by Perry Rhodan
Claudrin's hefty physique usually made him appear to move slowly but in this case he responded to the order with unexpected swiftness.
Bell spoke to Krefenbac. "Tell them to let us know when Rhodan has his new uniform. I don't want him to show up here just when we're in the middle of a conversation with Atlan."
In his mind he had a distressing vision of Rhodan storming in, shouting at everybody and glaring around with those smoldering eyes of his in search of the guilty ones. It caused a strange feeling to come over him. At first he could not define it but finally he knew.
It was fear!
Whether it was a fear of losing his friend completely or due to some other cause was immaterial at the moment. Only one thing was plain: his uneasiness had developed into a sense of fear. It would not be long, perhaps, before the feeling would give way to horror.
And then?
Bell closed his eyes. Suddenly he wished that he were far away from all this-away from Saos and the Ironduke and this whole nasty business. He longed for quiet and seclusion. He told himself it was his nerves. The constant overstrain and stress was getting to him.
He watched silently while Claudrin made the necessary connections for transmitting. He kept glancing uneasily toward the entrance hatch of the Control Central. With Rhodan's present unpredictability it was possible for him to show up at any time.
In his haste, Claudrin had completely bypassed the Communications Central. He switched on the video portion of the space-com channel. "We are in contact, sir," he announced,
Bell approached the console slowly. It was a distasteful task to have to inform Atlan in this manner. He experienced a sense of guilt when he thought of the trouble they had given the Imperator, their ancient friend who had taken over the power from the robot Brain on Arkon 3.
But it was not the Admiral's face that appeared on the screen. Bell saw an unknown Arkonide with white hair and a dark complexion.
"Gen. Toseff here," said the stranger. "What do you want, Terran?"
The voice was cold and haughty. For an Arkonide the General radiated a surprising amount of personal energy. Bell got hold of himself. Now was not the time to act offended. He had to deal with the man.
"My name is Reginald Bell," he said calmly. "Connect me with Gonozal VIII, Imperator of Arkon."
Toseff's smile seemed to be arrogant and scornful. "His Highness will only speak to the First Administrator," he retorted.
Bell took an involuntary step toward the video panel. His fists were clenched. Mercant sensed Bell's indignation in time to intervene.
"Rhodan is sick. Transmit that to the Imperator. Tell him that it's vitally necessary..."
Toseff interrupted sharply. "It is useless for you to try such a ruse!"
Before Bell could tell the Arkonide that he was an inflated pipsqueak, the General disappeared from the screen and Atlan took his place. The immortal looked weary.
"Alright, Bell," he said calmly, "Gen. Toseff was only following my orders."
Bell's glowering expression did not change. "Perry does not know that we are talking to you," he explained. "All of us, Mercant, John Marshall, Freyt, Claudrin and everybody else-would like to pull the Solar Fleet out of the Arkonide Imperium. But that's not so easy. A change has come over Perry since his imprisonment on Okul. He hasn't yet gotten over the shock. Besides that he's suffering from something the doctors describe as an explosive cell division. He keeps on growing heavier and taller. You'd hardly recognize him anymore."
"I don't get the connection," said Atlan coldly. "What has his sickness to do with Saos?"
"Perry believes the Antis are responsible for his illness. He wants to force them to help him. He figures they may be able to stop the uncontrolled expansion of his cell-growth. We are in search of a mysterious planet called Trakarat. It's supposed to be the central world of the Baalol cult. The priests tried to fool us into believing that Saos is Trakarat."
"The encroachments of the Solar Fleet are increasing," complained the Imperator. "No one can expect us to keep putting up with Rhodan's dangerous extravagances."
Mercant had tried to remain passive during this but finally had to break in again urgently: "We are Rhodan's friends, Atlan, as well as yourself. Please give us support in helping him as quickly as possible. His present condition is so serious that we must fear the worst if something isn't done soon. He issues commands and instructions that he would have considered ludicrous in the past."
"Pull the Terran ships out of here," Atlan demanded. "There is no other alternative."
"If you could only see him!" shouted Bell heatedly. "How can you refuse to help us? Have you forgotten what he's done for you and your Imperium? Do you think all that would have been done with the intention of destroying it? No, Perry is sick, and that's why we can't condemn him for his actions. We have to capture the acting high priest of Saos. He's bound to have information that can help us further in our search."
A deep furrow formed between Atlan's brows and for a moment his hand was visible as he briefly covered his eyes. It struck Bell as astonishing how similar this man was to Perry Rhodan, the old Rhodan! After a period of deliberation in which the only sound was the humming of the equipment, the undying Admiral finally spoke.
"This means-that you will attack Saos?"
"Yes." Bell and Mercant answered simultaneously.
"You know, this conversation could be a diversionary trick on your part. Otherwise I have no recourse but to believe that you speak the truth."
"As we have many times before this," said Bell quietly. He was not inclined to contest Atlan's suspicions because if he had been in the Imperator's boots he would probably be thinking the same way. In any event it didn't hurt to remind Atlan that he had always trusted his Terran friends in the past.
"I may be committing a grave error," said Atlan, "but for the time being I'll hold back the fleet. I'll deploy all ships into a spherical formation that will enclose the Saos System. If anything happens that isn't in line with this discussion I will order an immediate attack. No Terran ship will be able to get through the defense wall of major-class robot warships."
For the first time a smile appeared on Bell's face. "There is a possibility of preventing a full-scale attack against Saos," he said cryptically. He noted that both Atlan and Mercant were looking at him with awakened interest but he did not feel inclined to enlighten them further. "It's just a thought," he hastened to explain. "Now everything will depend on what Perry decides to do."
Maj. Krefenbac interrupted. "Sir! The robots have finished the uniform. They have just delivered it to Rhodan in his cabin."
"Let's cut this off, Admiral," Bell I suggested. "Let's all keep our thumbs up!" It was a spaceman's phrase that was untranslatable yet universally understood.
Atlan slowly raised both hands showing upright thumbs but he moved them back and forth significantly. "I only have two," he replied but for the first time his voice sounded somewhat friendlier.
No one had to explain to the officers of the Ironduke what the Imperator was trying to tell them. It was hope mixed with pragmatic realism, as though to say he did not foresee a very good outcome for the situation. Both sides had become too deeply committed.
Jefe Claudrin shut off the vidcom. "We still have a chance of holding him off," he commented.
Everything now depended upon Rhodan. Bell couldn't help shuddering inwardly at the thought of Rhodan's return to the Control Central. A double responsibility lay on his own shoulders. He was also under obligation to Atlan.
Allan D. Mercant raised his voice slightly. "Mr. Bell, it's time to let us share your thoughts..."
• • •
Thomas Cardif slipped into his uniform and zipped it up. The robot that had delivered it had already left the cabin. In secret appraisal he glanced down at himself. It seemed to him that the uniform alterations set him off to advantage. His bloated body acquired a new appearance of firmness. Without any qualms of propriety he fastened to his chest all of the med
als and orders of merit that his father had rightfully been entitled to. His hands trembled in the process because he was in a hurry now.
He was firmly convinced that Atlan would talk to him and beg for peace. If necessary he could call in many more Terran ships to the Saos theater of action.
He regarded himself in what was left of the shattered mirror. A wide crack in the glass near the upper frame divided his face in halves so that his appearance was even more demonic than it was in actuality. He chuckled grimly to himself. It was time for this demon to force the search for his salvation.
Thus resolved, he marched stiffly from the cabin. The passage he followed was only intermittently lighted and each time he moved beyond a circle of illumination a distorted shadow leapt before him across the deck, only to be obliterated by another pool of light. He avoided using the conveyor strip, preferring to continue in this manner along the corridor, somehow fascinated by the phenomenon. Through narrowed eyes he watched the constant jumping and fading of his shadow. A strange parallel here, he thought-like a moth leaping from flame to flame, repeatedly repelled and darting forward again...
Suddenly, another shape appeared. The insane impression shot through Cardif's mind that this might be the physical embodiment of his shadow. He reached out his hands for it gropingly.
"Sir..." someone uttered.
It required an effort for Cardif to tear himself out of his strange fixation. He focused his eyes sharply upon the figure of the deck-watch officer. "What's the matter?" he rasped out angrily.
The confused officer stammered: "I-I thought you weren't feeling well, sir!"
Cardif stood there like a giant bird of prey, slightly crouched forward with his hands out like talons. He saw a glimmer of fear in the other man's eyes and caught the nervous trembling of his face muscles. The officer's reaction transmitted to Cardif a sense of superiority-which saved the man from a perhaps more terrifying scene.
"Get out of my way!" commanded the Administrator. "If I don't feel well I'll go to a doctor."
"Yes sir!" replied the embarrassed officer.
The man stepped to one side and pressed his back against the wall. Without giving him another glance, Cardif went past him. He knew, however, that the latter's wondering gaze followed him.
When Thomas Cardif entered the Control Central his instinct told him that something of a momentous nature had transpired here. He could not determine what it was but just the certainty of it served to increase his psychopathic suspicions. He forced himself to be calm as he approached the indicators. He could see that the Arkonide ships were in motion again but this time there was no attack formation.
"What's the meaning of this, Colonel?" he asked Claudrin.
"They're closing us in," explained the Epsalian. "They're forming an impenetrable blockade shell around Saos, sir. It means we can't leave the system unless Atlan permits us to."
Cardif-Rhodan waved a hand disdainfully. "It's obvious that Atlan has cold feet," he declared, self-satisfied. "If he were so sure of himself he would have attacked by now." As he turned from Claudrin he noted Mercant's presence for the first time "Where the devil did you come from?"
The security chief forced a smile. Inwardly he couldn't suppress a shudder over Rhodan's appearance. The Administrator had become a giant. "I figured you might need me here," said Mercant. "When we attack that nest of Antis down below I'll be right beside you to help."
"There are still a few valiant Terrans left, after all!" commented Cardif enthusiastically. "All I get on board the Ironduke is a bunch of yellow-livered yammering!"
Mercant drew himself up proudly as though appreciative of the open compliment. Claudrin watched him grimly, reflecting that the Intelligence Chief had missed his calling-he should have been an actor.
"It's only action that brings success," said Mercant, looking about him aggressively. "But Mr. Bell and the other officers think it'll take all of our ships to attack such a ridiculous little Anti base..."
Rhodan laughed scornfully. He clapped the little man jovially on the shoulder. Mercant looked at the latter's display of medals with mixed feelings. Formerly the Administrator had always preferred a simple combat uniform. Cardif's confused mind was no longer shrewd enough to see through the security chief's clever trap. Mercant had deliberately provoked the Administrator into a contradiction-which came immediately.
"All of our ships?" Rhodan repeated sarcastically. "I'll guarantee you we can take Saos with only 10 fighting units."
"That will allow the rest of the ships to hold off any action by Atlan," said Mercant, and now he made no secret of his satisfaction.
With an almost indolent gesture, Cardif ended the discussion. "We attack," he ordered.
Mercant and Bell only looked at each other without saying a word. When Rhodan began to pick out the 10 ships he wanted, Reginald Bell's strategy went into effect. Lieutenants Brazo Alkher and Stant Nolinov were to be part of the attack group's top command. They were the best informed concerning the Anti stronghold.
Thomas Cardif could not know that a second group was going to land at the same time as his attack force moved in.
But everything hinged on how long Atlan would stand still. His mighty robotships surrounded Saos with a ring of steel while multi-thousands of heavy gun turrets swiveled threateningly.
10 heavy cruisers dropped away from the Terran fleet and plunged into the upper atmosphere of the planet. Their powerful retro-engines blasted through the heavy strata of nitrogen and carbon dioxide gases, causing the sky to tremble.
The battle for Saos had begun.
5/ THE NEMESIS EYE
Hanoor was the oldest priest stationed on Saos. This may have been the reason he had been appointed temporary acting High Priest so that Kutlos and his deputy Tasnor could go groping around in the ruins of the power plant while Hepna-Kaloot led them into the deadliest phase of the game of Paloot.
Hanoor did not feel in any way that his new assignment was a burden. He was an old man who had seen and experienced much in his life. Inwardly he was governed by a special kind of calm. He only did whatever was absolutely necessary.
When the operators at the indicator consoles announced that the Arkonide fleet was drawing back and forming a barrier shell around the Saos System, Hanoor surmised that Gonozal VIII was going to remain as an observer for the time being. He gave the order to man all the ground defense batteries and put them in combat readiness. The underground defense installations opened their hatches and elevated the long-barreled projectors of their energy guns. Hanoor also had hand weapons issued because inevitably it would come to a matter of close combat. The old priest allowed himself no illusions about being able to stop the Terran ships before they made a landing.
With cool composure he watched the spherical Arkonide spaceships change their positions. It did not disturb him that the Imperator had decided to go into a holding formation. His unshakable calm had its effect on the other priests as well. Willingly they followed the instructions of this ancient and bearded one in his venerable cape as he hurried from station to station to personally convince himself of the fighting morale of the Antis.
When he returned to the observation center of the great pyramid he held a short briefing session. "If Gonozal VIII does not come to our aid," he told them in his frail voice, "we will lose this battle. Nevertheless we will not surrender. Each of us is duty-bound to hold out with all the strength at our command."
He inspected his own energy weapon and took a seat in front of the panoramic viewscreens. Reports were coming to him from all sides. Every move of the spaceships was being watched.
Hanoor looked at his hands, which had long since lost their youthful vigor and tone. How old did a man have to be, he thought, before he must fight no longer? Never too old, perhaps. He wondered at the phlegmatic processes of his thoughts now. If a man became old enough he simply died and then it was over with. As a secret smile came to his face the priests sitting near him looked at him in wonderment.
&
nbsp; Well then, he thought serenely, this was a time for dying, so let it come. In earlier days such thoughts would have disturbed him and the approach of death would have upset his inner composure completely.
Someone shouted: "Hanoor!"
It startled him out of his reveries. He knew immediately what had happened. The screens clearly revealed what was transpiring in the upper layers of the atmosphere: 10 Terran ships had separated from the fleet and were thundering toward the surface of Saos. Hanoor hunched forward in his seat and watched the viewscreen before him. His lusterless eyes were like two stones.
His ancient voice became shrill. "Attention, all defense batteries and combat stations!" he shouted. "Stand ready to fire!"
The confirmations came back immediately. The Antis behind their heavy energy guns and at the ground-to-air torpedo ramps held themselves tensely in readiness. Once again the Saos stronghold awakened to hectic activity.
Hanoor's calm challenge sounded forth from every loudspeaker: "Give them a reception they will not soon forget!"
Even Kutlos, the former acting High Priest, was able to hear this call to action. But he had no time to think about it: 50 meters ahead of him lay Tasnor and 20 meters beyond him his antagonist was waiting for him.
• • •
Kutlos lay flat on the ground. His pulse was racing. Ahead of him where Tasnor's crumpled figure was lying a haze of dust hung in the air. Tasnor had fallen in the rubble of a wall that had failed to resist the Springers' sham attack. He was badly wounded. Hepna-Kaloot's treacherous attack had come too swiftly for the youngster. The chubby little priest had guided the monitor skilfully so that it had struck him like a lightning bolt.
Kutlos had not dared to aim a shot at the spy device for fear of hitting Tasnor, his runner. The thing had then shot away low over the ground and since then Hepna-Kaloot had remained in hiding.
The ground under Kutlos was strangely still. The stamping and rumbling of the giant manufacturing plant for producing defense screen projectors had long since been silenced. For Kutlos the noise of the automatic installations had become a familiar part of his life on Saos. Now the disassembled feeder lines were stored in the transport ships at the spaceport. The robot-controlled production centers had been rendered useless through the sham attack of the Springers. Now it appeared that the valuable equipment in the ships' holds would not ever be salvaged or brought to safety. The Solar Fleet had gotten here much sooner than expected.
