by Perry Rhodan
"Akvons!" said Marshall. "Just as Tiff described them. Now the question is, whether or not Ataka understands them." He hesitated a second, then nodded. "Contact has been made, but... Pucky, jump over to the Centurion and fetch André Noir!"
"Noir?" queried Deringhouse. "What do we need with a hypnotist? Do we want to force the Akvons to our will?"
"No, but with his help we can make ourselves understood to them. The fishmen are not telepaths and nobody understands their language. Noir can implant a suggestion of our intentions."
"Good!" Deringhouse agreed. "But be careful, Pucky. Keep in mind that Lamanche is already..." He cut off abruptly.
The mouse-beaver had disappeared already. Only his tracks in the sand, which ended abruptly, signified that he had even existed here.
Deringhouse cursed. "He doesn't even wait until I finish giving a command!"
"But he did!" Marshall grinned. "After all, you know, he reads thoughts. And we have little time to waste."
Meanwhile, Ataka had continued to communicate with the fishmen but apparently without results. He continued to point toward the land and began gradually and slowly to approach the shore. The Akvons followed him hesitantly.
Deringhouse and Marshall watched intently. When the Japanese reached the beach and turned around, the Akvons were still there and appeared to be standing up. The water reached only to the lower portion of their bodies, the scaly skin of which glistened silvery in the light of the lowering sun. Deringhouse would have given much to know if they possessed feet as well.
Ataka beckoned to his new friends. In a slow and ungainly manner, they came in closer. And then it was seen that the Akvons did not have legs but instead a strong, flat swimming tail with which they guided their underwater travel.
Marshall sharpened his telepathic ears and concentrated. "Their thought impulses are strong enough. I can receive their mental currents. Just barely but perceivable. If only Noir were here! I'd like to know what's taking Pucky so long!"
Ataka pointed up onto the beach where Deringhouse and Marshall were standing. The Akvons, raised their shining eyes to the two men, who must have looked as strange to them as did they to the humans.
"They can endure 2 or 3 hours of exposure out of water," muttered Marshall. "One of them was just thinking of this. They are peaceable but have no idea of how we came to their world. Hm-m-m. They don't think very much of the Topides. They believe that we are their allies. It's time that we straightened them
out on that."
At this very moment Pucky materialized with André Noir.
"Just got out of there before Lamanche took off. He sure gave the Topides a hot foot—their whole tractor-beam installation is down the sink!"
Deringhouse sighed. "If I'm not mistaken, that's more of the speech contamination you've picked up from Bell. All right, Noir, now's your chance to show us what you've learned. Marshall will serve as your receiver, so you two get
to work and establish communication with the Akvons."
And the communication occurred!
Marshall picked up the thought impulses and translated them vocally. Then André Noir caused answers to appear in the brains of the fishmen, in the form of thought-pictures which were clearly understood. Admittedly it was an intricate method but nevertheless it produced practical results.
"You are strangers on our world?"
"Yes, we have come from the stars, where we too have a home."
"And why have you come here?"
Deringhouse, who directed the interview, permitted the reply: "In order to warn you and to help you. But permit us to ask a question: are the 4-limbed reptiles your friends? Did you give them your permission to live on the land that belongs to you?"
The answer returned immediately: "No, they didn't ask us. Many days and nights ago they came here and built their houses. How could they ask us anything? We don't understand them and they don't understand us."
"And you would prefer it if they were to go back where they came from?"
"Yes, that would be better. But how can we drive them away? We have no weapons."
"Do you want us to help you?"
A slight pause followed this question. Then the Akvon's reply proved that they
were smart indeed—and distrustful.
"And what do you wish in return for that?"
Deringhouse smiled: "Only one thing: your friendship. We will carry on trade with you, we will exchange goods and we will build a small defense base on the land so that the reptile people cannot return here."
"The reptiles have never traded with us. Very well, we are in agreement. We shall report to our leaders."
Deringhouse got back to the main item. "There is one thing more: the reptiles have taken two of our friends prisoner. We wish to set them free but it will be difficult without your help. Will you help us?"
"We know about the captives. They are in the water castle of the reptiles. Can you live under water?"
"No, we need air to breathe. Under water we would die."
"Air?" came the thought-impulse; and then: "Very well, we shall keep that in mind. Wait for us in this place until early tomorrow morning. Perhaps we may find a solution."
"If our great ship comes here," replied Deringhouse, "we will also have a solution. But very well: we will meet tomorrow in this place when the sun has risen. We shall wait for you."
"We'll be here!" promised the Akvons. They waved once more to the men, observed the mouse-beaver curiously for several seconds and then disappeared into their natural element.
For a little while the silvery streaks of their bodies could be seen and then they were lost from sight as the fish-beings dove down and hurried away into the depths of the sea.
Pucky watched them go. He licked dry lips with his tongue. "They've got it pretty good down there," he chirped. "Do you think maybe they never get thirsty...?"
Deringhouse looked at the horizon. Huge and red, Betelgeuse was getting ready to sink behind the vast tides of the ocean. The sky took on a mixed coloration of
rose, green and violet. Like a curtain of fire, the heavens seemed to reveal a truly unearthly drama.
"Tomorrow," said Deringhouse. "Tomorrow we will know more."
"Do we stay here?" Marshall wanted to know.
"Yes, we'll sleep in the ground car."
The telepath shook his head. "Not necessary. "I'll go with Pucky now and fetch McClears' Gazelle. We have the whole night to accomplish it."
Deringhouse nodded slowly. "Okay with me. Then Ataka and I can take a swim at our leisure, until you get back. You too, Noir?"
Pucky cast a desperate glance at Marshall but when the latter shook his head sternly he went over to the telepath, put his little arms around him, whistled way off key—and disappeared with him.
The fives of 8 men were at stake.
5/ FATE OF THE METAL ISLAND
Before it had become actually dark, the Gazelle landed next to the camouflaged ground car with Marshall and Pucky on board. The manoeuvre had been made just in the nick of time because the Topides had broadcast a major alert as a result of the destruction of the first stronghold and the terrifying action of the Centurion, which converted the entire plateau into a mass of glowing lava before it disappeared. Their fighter craft came from all parts of the water world and assembled on a point of the continent that wasn't more than 30 miles distant from the metal island.
An attack had just been made on the Gazelle, which the crew had been able to repulse. Before the second and stronger attack was begun, Pucky and Marshall had appeared. The small ship then took off and disappeared into the twilight. By flying fast and low, it soon escaped the pursuers' tracking beams.
Deringhouse had the scoutship tucked away into a covered clearing in the forest so that it could not be easily detected from above. A short radio contact with the Terra sufficed to let them know their position. It had finally become dark when Deringhouse communicated with the Centurion.
"Ahoy, Lamanche! Where are yo
u?"
"In orbit, sir. We're standing by for the next attack order."
"That may be awhile yet. You stay upstairs and keep in contact with the Terra. Defend yourselves against all Topide attacks. But stay where you are. Here below we have a few things to take care of."
"Message understood, sir. In case you need any help..."
"Relax, Lamanche. Or should I say—never fear, Pucky is here! Over and out!"
He shut down the transmitter equipment and exited the ship, jumping down to the soft sand below. In the process, he almost stepped on Pucky's tail.
Squatting there in a well-behaved and docile posture, the mouse-beaver observed the darkened sky and the first gleaming stars which formed curiously shaped and unknown constellations such as had never been observed from the Earth.
"Hey now, what are you doing here? I thought you wanted to take a swim..."
The mouse-beaver's incisor tooth gleamed in the starlight. "And that I shall— now. Maybe I can at least leave you guys for half an hour."
"What do you mean by that? Do you think that without you we'd never make it?"
Pucky waddled away and left a very remarkable track in the fine sand. He crouched down 30 feet away and looked around. "Yeah-h!" he drawled out in his twittering voice. "If you didn't have Pucky along...!!?? I think maybe I'll collect those 200 carrots, after all, don't you think?"
Having delivered this, he disappeared with a daring dive into the oncoming rollers.
But Deringhouse shook his head reproachfully. He had suspected that he'd been bugged by Pucky's telepathic tendrils...
• • •
The sun rose blood red above the primeval forest and prepared a gloriously colorful reception for the day.
Marshall, who bad the last watch, stood close to the wash of the waves and looked out toward the horizon of the sea. He was looking for the already familiar silvery streaks that would announce the arrival of dawn.
The night had passed quietly. Nothing new had been reported by the constantly manned communications station of the Gazelle, where they had all slept. Of course a lively radio traffic was going on between the various ground stations and ships of the Topides but most of the dispatches were coded. After some time, the small positronic computer on board had succeeded in breaking the code but very little was gained by it. The Topides were taking up new positions, that was all.
Marshall was aware of the first faint thought-impulses of the fishmen before he could see any sign of them. However, he soon made out their silvery streaks on the horizon. They were still far out but they approached with unbelievable swiftness. They were evidently swimming in organized echelons because the formation was in the shape of a giant wedge which pointed directly at the shore.
As far as he could figure it, about 50 Akvons were approaching.
The V-shaped silvery ripples faded within 20 yards of the sandy beach. The leader appeared and awkwardly made his way to Marshall. The others remained in the deeper water. Only their sleek heads bobbed on the surface. Curious eyes observed the men searchingly.
"We have come as promised," came the Akvon's thought. "But we didn't find any way to make it possible for you to live under water."
For at least 20 seconds now, Marshall had been calling Pucky mentally. He breathed a sigh of relief when he finally received an answer.
"I'm still asleep," the mouse-beaver signaled back. "What the heck's the matter now?"
"Send me André Noir, on the double! The Akvons are here!"
There was no answer but a few moments later Pucky materialized right next to
Marshall, who jumped involuntarily. At the same time, Noir appeared half-dressed in the Gazelle's open hatch. He climbed down and came forward at a run.
Communication with the water people was established:
"It is unnecessary to trouble yourselves about it because we have a means of remaining under water for long periods of time," said Marshall. "We have special suits that enable us to live in the outer void of the universe and airless space is more hostile to us than the ocean."
"Then can you come with us?"
"If you are strong enough to tow us, because we don't swim very well."
"When?"
"Have patience for just a short while. We have to make some preparations."
Half an hour later, in the shallow sea on the coast of the single continent of Betelgeuse 4, the fishmen witnessed and took part in such a unique and utterly strange spectacle that they would never in their lives forget it.
Wearing hermetically-sealed spacesuits, Marshall and Noir were stretched out flat, each on the scaly back of an Akvon, and let themselves be carried through the greenish twilight of the underwater world. A third figure, somewhat smaller, reclined on the back of a third Akvon: Pucky! A vanguard of 20 fishmen swam ahead of them and the rest followed in order to cover the rear of the flotilla.
Undoubtedly the one who was enjoying this the most was Pucky. His custom-made special spacesuit fitted him as though it had been poured onto him. The large view window of the helmet enabled him to see clearly on all sides and, inasmuch as the water here was not deep, for the first time known to anyone the mouse-beaver beheld the mysterious world that lay beneath the surface of the ocean.
Low, sandy dunes stretched out below, presenting a veritable flower garden with their growth of colorful seaweed. In between them shot small iridescent fish, which seemed to be seeking refuge from the roaring convoy passing over them. Vision was limited to the right and left. Above glimmered something like an orange-red lantern: the sun.
The swiftness of their travel was astonishing. Now both of the men realized also that the Akvons were, in fact, living recoil rockets. With their mouths they sucked in a constant stream of water, then placed it under pressure in the middle of their bodies by means of a special organ and jetted it out at high velocity from a stem tube under the guiding tail fins.
The thrust must have been enormous because Marshall was convinced that the Akvons were only swimming at about half their capability out of consideration for their new allies
High above the stratosphere, the 2 heavy cruisers followed their orbits in freefall. Their radio communication centers were on open standby for the reception of any messages. They waited.
Deringhouse also waited, with the Gazelle. The scoutship still lay undetected under the heavy roof of foliage provided by the tropical forest. If necessary, it was ready at any moment to take off and go into battle. Marshall only had to press the red button of his tiny transmitter; the bearing signal would ensure that he and his companions could be located.
And last but not least, McClears and Tiff still waited. They sat in their transparent prison cell without knowing whether or not anyone had picked up their signals at all...
• • •
After several fruitless attempts, Al-Khor succeeded in placing firm ground once more under his feet. He had slid down the smooth trunk of the tree, bruised, scraped and lacerated his skin, and had fallen the last 15 feet or so. In so doing, he sprained his heavy, scaly tail, which was extremely painful.
Limping on one leg and cursing to himself, he steered a course for some distance through the thick underbrush. After a search, he found his raygun and finally stood on the edge of the clearing, in which the station had once existed. Now it was no longer a question of a station but of ruins.
The 'Springers' hand grenades had worked their full effect. The cupola lay in a heap of rubble, the ground cars were destroyed and the troops were either dead, wounded or carried off.
Carried off through the air!
Naturally, Al-Khor reflected upon that phenomenon and he arrived at the local conclusion that the Springers must have developed some sort of device that nullified gravity at any desired moment and which then enabled them to move, any objects around in the field of weightlessness as they pleased. For the incident he had experienced, there was no other explanation. At least no natural explanation; and Al-Khor defended himself against considering any othe
r kind.
He searched through the rains and rubble and finally located a ground car that was partially intact. He was pleased to find that its radio set still functioned. He called the troop garrison headquarters and received an immediate recognition signal.
"This is Al-Khor speaking, Section Commander of South Coast. The Springer captives were able to break free and destroy our station. I request immediate assistance. Send me a ship."
The answer was not very encouraging. "We are in top red alert, Al-Khor, and we can't spare any of the few ships we have. Try to make it through to Headquarters on your own. There is danger that the Springers are getting reinforcements and will attack us."
"Whom do you thin you are telling all this to?" shouted Al-Khor furiously. "In the final analysis it is I who brought this entire situation to your attention and..."
"We shall expect you at Headquarters."
The receiver clicked. Al-Khor cursed indignantly and smashed the transceiver equipment with a single blow of his scale-armored right fist... They could just figure out for themselves how they were going to take care of the Springers. He had time.
Then he dug into the supplies of food provisions on board the domed vehicle and treated himself to a leisurely supper. As he prepared his camp and decided to spend the night here, it was dark already.
As the grey dawn approached, he woke up half-frozen. Somewhat later, he was grateful for the warmth of the rising sun, which rendered his limbs tractable again. After an ample breakfast, he started the engine and rolled across the strewn rubble to the narrow road, which led in the direction of the coast and to Headquarters.
A twinge of conscience compelled him...
Without knowing it, he rumbled along sometime later past the hiding place of the Gazelle. He struck a course to the East and finally approached the steel island off the coast in which the Topide officer staff was quartered and in which their councils of war were held.
A boat brought Al-Khor to his colleagues, who were amazed to see him but nevertheless received him with reserve. It appeared as if they held the escape of the prisoners against him and held him responsible for the planned action of the
