by Perry Rhodan
"I can't take your bet," Larry called from his chair. "How could I bet against you if I share your opinion?"
Gerard thought it a splendid idea to return to Lepso and make a thorough search of the temple city. He was just about to air his views at greater length when something peculiar took place.
Ron had just turned away from the window when he noticed a sudden gentle, hazy vibration in the air. Puzzled, he took one step closer to inspect this strange phenomenon, when the shimmering atmosphere changed abruptly into a cube-shaped box. It descended leisurely to the floor and settled on the carpet. The front of the box had a thick glass window. Behind it moved a viscous, green liquid and inside swam a light-and-dark grey mottled shadowy figure with elegant movements.
Ron quickly recovered from his initial surprise. "I'm so pleased to see you again," he said.
"Yes, my friend," came the reply, "I've come to say goodbye to you."
"Are you returning to Machraamp?"
"Yes. And I want to thank you for having tracked down our vanished brother."
"It was a sad discovery."
"It can't be changed any more. At the time I asked you to help us in our search for our brother I was already quite certain he could not be saved."
"How is that possible?" Ron inquired in astonishment.
"Otherwise I would have been able to establish contact with him," came the answer and the transec seemed to impart a hint of amusement to the voice. "I've been able to establish and maintain contact with you regardless of the distance between us. I managed to intervene just in time when you were about to be interrogated in one of the office buildings here in town as well as way out in the desert when you were threatened by great danger. It should have been all the more easy for me to be in contact with our brother... unless something had happened to him. But from the start when I landed here on Lepso all I could receive from him was a dull, incomprehensible mumbling. This led me to assume that he was beyond help. But I wanted to be sure about it."
There was a lull of a few seconds. Then the alien added in a mournful voice, "Now I'll return to Machraamp and we'll have to strike out our poor brother's name from our list."
"In any case," said Ron, "let me express my gratitude for your welcome help. Without your assistance I would probably not have gotten very far."
"Oh, don't say that," objected the creature from Machraamp. "You have a very strong spirit; you can cope with many an adversary."
Ron thought for a moment what he could add. "With your permission I would like to visit your people on your home planet some day," he stated.
"You will always be a welcome guest in our midst," came the answer. "You and also your friends."
Then everything happened again as on the first day of his stay on Lepso: the spot where the cube-shaped box had been was suddenly empty. The creature from Machraamp had taken its leave.
Ron stepped over to the window which faced the street. Far below, in front of the hotel entrance, he saw a strange-looking vehicle with a cube-shaped superstructure. It began to move and glide over into the middle of the street. It was soon gone from his sight. Ron consulted his watch. "Time to go," he said in a tired voice. "We're flying with a courier ship of the Trade Mission. Get ready, friends!"
7/ MISSION: LEPSO LIBERATION
Ron would have won his bet if a certain person had been willing to accept the challenge. Colonel Quinto was waiting at the edge of the landing field when the courier ship touched down. After a brief welcome he explained to Ron Landry and Larry Randall that they could have all of five hours to get rested up after their flight home. He brought them to their hotel and ordered them to appear in his office at the indicated hour.
The colonel immediately seized upon Gerard Lobson. Shortly before their arrival the addict had taken a dose of Liquitiv and was now in a state of great excitement. He would probably have thought it a splendid idea if Nike Quinto had hinted at driving downtown to rob the main branch of the General Cosmic Bank. He didn't care at all what Nike Quinto had in mind for him—as long as there was some action.
On this occasion an incident occurred which Ron and Larry would probably remember for the rest of their lives. It all came about because Nike Quinto felt bothered by Gerard's hyperactivity. He tried to put a damper on it with his usual tactics and started to complain about his high blood pressure, blaming Gerard for his rapidly-aggravated state of health which was bound to end up in a heart attack before the hour was out.
Gerard listened to his diatribe a few times, then burst out: "Why don't you stop your bellyaching! If your blood pressure really bothers you so much you should retire from your job and let somebody better qualified handle it. I'm eager for action, and high blood pressure or not, I won't be held back!"
Nike Quinto swallowed hard several times; his face grew even redder than before—but he kept his mouth shut. As long as Gerard was around he never mentioned his high blood pressure again.
• • •
Five hours later Nike Quinto announced very seriously, while trying in vain to make his high, squeaky voice sound full of importance, "The affair we are dealing with is of such significance that I've received instructions directly from the Administrator himself. I want to point this out to you right from the beginning so that you won't have any illusions about bringing up any arguments against the course of action I'm going to propose to you. Just take note of it and act accordingly."
Then he added in a more moderate vein: "The reason for this is in no way due to the fact that the Administrator has personally worked out these instructions. As you all know, he has no illusions about being a superman who can do everything better than the rest of humanity or any other race. These plans were calculated with the help of the entire positronic potential at our disposal here in our capital. We have been unable to detect any mistakes in it—our brains are too puny compared to the intellectual capacity of these computers. Is that dear?"
Ron nodded briefly to indicate his approval of the situation. Larry, as usual, refrained from making any comment by either word or gesture. Ron silently admitted to himself how impressed he was so far with Quinto's opening words. As a rule, Perry Rhodan, the Administrator, was a man talked about with the same awe and admiration with which a child would regard the feats of the great sorcerer in a fairy tale. The Administrator was far removed from the hustle and bustle of this world. He was sitting on a throne high up above the clouds somewhere in a nebulous, faraway land. He never mixed in any ordinary affairs. His activity was limited exclusively to the highest plane of interstellar politics.
This was the picture most people had formed of Perry Rhodan. So it was very exciting to hear that he was inserting himself in the Lepso affair.
"Why is that so?" Ron asked.
"Why is what so?" Quinto countered, all jittery now. "Make yourself clearer, Major. Vague questions upset me and make my blood pressure shoot up. So what is it you want to know?"
Ron smiled. "What is so important in this affair that the Administrator considers it necessary to intervene?"
"That's simple to explain," answered Quinto. "The priests of the Baalol cult are involved in this Lepso affair. The Baalol cult has once before played a role in Terran history. That was some 60 years ago. The Imperator of the Arkonide realm fell victim to a devilish plot. He was robbed of a vital device, thus attempting to force him to abdicate. This plot was hatched by Baalol priests. And the stolen device was recovered from a Baalol priest's possession after a long pursuit leading all the way to the Gela System and a violent battle. The Baalol priests are powerful mutants with an incredible diversity of psi-faculties. None of our Terran mutants can match forces with them. These priests can easily absorb the psi-powers of other mutants and turn them around against the original carrier of this particular faculty—to the latter's disadvantage, of course. Because they can turn an effect into the exact opposite of its original intent, they are known as the 'Antis'.
"It has become known to us that the Antis have erected a wid
e network of places of worship all over the galaxy. We have no knowledge, however, of the aims and purposes of this cult. The only thing we have been able to ascertain is that we are not dealing here with one single, well-defined deity or several of them. The cult proclaims a mystical belief of bringing ultimate wisdom to its true believers and being capable of freeing them from all spiritual and physical suffering.
"In addition to that we have found the Antis to be clever traders. No wonder then that they have dealings with the Springers... since they evidently are in a position to provide the Springers with valuable merchandise. Also the Aras, the bio-medical geniuses, have often been seen in the company of these Baalol priests. Since these two races, the Aras as well as the Springers, are in no way favorably inclined toward our home planet, the Earth, it's only logical to assume that we have nothing but evil to expect from these Antis.
"Now they have started up some new enterprise on Lepso. The Springers are most Likely their source of supply of raw materials for the production of Liquitiv. The Aras concoct from that their devilish brew and the Antis get the use—whatever that might be—of the half-dead addicts the Lepso police deliver to them in their temple city. The Lepso police force participates in this affair probably only because of financial advantages it derives from bringing these addicts to the Baalol priests.
"These facts should help clear up a little what this Lepso affair is all about. It is our task now to prevent any further spread of this drug throughout the galaxy and especially to stop it from penetrating Terra's sphere of influence. Meanwhile we have had chemical analyzes made of the samples you have brought back with you from Lepso. Our researchers, however, have come to the conclusion that on the basis of these samples alone no real progress can be made in our fight against this menace. They must also study the victims of this addiction. Therefore you will now return to Lepso and liberate as many of the prisoners kept in the temple city as you can. Are you ready for this mission?"
A shudder ran down Ron's spine. He remembered what had befallen him as he attempted for the first time to penetrate into the temple of the Baalol priests. And judging by what Nike Quinto had just told him they would not send along any mutants to help him in his task. They would be just as helpless as he himself. So he and Larry would have to rely on their own resources and their wits. All alone to face a group of Antis endowed with paranormal faculties!
He broke out in a cold sweat. Finally he said, "It's not that I'm especially keen on it, Colonel. But I believe in finishing what you have started."
Nike Quinto greeted this statement with a smile of satisfaction.
"There is one more question I'd like you to answer me, Colonel," continued Ron. "I realize this whole affair is a most horrible problem for us. Several thousand people of various races have vanished so far on Lepso and among them 48 Terrans—and the consumption of that devilish beverage increases at a rapid rate. But why would the Administrator be personally so concerned about this affair so far removed from us?"
Quinto was toying with a pencil on his desk. He seemed to concentrate on formulating as brief an answer to Ron's question as possible. "It's quite simple," he finally said. "We've found signs of suspicious activity also here on Earth. It looks as if Liquitiv has already made its way to our own shores."
• • •
Several passer-by observed the man as he was staggering from the entrance of a small office building. He started moving along the sidewalk all the while trying to steady himself against the wall of the house. He seemed to be afraid of falling to the ground. Indeed, he looked as if he would collapse the moment he'd let go of his support.
Nevertheless, whatever might be wrong with this man, his body build was that of a powerful giant, with broad shoulders and strong hands. But something seemed to have drained him of his strength. His knees were trembling and his hands kept fidgeting. His cheeks were all hollow. Yellow-grey skin was stretched taut over his cheekbones yet still looked wrinkled and flaccid.
It was not clear which direction the man wanted to go. Of course it would have made most sense for him to go straight to a hospital but the nearest one lay in exactly the opposite direction. Finally one of the passer-by took heart and approached the sick man. He intended to explain to him which way he should take in order to get some help. But he had hardly taken a few steps when the piercing howl of a police siren could be heard coming from the air. He stopped in amazement and looked up. He saw a gyrocar descend slowly near the wall of the office building and land a few meters away from the sick man. Before he could properly comprehend what was going on, some policemen had jumped out of their car and surrounded the sick man. He seemed to offer no resistance —since he obviously lacked the strength to do so—when he was seized by the policemen and dragged inside their vehicle. A few seconds later the gyrocar lifted off the road and disappeared amid the heavy traffic above the roofs of the city.
The good Samaritan began to doubt whether all this had taken place, all had happened so fast. Then he thought better of it and went on his way.
• • •
An hour later the policemen unloaded the sick man in a desolate desert. He was not fully aware what was happening to him. Somebody—he could not properly see who it was—picked him up and carried him swiftly toward a group of buildings which rose out of the desert sand. He did not notice any door opening but suddenly he was inside one of the small houses. It was dark. He lay quietly for awhile, waiting for his eyes to get adjusted to the tiny beam of light that entered the room through a fist-sized hole in the ceiling. Then he looked around and saw that four other people rested on the floor. They were obviously in the same predicament as he himself, very sick people. They did not move and showed no interest whatsoever in the newcomer.
They evidently expected he would behave the same way they did. But the newcomer got to his feet and walked to each of the motionlessly-resting figures on the floor. For the first time he noticed some reaction to his strange behavior. They followed his movements with their eyes, incredulous that someone who looked as ill as they themselves was capable of standing on his feet so shortly after his arrival and could even walk around the interior of the hut.
Two of the reclining men shoved themselves with feeble, limp movements as far as the back wall and tried to raise themselves up while holding onto it for support. After several vain attempts they finally succeeded. They were coughing and panting after their tremendous exertion. But they finally sat upright and could clearly see the man who stood before them.
He nodded toward them as a sign of encouragement and satisfaction. With a rather energetically-sounding voice he said: "You seem to have enough strength left to show some curiosity. That's good—we'll need some men who can move around within a few days. You are all Terrans, aren't you?"
The pair sitting at the wall nodded affirmation. And the other two still lying on the floor made feeble signs to express their confirmation.
"They always..." croaked one of them, "bring together... people of the... same race."
"Save your strength!" said the tall, erect man. "Don't talk unless absolutely necessary."
Then he introduced himself. "I've come here directly from Earth to help you. I'm a major of the Terran Spacefleet. My name is Ron Landry."
• • •
His plan had succeeded so far, thought Landry. Still back on Earth they had injected him with some drug which caused a peculiar change in his appearance without harming him in any way. After he had landed on Lepso he went directly to a building where the Springers were known to have an office. He had stayed there just long enough to make sure he was seen by the Springers—who had phoned the police to come and pick him up.
Now he was inside the temple city, inside one of its small buildings, together with four sick persons who until a short time ago had been so apathetic that they hadn't even known each other's names. Ron Landry's appearance had awakened their curiosity and activated the last remnant of their physical strength. Still, it was questionable whethe
r this tiny amount of energy would be sufficient for them to cooperate in their rescue.
From the four inhabitants of the miserable hut Ron learned that one had to imbibe Liquitiv at least four to five times in order to become addicted. He had been eager to obtain some information on this point for, after all, he had been forced once to drink the stuff. He wanted to know how close he had come to becoming a victim of this dangerous drug.
He further found out that the majority of the prisoners in the temple city were members of humanoid races but that there were also several hundred non-human victims. This was proof enough that this dangerous beverage affected intelligent beings regardless of their origin and metabolic system. This heightened the potential peril of the liqueur. Ron realized how, with the help of Liquitiv, the Antis with their allies the Springers and the Aras might possibly spread addiction throughout the entire galaxy and enslave its inhabitants. For there was nobody, so it seemed, who was capable of resisting the effect of this devilish brew.
The captive sick men had no idea why they had been brought to the temple city. It had been hammered into their heads that from now on they should be the devoted servants of the Baalol priests. Lack of devotion was severely punished—by solitary confinement in a completely dark room and reduced food rations. But no one knew what purpose this devotion served. The sick prisoners never had to do anything, fulfill any tasks, except lie and rot in their huts, spend their days in a state of lethargic debility.
They told Ron that this lesson of devotion was learned in the so-called instruction sessions. Ron could not find out what such an instruction session was like, for their descriptions contradicted each other. He consoled himself with the fact that sooner or later he too would be taken for such a lesson.
