by Perry Rhodan
"Oh, it’s as simple as that," Piotrowski sneered sarcastically. "Find yourself another boy for your donk-brained scheme!"
Clinkskate groaned as he got up impetuously and walked up to Piotrowski. His face was flushed in anger. "Did you forget who put you back on your feet, my good friend? Remember Canada. I insist that you obey my orders!"
The physician cringed in fear. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead and he croaked weakly: "You beast, Clinkskate!"
Clinkskate slapped him hard across the face with his uninjured hand. "You’ll do as I say!" he screamed.
• • •
Each sleeping chamber was covered with a lid that fastened by a lock. He could have blasted the lock open with a shot from his pistol but he was afraid it might cause the goon-squad to come running back.
Kennof examined the hinges and determined to his satisfaction that their construction would yield to his mechanical skill. He removed some parts from the deflector and used them to loosen the lid. When he pulled it to the side he was able to look inside the sleeping chamber and he saw an old man with a bald-head and a moustache who was a picture of serenity. Kennof wondered what the oldster would expect from the future which he had bought for hard cash.
As Kennof lowered himself into the chamber he expected the occupant to open his eyes at any moment and demand to know in a stern voice what the purpose of his visit was. The cell-plasma had a pleasant temperature. Kennof’s feet touched bottom when the upper third of his body was above the surface. He waded toward the sleeper. The body of the old man rocked slightly. Kennof had experienced many weird situations in his life but now he suffered a queasy feeling. However he had started this unsavory business and he was determined to go through with it.
He cautiously touched the chest of the sleeping man with his fingertips—and shrank back. The skin of the man was cold as ice. Kennof was filled with repugnance and a vague fear. His wet pants clung uncomfortably to his legs. He closed his eyes for a moment to collect his thoughts. Then he touched the ear of the sleeper and pulled it. It was a spontaneous act. The earlobe was strangely soft and elastic.
Suddenly the ear tore loose! Kennof uttered a terrified cry and reeled back. The gurgling liquid rushed into the gap where he had stood. His brain, paralyzed by horror, gradually began to function again. He still held the ear between his fingers. It didn’t bleed! Nor did any blood flow from the wound in the man’s head. Kennof forced himself in a superhuman effort to examine the thing in his hand closer.
The dim light made it difficult to recognize its consistency. The ear wasn’t made of human flesh and it probably was not even fashioned by an organic substance but this fact didn’t make Kennof feel easier. He wondered whether the whole body of the man consisted of bioplastic material or whether the masquerade served to conceal something else inside the figure.
Was something under that layer that waited to be freed by Kennof?
Even the bravest man has his moments of panic fear. Kennof was inwardly shaken and his mind was in danger of losing its balance although it was far above average. Mechanically he crawled out of the chamber and rested motionlessly near the opening to catch his breath. His body was almost totally wet and the cool air in the cave caused it to steam. Kennof trembled as he lay in a puddle of water.
When he gained control of himself his first reaction involved the sleeper. He slid to the opening, and looked down and almost at once regretted it.
The mustachioed man made peculiar swimming motions. Somehow the movements of his limbs didn’t even appear to be human to Kennof who had never witnessed anything like it. He watched the eerie spectacle with great fascination.
Suddenly his eyes bulged when he noticed that the skin of the man’s face began to flake off. Kennof didn’t have the stamina to observe what emerged under the human skin. He grabbed the lid and pulled it over the opening. Completely exhausted he slumped on the cover. The gas, which had been discharged by the pistols, left a foul taste in his mouth.
He was unable to tell how long he had lain there, when he was jarred out of his stupor by the sensation that somebody tried to lift the cover under him.
• • •
Fedor Piotrowski tried to let the idea sink in that he was forced to kill a man—with his own hands.
His life had left a wretched trail of vile deeds. The physician looked back in his mind on his nefarious past. He knew that he was evil but he considered this defective quality of his character to be inborn and thus beyond his control.
His wickedness was different from that of Clinkskate. Whereas Clinkskate’s acts were motivated by selfishness and brutality, Piotrowski was able to take an objective view of his behavior. Good and evil were clearly defined in his mind. His concepts were no different from those of decent people and each time he committed a transgression he told himself "You’re doing wrong!"
It was more of a sober statement than any self-reproach or guilty conscience. Piotrowski had attained a certain distance from his own self which permitted him to observe himself as another person. This objectivity had almost taken on a separate status, a harmless strange form of split personality.
At this moment he decided with complete detachment: Fedor Peotrowski is on the verge of killing a man named Richard Kennof. He will do it with a gun tucked away in his boot.
Piotrowski realized that he could be the one who had to die in a duel of wits because the wily fugitive didn’t seem to miss a trick. It would be a question of who was smarter and faster on the trigger.
The physician entered the sleeping cave in an inconspicuous manner. He made just as much noise as was necessary to keep Kennof from believing that he wanted to sneak up on him.
"Stay where you are!" Kennof called from his vantage point. "What do you want?"
"I came to help you," Piotrowski answered. "I’m Dr. Le Boeuf’s assistant. The others don’t know that I’m here."
"They do now!" Kennof said derisively. "You’ve talked more than loud enough for the microphones."
Damn it! Piotrowski swore silently. How could I forget all about them?
Kennof raised his gun. "I’m not stupid enough to fall for your clumsy tricks, Doctor," he said. "You better leave at once!"
Clinkskate’s voice shrilled from the loudspeaker in helpless fury: "Piotrowski, you lousy amateur!"
Piotrowski noticed that Kennof remained rigidly on his spot. Then he recognized why: the detective pressed the weight of his body against the lid which covered the chamber.
The physician was terrified by the thought that Kennof had awakened one of those monsters. He threw himself to the ground and quickly pulled out his gun. Kennof remained glued to his position in full view. He was unable to leave his place because he would have to face an adversary far more terrible than Piotrowski with his pistol.
They both fired at the same instant. The rumbling echo made the sound of the whizzing bullets reverberate in the cave so that the rocky walls seemed to drone. When it was still again, Clinkskate’s voice broke the silence. "Did you get him, Doctor?"
"No," Kennof replied in a firm tone, "I nailed him! "
8/ "I’LL RULE THE WORLD!"
Owen Cavanaugh rode up to the last stop of the elevator and got out. The landing pad of the helicopters was a few steps up and across from him. Cavanaugh opened the glass door and walked out on the roof. A fresh breeze blew in his face and stirred up some scraps of paper.
After climbing up the steps to the landing pad he saw the pilot coming out of the cabin and he stopped in surprise. "Who are you?" he asked in an imperious tone. "Where is Ben?"
"Ben suddenly became sick," the pilot explained. "I was called in to take his place." Cavanaugh studied him suspiciously. "I’ve never seen you before. Who hired you?" he inquired gruffly. Ben’s replacement smiled and replied: "Mr. M’Artois."
"I hope you can fly as well as Ben," Cavanaugh said, apparently dismissing his doubts.
"You’ll soon see for yourself, sir," the pilot reassured him.
"What’s your name?" Cavanaugh asked lamely.
"Jacob," the new man introduced himself.
"Jacob?" Cavanaugh frowned as he boarded the helicopter. "I prefer to call you Ben for the sake of simplicity."
"As you wish, sir," the man replied respectfully and climbed into the pilot seat. He started the motor and the blades began to rotate with increasing speed.
"Do you know our destination?" Cavanaugh inquired. He had to shout because his voice was drowned out by the roaring engine of the climbing copter. Jacob simply nodded. "I want to get there as early as possible," Cavanaugh ordered. They flew over the city and other machines came into view. "You fly very well," Cavanaugh acknowledged. "However I have a feeling that we won’t agree on the place and time of our landing."
"Quite possible," Jacob concurred. Cavanaugh shoved a little object in Jacob’s back. "Do you know what this is, Jacob?"
Without turning around the pilot replied: "A needle-beam gun, I suppose."
"You guessed it, friend. And now let’s fly toward Yellowstone National Park, whoever you are."
Jacob asked calmly: "How did you find all this out so quickly?"
"M’Artois has no authority to hire anybody. All employees of the ISC are selected by me and Mr. Clinkskate."
"Your frankness can save us a lot of questioning," Jacob suggested. "It would be much better for you if you’d tell me all about your operations."
Cavanaugh smirked in amusement. "Your unmitigated gall is not going to save your hide," he said mildly. "It would interest me to know who you are and for whom you work."
"I’m the man who’s going to arrest you. And then there’s another man whom neither I nor you know at the moment, the man who’ll have the duty of sentencing you." Jacob looked back with an affirmative gesture.
"Are you with the police?"
"Not directly," Jacob informed him. "I’m an agent of the Solar Defense."
The pressure from the gun increased and Cavanaugh’s face looked ashen.
"And now," Jacob demanded, "confess what the Sleeping Corporation really represents!"
"You know nothing!" Cavanaugh thundered. "You’re just trying to put the screws on me to get some information. Don’t forget that you’re the one who is in a bad fix."
"You might as well throw in the towel, Cavanaugh," Jacob said, changing the course of the machine. "At this moment four helicopters of the Solar Defense are on their way to Cheyenne. They’re manned by a dozen specialists who can extract all the information from the ISC we want to have in no time. As a precautionary measure we have reported our investigation to the State Police of Wyoming and they’ve already dispatched a task force to the location in order to lend us a helping hand if it should be necessary."
The President of the ISC screamed hysterically: "All this won’t do you any good! You can’t prove anything on us. We operate under the supervision of the government and have passed every test. You know that you won’t get out of this copter alive, Jacob! But I’ll prevail. Some day I’ll rule the world. You may not know it but I’m the future Administrator of the Solar Imperium. Rhodan will soon be finished. My friends and I will break his power together and they’ll back me up when I take over the reins."
"You’re sick," the agent declared soberly. "If you shoot me the copter will crash. There’s nothing you can do to me.
"I can force you to take me to Wyoming," Cavanaugh countered.
"You can’t force me to do anything," Jacob contradicted. "I’m flying, to a station of the Solar Defense where they’ll take care of you."
Even as he spoke he caused the helicopter to plunge down abruptly. Simultaneously he struck a hard blow against Cavanaugh’s arm, which made him cry out in pain and fire a shot which hit Jacob’s arm. He grabbed Cavanaugh’s hand and turned back. Cavanaugh rammed his hard skull against Jacob’s chest and the pain took his breath away. However, he managed to push Cavanaugh’s weapon to the side.
The machine rapidly lost altitude and swayed like a huge dragonfly over the rooftops of the city.
Cavanaugh was unable to keep the weapon in his grip. Jacob pulled him forward with irresistible force although the ISC President defended himself like a maniac. The tight space didn’t leave much room for fighting. The helicopter was left at the mercy of the wind and began to spin crazily. When the machine tipped over to the side Jacob glimpsed for a moment the dark shadows of the houses which approached with dangerous speed. Meanwhile the other pilots in the air traffic had noticed that the machine was out of control and the air police rushed in with screaming sirens.
Jacob could picture a crowd of people standing in the street and watching the show with anxiety. Cavanaugh struggled like a wild beast but the agent matched his greater strength with his superior skill and experience. Finally he managed to seize the control stick with one hand while he held Cavanaugh back with the other. "Stop fighting!" he warned, "we’ll be smashed to pieces on a roof."
Cavanaugh groaned wildly and redoubled his efforts. In a surprising move Jacob let go of the controls and hit his opponent under the ear with the edge of his hand. Cavanaugh collapsed with a moan. Now his face looked drained and worn. He had dreamed a short but dangerous dream of power. Jacob was still unaware of the insidious extent of his treachery.
The police patrol caught up with him and the sirens simmered down. An officer barked through a megaphone: "Are you donk? Take control of your machine and land at once! Your reckless stunts are endangering traffic!"
A few seconds later Jacob succeeded in straightening up his machine. He opened the side window and stuck out his badge so that the police flying above him could see it.
The officer shook his head in disbelief and turned to his companion. "An agent of the Solar Defense!" he exclaimed. "And crazy people like that are entrusted with our global defense!"
"It’s the same old story," the other one griped. "People like us who can carry a tune (have something on the ball) never get a chance. But you better pay attention to your control stick because we’ll soon hit the ground. It’s only 30 meters below."
• • •
"Can’t you fly a little faster?" Celia inquired impatiently.
"We could do a lot of things," Shane Hardiston replied, mistreating his earlobe by twisting it upward. "Normally the Solar Defense reacts with greater speed but we’re not on an official mission. The colonel can’t go to war when a private citizen issues an emergency call, especially if we don’t even know the foe. The only reason he allowed us to take off on this errand was because he has a soft spot. I hate to think of the jam Kennof will get him in if he made a mistake. Just the arrest of Cavanaugh alone can cost him his job if it turns out to be a false alarm."
"If Dick sends an SOS the colonel can rest assured," Celia demurred pertly.
"Yes, yes," Shane said with a touch of irony. "This Dick is quite a fellow as he stumbles from danger to danger."
"You monstrous ogre!" Celia exploded.
Hardiston leaned forward and asked the pilot: "What do you say about it?"
"I don’t know," he replied laconically. "I’m only the pilot."
They laughed, having no inkling that Kennof was about to be engaged in a battle of life and death.
9/ MANKIND BETRAYED
The pressure against the inside of the lid grew stronger and stronger. Perhaps it was only his diminishing strength, Kennof thought, but he would not much longer be able to hold back the invisible prisoner.
Once the unknown captive had succeeded in raising the lid a few centimeters and a hand had appeared in the crack. Kennof had slammed his pistol on it and squashed the same bioplastic material of which the ear had consisted, which the detective had held between his fingers a few hours earlier. The real hand was pulled back instantaneously—or was it a claw? A feeler or a tentacle?
Kennof was unable to recognize its shape. The glimpse he had caught was too brief to see more than a flitting extremity. Yet he was certain of one fact: it was not a human hand.
He felt as if
scales had dropped from his eyes. Now he knew what purpose the extensive preparations served which the ISC performed on the innocent candidates who came to them for a long sleep. It was not meant to prepare the bodies of the poor victims for a prolonged hibernation. The reason was quite different. It was a method for obtaining the exact measurements and contours of their figures and facial features, enabling the criminals to duplicate a bioplastic skin in authentic details which was then used to conceal the bodies of those kept in the containers.
The dupes who had signed the contracts were instead transported to an unknown destination by the use of the strange transmitter.
There was not a single human being sleeping in the chambers!
But who were the creatures the ISC had secluded in its caves? Mutants? The result of a reprehensible experiment?
Where did they send the people through the transmitters? What goal did Cavanaugh and his accomplices pursue with their despicable machinations? How could he dare such a crime in the heart of the Solar Imperium?
The lonely man clinging to the metal cover of the tank could find no answers to his questions. However there was one thing he could discover easily: what really was inside the chamber! All he had to do was to relent his grip and move a little.
He wished that Snyder were present for his elucidation. Somewhere in Wyoming a number of men—and a girl—were on their way to rescue him but they would come too late.
Kennof felt tired and weak. His clothes dried on his body after he had suffered bad chills. But his mind functioned with remarkable perfection and his fear had given way to a certain resignation.
The thing underneath him struggled with undiminished tenacity for freedom. The cover was lifted again and Kennof braced his feet against a pipe socket to hold it down. There was only a thin metal plate between him and his adversary, and it began to slant up irresistibly.
