Horn: Green

by Perry Rhodan

  • • •

  Inasmuch as the Morg envoy had a tail thicker than a human arm, he couldn't be expected to sit in a regular chair. A special prop had been fashioned for him which was sufficiently adapted to the characteristics of a Morg body so as to offer a maximum of comfort.

  However in this moment the Morg ambassador Stanour appeared to have no interest in making use of the special seat. In obvious agitation he had come close to where Perry Rhodan was sitting. His protruding eyes had a bluish sheen to them. All six of them were evenly spaced around his oval skull. In general the Morgs were a peaceful lot who remained aloof from the altercations between the galactic races but not very much of this pacifism was to be noted in Stanour just now.

  In his strange tongue he barked and howled at Rhodan. "The bases of addiction are increasing all the time, Administrator! In Pastonar, a small town west of the Troatara country, there are only raving lunatics left. The influx of narcotics is beginning to threaten our entire people."

  The extra-terrestrial's words were being translated by Eduard Deegan, Earth's Trade Commissioner on Morg. Other than Rhodan, Deegan and the Morg, Solar Intelligence Chief Allan D. Mercant and Reginald Bell were present in the room. Rhodan had deliberately refrained from bringing any others into the conference. A show of staff subordinates might have given the Morg an impression that he did not consider the envoy's problems to be important. Stanour knew Bell and Rhodan personally and it had been explained to him who Mercant was, so he was somewhat mollified by the fact that he was able to confer alone with these three powerful men.

  "Morg isn't the only planet we've gotten such reports from," said Rhodan.

  One could see that he had been overworked. The arduous test flight using the new linear spacedrive and his encounters with the Akons had left their mark on him. Also the additional burden placed upon him by the criminal narcotics smuggling had only served to aggravate his condition.

  "This poisonous business appears to be expanding continuously," Rhodan continued. "The suppliers seem to be located on Earth while the Galactic Traders are acting as the distributors."

  Deegan translated Rhodan's suspicions to the Morg, whose ancestors had once lived in swamps, but he did not seem to be inclined to become any friendlier.

  "The Springers say that the Terrans are the only ones to blame for the spread of these drugs," cried the Morg. "Do not forget, Administrator, that the opium that is appearing everywhere is of Earthly origin. The Springers claim that Terran politicians want to contaminate the different races of the galaxy so that they can be more quickly subjugated and made a part of the Solar Imperium."

  It was only with hesitance that Deegan translated this complaint. While he spoke, Rhodan's jaw muscles came into prominence. It was his only outward sign of an emotional response. Bell, however, could no longer control himself.

  "Those devils!" he gasped, springing out of his chair. "They're trying to compromise us systematically! If I only knew the miserable wretch who's working with them from our side—I'd personally crate him off to Pluto!"

  "My agents are working day and night," reported Mercant. "We've interrogated each and every suspect. An entirely new organization must be involved; the old dogs in the interstellar crime channels have nothing to do with this evil business. The top man is probably living right among us behind a mask of propriety— maybe a pillar of his community. How are we supposed to find him? Should we subject every single man to a thought probe by telepaths? That not only contradicts our ethical principles; it's also a fairly hopeless undertaking. By the time we got through with it the Springers would have already accomplished their purpose. In other words most of the races we trade with would deny us entry into their territories."

  "I've explained all of that to Stanour myself, more times than I can count, sir," said Eduard Deegan dejectedly. "It's hard to imagine what misery opium has caused these people. I mean, by comparison, a Terran addict would seem like a ray of sunshine."

  Rhodan interrupted him with a wave of the hand. "Tell him well do everything in our power to find the criminals behind this operation. We are prepared to send doctors to Morg to ease some of the worst of the suffering there. We simply can't do any more than that."

  "We have been trading openly with Terrans," shouted Stanour bitterly after Deegan had gloomily repeated Rhodan's words to him. "But this is now at an end. We are no longer interested in the presence of Terran freighters on Morg. Mr. Deegan has been an exemplary friend, he bears no guilt in this. Nevertheless we will have to disenfranchise your commercial base on our planet. So within a reasonable time you will kindly recall your people from there. A more precise time limit will be announced to you by our government. I am able even now to assure you that Quartrox-Zuat, the Emperor of Saastal, will follow our precedent in this matter. So I am also speaking in the name of His Majesty. After all, Saastal is our sister planet and we are closely allied with that race of people."

  Deegan delivered an exact translation of his message. Bell seemed ready to charge at the Morg with arms waving but a look from Rhodan held him back.

  Rhodan spoke to Deegan. "Take care of our friend until he has left the Earth. Tell him that we will respect the wishes of his government and will break off our commercial relationship." Deegan was about to get up but Rhodan hadn't finished yet. "Wait, Deegan. Also tell him that a day will come when Terran freighters will be welcome again on Morg and Saastal—as sure as my name is Perry Rhodan."

  Only Bell, his closest friend, knew the extremity of agitation that Rhodan was going through

  "Farewell, Administrator," said Stanour, and he and Deegan left the room.

  For awhile the three powerful men were silent. Each was immersed in his own thoughts.

  Mercant was the first to speak. "That was putting it pretty plain," he said dejectedly. "They actually believe that we are the ones who are distributing the narcotics."

  Rhodan nodded. Tall and lean, he sat there in his chair, an almost legendary figure in his neat and simple uniform. Only his eyes seemed to be alive in the angular face. His drawn, sensitive features could only belong to a man who bore the burden of a monstrous responsibility from minute to minute. The biological cell shower treatment on the synthetic planet Wanderer had kept Rhodan's body young but his mind and experience had not been held in such a state of suspension.

  "That was only the beginning," he said quietly. "Other planets will follow the example of Morg and Saastal. That's what the Springers want. If they succeed in isolating us economically we'll no longer be able to maintain our interstellar commerce. Neither linear spacedrive nor mutants will enable us to varnish over a situation like that."

  Bell clenched his fists. "This fool of a Morg! He'll find out soon enough what kind of cut-throats his friends the Springers are!"

  Usually when Bell let loose with a statement like this he laced his words with some that were not exactly appropriate but in this case his indignation was too genuine, so for once he was beyond criticism. The Deputy Administrator knew only too well what the results of the narcotics smuggling could be.

  "If we wait until then," countered Mercant, "it'll be too late for the Morgs and all the other afflicted races. I can't help thinking what would happen if the Springers ever got hold of some straight poppy seeds and were able to cultivate the stuff themselves. That would be the end!"

  "There's a slight flaw in your reasoning," Bell retorted. "Do you really believe that the Terran smugglers would give the Traders such an advantage? That would ruin their own business!"

  Rhodan had listened thoughtfully to his two friends. "Nevertheless I don't believe we should dismiss Allan's suspicions that easily," he said. "We don't know if something more than commercial motives is behind this Terran group of bandits—such as political objectives."

  "Political!" exclaimed Bell, rubbing his chin perplexed. "I don't follow you."

  Rhodan smiled without mirth. He came out from behind his desk and went to the window. Terrania spread out before him, the city
of superlatives. For Rhodan, a Native American, the Terranian metropolis was ineffably fascinating. It had become a second home to him.

  "There could be a group on Earth who would like to overthrow the present government," explained Rhodan. "What would they do in order to accomplish this? If they are completely unscrupulous they will seek to compromise us with every possible means."

  "Unfortunately that's all too true," Bell admitted. "I think we'd better crack down much harder on every smuggling organization."

  Rhodan turned from the window to look at Bell and the Intelligence Chief. "And that we'll just do, my friends. In four hours I'm calling a meeting and I want your officers to be present, Allan. Also our liaison people connected with all stellar commercial bases will be present. And I'm even thinking of bringing in a couple of the mutants."

  The conference took place at the appointed time. It was 18:00 hours, Standard Time, when it was opened by the First Administrator.

  • • •

  On this particular day the evening papers carried an interview with a certain Archibald Pincer, president of the Intercosmic Fruit Company. Mr. Pincer demanded that the Solar Fleet be committed immediately to a search for his son, John Edgar Pincer, who had apparently gone astray on a honeymoon trip to Vega. Readers who may not have found the report itself to be particularly amusing were at least forced to chuckle when they saw the picture accompanying the article. It showed a young man with a dreamy expression and ears that stuck out from his head. This was John Edgar Pincer.

  The young Pincer looked like a man who could get lost in his own house, certainly not like a bold space pilot who would be likely to take off into the void on his honeymoon.

  • • •

  Perry Rhodan closed his conference shortly after 20:00 hours, Standard Time. He had come to a decision with his staff concerning various measures to be taken in order to put an end to smuggling operations once and for all. On that same evening Stanour, the envoy from Morg, took off from the spaceport in Terrania.

  The population of the Earth had no suspicion of the difficulties now shadowing its immediate future. If anyone had asked an impartial observer what he thought was the most important event of the day, he might have grinned and replied: "Well, there's that youngster who went astray on his honeymoon trip."

  And he would not have been wrong, as a matter of fact.

  Because the only chance the Solar Imperium had for averting the threat of an interstellar commercial-economic boycott rested at this moment on the narrow shoulders of one John Edgar Pincer—a greenhorn.

  6/ FLIGHT OF THE FLEEING NO-FLIES

  The three Traders came to a stop and looked around them in apparent indecision. Pincer was watching them, hardly daring to breathe. Behind him the platform began to sway gently. The fourth birdman, Lupatz, had returned without a sound. Pincer gently nudged Schnitz in the back and drew his attention to the Springers down below. The native creature blinked at him and pointed to the carry seats.

  "No-flies hide tree hut," he said, pointing upward. "Schnitz make big trick."

  Somehow Schnitz impressed Pincer as being like a county fair magician who kept coming up every minute with a new brainstorm with which to fool the astounded public. Although Schnitz's bag of tricks was of course less pretentious, nevertheless he exuded a certain confidence which helped Pincer to hold onto his nerves. At any rate these bird creatures had to be the most optimistic extraterrestrials he had ever heard of.

  Pincer turned to his wife. "We have to hide in the tree hut. Schnitz wants to divert the Springers' attention. Do you think you can climb up that rope?"

  Cora nodded. She started to climb upwards. Schnitz watched her in complete tranquillity.

  "Now 'he' no-fly go, too!" he challenged Pincer.

  The cloistered young executive had never attempted such a rope-climb in his life. It seemed fairly easy because Cora made it without much effort. Pincer reached up and grasped the rope tightly. When he placed his weight on it, it began to swing and carried him slightly beyond the platform. While leaves and branches brushed his face, he didn't dare risk a look below him. The rope swung back over the platform again and he felt Schnitz's claw hand grasping his jacket.

  "No-fly no can do," was the native creature's professional evaluation. "Schnitz must help."

  Pincer was forced to endure the shame of leaning on help from the birdman. Kankantz, Lupatz and the fourth native looked on impassively at the Terran's struggles to climb upward. Schnitz had grasped him by the collar and was pulling him up branch by branch. Finally he stood next to Cora on the front ledge of the hut. He didn't dare look at her directly.

  "Come on in," smiled his wife. "Our new home isn't exactly aristocratic but it seems to offer the most security for the present. It might even be a good idea for you to hold your nose."

  Since she didn't seem to hold his aborted rope-climb against him, Pincer followed her contentedly into the hut. Schnitz remained standing at the entrance. The walls were fashioned of a conglomeration of boards, grass, leaves and moss.

  Light filtered in through a number of gaps here and there.

  "Take easy," Schnitz advised. "Now me talk to Springers."

  As he simply dropped back into emptiness, Cora could not suppress an outcry. Pincer gave her a warning glance because the crackling sounds in the underbrush below indicated that the Springers had come closer to the tree.

  "Hello, partisans!" croaked Schnitz from the platform below. Before Pincer had time to wonder about this expression, the birdman continued. "You bring present?"

  "No, you nosy featherbrain!" came a deep voice from a Trader. "We have no presents for your flock."

  "Then you make fast scram," Schnitz demanded with the coolness of an old brigadier general.

  Cora whispered to her husband. "If his deeds can match his impudence we should be able to relax under his protection."

  "Listen to me, you chirping ninny!" the Springer shouted threateningly. "We're searching for a man and a woman. They're thinner than we are and the man has no beard. They were wearing strange clothing."

  "Good friends to Schnitz," returned the birdman. "Make big present. Hope come back soon."

  "Which way did they go?"

  "More far into woods. That way." Pincer couldn't see what direction Schnitz was indicating to the Springers. "Already much time since here."

  A crackling of branches and rustling foliage indicated that the Springers were pushing onward in their search. Soon after that the silhouette of a birdman appeared in the entrance of the hut. And there was Schnitz leaning carelessly against the wall.

  "Thanks!" sighed Pincer, much relieved. "Many thanks, my friend!"

  Schnitz swept his claw-hand toward his beak as though it held a cigarette. His request was unmistakable.

  "What do you say if you smoke the next one?" asked Cora.

  "I'll give it a try," mumbled Pincer without enthusiasm.

  Schnitz waited in suspense until the Terran had lit up. Pincer coughed.

  "You shouldn't inhale," advised Cora.

  "Yes, dear," said Pincer chokingly while his eyes watered. He had already moistened the cigarette to such an extent that it was crumbling in his mouth and tobacco strands were getting into his teeth.

  It was like everything else in his life so far. Anything he touched somehow seemed to go wrong. He was gradually beginning to doubt that he was even capable of sending Rhodan a message.

  "Now we fly from here," suggested Schnitz, dissolving Pincer's dark quandary. "Lupatz, Kankantz and Tonitutz all ready."

  The birdman entered the hut and removed the rear wall by merely laying it back inside on the floor. Pincer noted with amazement that the creatures had cut a flight approach channel for themselves through the crown of the tree. Kankantz appeared with the carry seats.

  "Of course we can still change our minds," said Pincer with a wry face. But Cora silently shook her head.

  Suddenly they heard the typical roaring sound of a spaceship through the opening the
birdmen had carved out of the treetop, Pincer caught sight of the craft as it swept past them overhead. And he knew then that he could not delay his flight any longer. The spaceship was of Terran origin!

  Pincer did not doubt for a moment who this was—the man whom Valmonze had really been waiting for all this time: Shaugnessy!

  It meant no more and no less than a sentence of death for John Edgar Pincer and his young bride.

  • • •

  Toraman was Valmonze's eldest son. He had often seen his father in moods of excitement and anger but the rage he was in now made all previous emotional outbreaks seem insignificant by comparison. The patriarch was gripping the videophone console with both hands. On the screen was the face of a Terran which also did not seem to reflect the best of dispositions.

  "Shaugnessy!" raved Valmonze. "I demand an immediate explanation!"

  "You have to be kidding," replied the smuggler. "You should tell me what's going on! You weren't at the rendezvous point to take me on board the Val 1. When I finally got you on the phone you gave me some gobbledygook about fake poppy seeds. I don't go along with that at all—and now to top it off you want an explanation!"

  Valmonze realized that this would get him nowhere. Either Shaugnessy was a terrific actor or he really didn't know what the patriarch was talking about. "Alright, come into the port," he growled. "We can talk about it then."

  "That sounds a little better," nodded the man on the screen. "I hope by that time you've cooled down a little."

  Valmonze snorted angrily and shut off the instrument. As he turned he collided with Toraman, who had been standing close behind him. The latter drew back respectfully at once. The Springers who were present in the room watched their leader expectantly. In the background, only Amat-Palong had a derisive smile on his face.

  But for Valmonze, his aggravations were not yet at an end. The three Springers he had sent after Pincer entered the room and the patriarch could tell by looking at them that they hadn't found their quarry.