by Perry Rhodan
He did not know yet what danger this instruction represented in his case—but he was soon to find out.
8/ DISEMBODIED
He slept for a few hours, when suddenly he was awakened by the booming sound of a gong. He turned over on his side, wondering what this might be. For a fraction of a second he saw the pale face of one of the four sick fellows lying next to him but then he vanished. This sight was now replaced by another image: a wide, spacious hall, dimly-lit and quite empty except for three priests clad in flowing, shimmering robes. They stood in a row at the far end of the big room and fixed Ron with their stare.
Oddly enough, Ron did not have the impression of being in this hall in person. He was convinced that he was still lying in the stone hut and that the hall with the priests was nothing but an illusion. It felt as if someone had conjured up a colorful, realistic image of the hall with the priests before his eyes. Ron felt he had no part in all of this.
Suddenly the priests began to speak. Their mouths did not move but Ron heard their voices and understood their words. "Rejoice! You have been chosen to become the servant of the Eternal Truth and its guardians."
Ron knew these words were directed toward him and that he understood them in the same manner as on that day when he was being whirled around while he caught snatches of thoughts promising him a painful death.
Ron refrained from making any reaction to what was going on. He merely gazed in astonishment at the image before his eyes.
"But belief in the truth demands obedience," announced one of the priests. "There is no revelation of the truth without obedience. You'll obey us from now on or..."
He stopped speaking. Ron felt a burning, stabbing pain spreading throughout his entire body. He wanted to scream but since he was only present in a disembodied form, he lacked a mouth to utter the scream.
He understood the meaning of this demonstration. Whenever he showed a lack of devotion he would experience the same pain perhaps even stronger than this sample.
He thought to himself, 'Under these circumstances I too would be obedient to their wishes.'
The three priests seemed to receive this thought. "No reservations are permitted in your devotion to the truth," replied one of the priests, and Ron felt how the pain grew more intense. "We demand unconditional faith and obedience! You'll serve Truth and us, the guardians of the True Faith!"
Ron cringed with pain. He did not know what they were doing to him but it was terrible. He could not localize the pain. It felt as if his entire body had been thrust into a room filled with nothing but pain and torture.
Yes, I'll obey, thought Ron.
The pain subsided. Once again Ron could hear the voices of the priests. "On the subject of humility! The truth will be revealed only to those who are meek and submissive! Now return to your place!"
Ron opened his eyes. He expected to see the face of the sick man lying next to him as before but his place on the stone floor was empty. Ron turned on his back and saw one of his companions-in-misery kneel before him.
"That took... a very... long time," the man whispered, horrified.
Ron raised his arm and looked at his watch. He had no idea when he was awakened by the gong but he thought it could have been hardly later than five o'clock. It was a little after eight now. He had spent at least three hours with the priests in the hall.
The others assured him that this was quite unusual. None of them had ever "stayed away", as they called it, longer than one and a half hours. This worried Ron. Maybe the priests had noticed something in him that was different than in the usual type of person the policemen would deliver to them?
This was a risk he had to take into account. The Baalol priests were endowed with powerful psi-faculties. It was certainly within the realm of probability that they could distinguish the mind of a healthy man from that of a sick one. According to the descriptions of his co-prisoners, Ron learned that his body had thrashed about restlessly on several occasions while the priests had him under their control. This, too, was unheard of and had never before been witnessed by them. Ron resolved to conform his behavior from now on closer to that of a really sick person. So he let the entire day go by without undertaking any further ventures.
During the course of the day five dishes appeared in the hut on three occasions, brought there by some invisible hand. These dishes contained some grey mush. Ron's fellow prisoners greedily fell upon this meal. Ron was not very hungry and had to force himself to eat. But he nevertheless cleaned his dish just as thoroughly as his companions to avoid arousing any suspicions. The mush assuaged both hunger and thirst. The empty dishes all vanished again at the same time, approximately 45 minutes after they had mysteriously appeared.
Ron felt reassured by this for it seemed now a certainty that the priests did not keep the hut's interior under constant surveillance. Otherwise they would have seen when each of the prisoners was through with his meal and they should have removed the empty dishes in this exact order.
This observation encouraged Ron to leave the hut after night had fallen in order to have a thorough look at the temple city. He followed a certain purpose there. He wanted to know who had arrived during the past day—and he also wanted to search for Dr. Zuglert.
He examined the interior of several stone huts whose inhabitants were without exception all of non-Terran origin. There were mainly representatives of Arkonide colonial side branches but also a few Swoons and other non-humanoid races.
It took almost one hour until Ron discovered another hut inhabited by Terrans. Meanwhile his eyes had become adjusted to the weak light of the stars. So if he'd leave the door ajar he could fairly well recognize the captive lying closest to it.
He knelt down and whispered into the dark room: "Nike Quinto has a fat belly..."
And a few seconds later the answer came: "... and only 17 hairs on his head!"
Somebody moved inside. Ron saw a head emerge from the darkness. He recognized one of the five men Nike Quinto had sent to Lepso together with him.
"Everything okay, sir," reported the man.
"What can you tell me about the rest of the men?" Ron asked.
"Lester and Harrings arrived as scheduled. That's all I know."
"Fine. Is Zuglert in your hut?"
"Yes sir. He's quite active comparatively."
"Good—I have to talk to him."
He crept inside the hut. One of the inmates had listened in to their conversation. He sat up and looked at Ron. "Are you Maj. Landry?" he inquired in a weak voice.
"Yes, I am," said Ron.
"My name is Armin Zuglert," began the prisoner. "I have heard of your plan and am in full agreement with it. It's most important for me to get back to Earth."
"I didn't hatch out that plan," Ron said in reply. "And there is definitely a chance it might not succeed. So to be quite safe will you please tell me immediately what you know. One of us at least will get through all this and return home."
Zuglert welcomed this suggestion. He formed a strange contrast to the other sick people. He seemed to draw new strength from some well-hidden reserve. He was able to speak without constant pausing nor did he cough after every couple of words. He explained the reason for this. He was a medical man and had developed a method to husband the meager energy his sick body still would produce so that he'd have a small reserve left for whatever purposes he might need.
Zuglert reported that he had collaborated about 12 years ago with a Terran by the name of Edmond Hugher. Hugher was a bio-medical specialist just like Zuglert and it was Hugher who had introduced him for the first time to the liqueur Liquitiv. Hugher was involved in research into the composition and effect of Liquitiv. He seemed to believe that the beverage contained certain active agents derived from plants which had a regenerative and rejuvenating effect on man's mind and tissues. Both Zuglert and Hugher had drunk the liqueur. Zuglert became addicted. Hugher had vanished a short while afterwards without a trace. Zuglert did not know whether Hugher had been affected by the
drink in the same manner but he didn't doubt it—nobody had ever taken Liquitiv more than four times without becoming addicted to it.
Zuglert then had proceeded to make a thorough study of the symptoms and history of his addiction from its beginning to his eventual collapse. He made careful and systematic notes which he sent back home to Terra at regular interval to have them placed in his bank safe for security. Only the report about the last days before his collapse had still been in his office where it probably had been found and confiscated by the Springers.
According to Zuglert's findings, 12 years and four months elapsed from the onset of the addiction to the eventual collapse. Once Zuglert had even interrupted his regular intake of the drug for a longer period of time. This was done to observe the withdrawal symptoms. This lead him to the conclusion that no one could bear being without the drug for any longer than six Earth days at most. Severe exhaustion would be the immediate and inevitable result. This was particularly conspicuous since it differed so radically from the usual hyper-activity characteristic of the addicts. Mental deterioration followed swiftly afterwards.
Zuglert spoke also of his collaborator Edmond Hugher. He described him as being a quiet, good-humored but insidiously-smiling man who seemed to know a great deal more than he would admit. At least, Zuglert stated, he was amazed at the diversity, extent and depth of his knowledge.
And then Zuglert made a rather startling revelation. "I've still got a photo of him on me," he said. "I've always carried it in my pocket—he was such a valuable colleague of mine. I fondly remember him to this day."
Ron stretched out his hand. "Give me that picture," he demanded. "I've a strong suspicion this man isn't quite as innocent as he might seem to you."
Zuglert obeyed without any objections. He reached inside the pocket of his jacket and with a trembling hand pulled out the requested photo. Ron threw a quick glance at it and put it in his own pocket.
Then he left the hut. He continued on his round and found that five more of his agents had arrived in the temple city according to plan—all disguised as sick drug addicts.
• • •
Back in the command center of the Florida , Capt. Larry Randall looked once again at the big clock on the wall. This time his impatience was rewarded, both hands on the luminous dial stood in the right position. He breathed a sigh of relief and rose from his chair. Dick Kindsom, the officer on duty in the command center, looked at him questioningly. "It's time?"
Larry nodded. "Yes, time to get going."
Dick Kindsom regarded with utter distrust the Arkonide ship which could be seen as a dark hole amid the ocean of stars as depicted on the Florida's vidscreens.
"If only I didn't have such misgivings," he said.
"Don't worry," countered Larry. "As long as you keep the machine in constant readiness for reception, Dick, nothing can really happen. The worst might be that not quite as many people will arrive as expected."
Dick Kindsom's face still expressed doubt. "In any case, I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."
Larry thanked him. Then he walked over to the intercom and called the men who were to transfer together with him to the Arkonide robotship.
There was no delay; everything went as planned. Half an hour after Dick Kindsom had promised he would keep his fingers crossed the robot crew had been replaced by a new, live team. The ship detached itself from the Florida and proceeded at high speed toward Lepso.
• • •
The following morning Ron received another session of indoctrination.
Once again he found himself in the huge hall with the three priests. This time they explained the nature of the obedience required from their faithful servants: he must never attempt to leave the temple city.
This lesson was impressed on him with a powerful hypnotic command. Ron was convinced that the greatly weakened mind of the sick people made defenseless victims of them in the face of such overpowering influence. At the end of such a session the poor victims were bound never to consider again any desire to leave the city.
This meant, Ron thought to himself, the Antis were interested to see to it that the results of their misdeeds should never reach the outside world. The half-dead must never go beyond the confines of this city, the temple of the Baalol cult. On the other hand, the temple should look like a temple and not like a prison. Besides, the priests were in the minority, too few in number to be able to guard thousands of prisoners themselves. Thus they erected an effective barrier with the help of their paranormal faculties which none of the sick men could breach.
This realization infuriated Ron anew—and it was this anger which finally gave him away. For none of the other sick people still possessed enough strength to break out in a rage. The priests registered the strong, hostile emanations from the supposedly sick mind. From then on they observed him much closer.
That same day Ron was taken to a second session of instruction. This time the priests set a trap for him. They revealed to him the true meaning of the Baalol cult. They explained how the ultimate truth was considered to be the final goal of the cult's endeavors and that this truth would be accessible only to a chosen few till the end of time.
One of the priests said: "One day all the races throughout the universe will recognize and appreciate our role. And the overlords of the planets, the rulers of the star realms, will bow before us, honored to be permitted to kiss the dust at our feet."
At this point Ron Landry committed a vital mistake. He could not keep on listening to such rubbish—even with the utmost effort of self-control—without having some thoughts of his own. And he expressed those thoughts in no uncertain terms: "In reality they'll grind you into the dust!"
This threw the priests into such confusion that they remained temporarily silent. When eventually one of them took voice again he shouted: "This man is a traitor! Kill him!"
Ron recoiled. For a moment he forgot he was floating disembodied in this hall.
The walls of the huge room began sliding past him. He seemed to move although he had no feet upon which he could have walked. The priests diminished in size as he swiftly drew away from them. While he was slipping from their mental grip and putting distance between him and them, the priests up front became very agitated. They gesticulated, flourished their arms in the air and he heard them shout:
"Hold onto him! He mustn't escape from us! He's a traitor—he must die!"
For an instant Ron wondered why it was made so easy for him to escape from their influence. He did not realize before that it was sufficient to feel the strong desire not to die which made it possible for him to overcome the priests' mighty will.
Neither did he know that the priests had dealt for many months exclusively with sick people who could not offer any resistance to them. Therefore the priests' minds had become adjusted to the weak constitution of the addicts. Therefore it would take awhile for them to get used to the new situation in order to engage in battle with a strong healthy mind.
9/ THE FIRE OF TRUTH... AND A FLAMING REVELATION
Ron left the hall through a wide gate. There was a circular space in front of the hall. Passageways led from this place in all directions.
The priests' voices were no longer as loud as before. Ron felt triumphant. This meant that the priests were losing their influence over his mind. As soon as the voices could not be heard at all he would have made good his escape from danger. The only threat left hanging over him now was perhaps his inability to find his body again.
He chose one of the corridors leading off at a right angle from the hall's axis. His wish alone sufficed to cause the floor of the square to glide away from beneath him. He saw the exit at the far end of the corridor approaching.
The corridor was filled with a peculiar darkness which did not permit him to recognize any details. All he could see was a bright yellow light—daylight, he thought—way ahead at the exit. He moved toward it, driven by the intense desire to reach it as fast as possible.
He estimated
he had reached about the halfway mark when he felt somebody behind him. During the excitement of the last few minutes he had no longer paid any attention to the priests' voices.
"Up ahead in that corridor," someone shouted. "He'll get away from us if we don't hurry!"
"He won't escape," another voice stated calmly. "As a last resort we can always conjure up the Fire of Truth."
"Yes, but all our forces will be completely..."
"Silence, you fool! Lest you reveal everything to him!"
From then on there was absolute silence but Ron knew only too well that he was still being pursued by the priests.
• • •
According to plan the engines of the Arkonide robotship exploded 50 kilometers above the planet Lepso. A fiery glow, visible from a great distance, filled the skies.
Inside the command center, the only part of the ship to have remained undamaged, Larry Randall and his team prepared for an emergency landing. Their tracking system confirmed that they were at the exact spot where they were scheduled to be.
• • •
Ron recognized his mistake as soon as he had left the passageway and emerged in the bright yellow light beyond.
There was no exit there nor any sun-bathed sand with rows of small buildings. There was only an ocean of yellow light which seemed to have taken on physical substance, making it possible for him to swim around as tho in the water of a lake. He shot upwards, then plunged again into the depth, turned right and left but whichever direction he chose he encountered nothing but the same yellow light. He even failed to find again the end of the corridor from which he had emerged just a few seconds earlier.
All he was capable of perceiving was a sudden diminishing of the light's brightness. It assumed a reddish tinge. He felt heat flowing toward him from all sides. He looked around and recognized bizarre, distorted faces grinning at him from the constantly weakening light.
