chutes."

  Suttney gave him an ill-tempered look of distrust. "Alright, cut the wisecracks," he snapped. "How long does it take to do the whole thing?"

  "I told you—two hours."

  "What about that coil?"

  "For that, maybe two minutes—one to locate it and one to replace it."

  "Good! Then get busy! Do you need tools or equipment?"

  "Plenty," Chellish smirked.

  "Then get them together. And don't think you can pull anything on us again. Ronson will supervise your work. Ron—you go with him!"

  "With the greatest of pleasure!" Lauer eagerly replied. From equipment stores Chellish selected a few instruments such as an oscilloscope and a signal gene
rator, which he gave to Lauer to carry; also such smaller items as a soldering gun, an assortment of wire leads, tweezers, solder flux and an instrument tool kit. While searching for everything he needed, he took his time with a slow deliberation. He wasn't particularly bleeding with anxiety to complete the repairs.

  From parts stores all he needed was the chipboard containing the small coil for replacement plus a few fasteners and lead clamps.

  Then he opened the crawl hatch in the main corridor which led into the K-shaft and climbed down the ladder. Lauer followed him at a distance of about five rungs above his head, taking care to leave the hatch cover open.

  Rows of conduits ran down the wall of the shaft. So far, Chellish hadn't come up with anything to help his plan along but suddenly he had an idea. Most of the power cables in these conduits carried high tension direct current at potentials exceeding 2,000 volts. If he could manage somehow to cause Lauer to come in contact with an uninsulated spot, then maybe...

  The ladder rungs ended about 25 feet below the crawl hatch. From this point the shaft ran horizontally, like a tunnel, to the hull of the ship itself. He spotted the card drawer where the damaged distributor circuit would be. Pulling it out slightly, he ejected the card and lay it on top, finally locating the element chip containing the damaged coil. At the same time he noticed nearby the slender, gleaming cylinder of the frequency absorber, which was the main thing he'd been searching for. It was located only a few feet beyond the card drawer.

  "Move it!" complained Lauer uneasily. "Give me some room!"

  Chellish obliged him, moving just beyond the card drawer and placing his equipment and tool kit on the floor of the tunnel close to the silvery absorber tank. "I have to work in a couple of places in this area," he answered in a cooperative tone. He pointed out a few pretended work areas which included both the region of the frequency absorber and the actual distributor card. "Make yourself comfortable where you can keep an eye on me."