by Perry Rhodan
Vetron shouted, "I will order you annihilated, you barbarian! I—" Then Admiral Vetron gaped, suddenly struck dumb by the sight of the fiery tornado that broke from the broad side of the super-battleship.
Light-speed ribbons of energy, hot as a star and thick as giant propulsion jets, shot with a murderous lightning burst against the high-tension defense screens of a small robot-controlled cruiser of Vetron's fleet. The 300-foot diameter spherical ship vanished in a blinding white inferno of unleashed atomic fire. All that remained was an eddying ball of gas, which other nearby ships hastily sought to avoid.
"That was a warning, Vetron," the stranger called to him again. "Pull back at once. I have received full authority to interrupt your mission. Now take that fleet and get lost!"
10 seconds later, Vetron received confirmation from the robot brain. The Automaton had only now made contact. The Arkonide gave the order for withdrawal—he considered himself beaten.
200 fleet units got under way and disappeared from their carefully calculated attack orbits. Vetron considered it beneath him to hail or communicate with the stranger who had appeared so suddenly in his midst.
Silently, the chief officers of both Earthships watched the departing fleet formation. The many small dots of light became a single tracking blip on the screens. Admiral Vetron adhered strictly to latest orders. Minutes later, he had submerged into the cosmic void.
Rhodan gave a slow whistle, shaking his head. "That boy shows a lot of respect for his elders," he drawled, unamused. "Except that to him, Papa is a Machine! Something's rotten in the Empire of the Arkonides."
Capt. Brian signaled across to him from Com Central. All clear. The small Mooff System seemed practically deserted, as though it had never harbored in its planetary orbital paths a considerably large fleet of spacers.
Except that the surface of the red-glowing celestial orb #6 was still bubbling and boiling. The ordinary bombs that had been released, garden-variety fusion charges of 50 megatons, had been more or less wasted without much effect on this giant. The super gravity had already pulled back the earth masses torn up by the explosions. Within this canopy of high-pressured atmosphere, the mushroom clouds ordinarily produced by such spontaneous atomic reactions had been replaced by rather small cloud formations.
Glassy, congealing craters were left, whose initial glow was radiated away with exceptional rapidity. The energy weapons of the attacking spaceships had burned mighty canyons into the ground. The atmospheric analyzers registered the presence of thick clouds of ammoniac gases rising from the seas where the ray-beams had struck.
"It's a hell world!" exclaimed Everson, swallowing hard. He stared apprehensively at the super-battleship's gallery of viewscreens.
For 8 minutes now the ship's propulsion engines had been under full-power deceleration. In another 5 minutes the Nav Positronicon had swung them with a clinical exactness into the calculated orbit. The Ganymede followed at a distance of about 1200 miles. Final vernier adjustments were made in their orbital configurations before both ships settled into free-fall. The rumble of the bulging engines of the Titan died out. It became suddenly very quiet on board the mightiest ship that had ever crossed the galaxy.
Rhodan was observing the two para-psychically-gifted beings who were the only members of the so-called Mutant Corps, who had not fallen sick. Pucky sat motionlessly on his hindquarters and peered across at the viewscreens. The mouse-beaver's crafty expression had changed. A trace of suppressed uneasiness was perceptible in his large brown eyes. Wuriu Sengu, powerful of physique and a bit rural in his habits, unconsciously fingered his wide weapons belt. He stared through the electronic windows of the ship, as though into some world of uncorporeality.
All-clear signals were coming in from the various stations. The sick crewmembers were held quietly in check. Deep sleep therapy appeared to be the only sensible course at the moment.
Half an hour after locking into orbit, the mission briefings began between the leading scientists and officers of both battleships. Rhodan explained the plans in detail. Following the withdrawal of the semi-robotic Arkonide fleet the urgency had subsided, particularly since from here on no one could leave or approach the giant planet without being seen.
They were all there, the veterans of the bitterly-fought Honur engagement—all except for the oldest and most trusted ones, those with the greatest experience and the ones with the parapsychic faculties.
"No one can foresee all of the difficulties," said Rhodan at the end of the lengthy briefing. "Freyt will remain behind in orbit with the Ganymede —to cover our backs."
The tall colonel nodded a silent acknowledgment.
Dr. Hayward's giant figure appeared in the background. Until now he had been working in the ship's main laboratory. Heads turned around. It had been Hayward who had isolated the unknown poison. However, since then no counteracting antidote had been found.
Hayward answered the unspoken question. "Nothing! Obtaining the specifics for argono-hexylamin is a small impossibility in itself. One thing we've found, though, is that the sensitive nerve cells of the patients just can't last much longer. Also, the Argonin attacks the blood-building marrow. All of our blood-slides really look bad. The latest on the hyper-euphoria situation in general is that within 3 or 4 weeks at the most we'll be seeing symptoms of a very unusual form of leukemia. Haggard's serum will probably remain ineffective."
Hayward sat down on the edge of a mess table. A deep silence prevailed in the large room.
"Nothing like a reassuring report," said Rhodan in bitter irony. "There just has to be some way to counteract this poison or whatever it is!"
"If there is a way," answered Tina Sarbowna, "we simply don't know what it is. I'd estimate that it would take 3 or 4 years of research…"
Rhodan turned away in resignation; it was senseless to continue a discussion of this subject. And then he took up another topic: "I want you, in no uncertain terms, to make it perfectly clear to your people that we are going up against a form of life that has parapsychic capabilities. The Mooff race will never be able to produce an ordinary propeller, much less spaceships. But that doesn't detract from the unquestionably obvious intelligence. These beings live in the atmospheric seas of an icy, high-pressure world. Their natural means of inter-communication is telepathy. In addition they possess suggestive powers but these are only slightly noticeable to humans. Nevertheless we have experienced that a mental union of a number of Mooffs together can go so far as to force a healthy man against his will. So you'll have to issue general instructions to all attack commandos that there can be no venturing from the ship in groups smaller than 5 men at a time. If any member of a group is seen to be under any hypnotic control, his companions will have to take care of him and be on the alert immediately. In all cases give your people orders to shoot. Just keep in mind that we're confronted with an inhuman and apparently diabolical race. Remember the harmful effects they had during our last encounter with them. Don't hold your fire a second longer than necessary."
"You're overlooking the main point," interrupted Certch.
"And what is your version of that?" asked Rhodan.
"On two different levels. Mathematicians apparently have a different perspective. First of all we have to find these monsters before we can undertake any action. Once we have discovered them, however, the question remains, do they know anything about the Medical Masters of the galaxy, who in the final analysis are responsible for the poisoning of the crew. I'd like to advise you not to give too much weight to the Mooffs' parapsychic faculties. We will find in them a bitter enemy, a truly inhuman enemy I venture to say. They will instinctively hate anything that is not in harmony with their scheme of existence. A natural reaction! So concern yourselves from the start with these Aras people. Only they can cure our sick crew members."
"The path leads through the Mooffs!" cried Pucky shrilly and excitedly. His short little arms went into a blur of gesticulation. "Only through the Mooffs! And I'll match any hundred of
them at a time!"
"There are probably millions of them," said Dr. Certch, holding to his opinion. "Leave them alone. Our computations show with great certainty that a support base of the Aras exists on this world. They are the people in the background of all this."
Rhodan declined further pursuit of the subject. The facts were known and had been considered long
since. He had no thought of subjugating the jellyfish monsters, in the robot brain's sense of the word. He was indifferent to the galactic colonial policies of the Empire. On the other hand he felt that the road to a probably existing stronghold of the galactic Medical Masters could only be found through these inhuman creatures.
He finally broke up the meeting.
Col. Freyt returned in a commuter craft to his Ganymede. On board the giant Titan the hectic activity began for the attack preparations. Robot commandos were preprogrammed. The new hover tanks from the manufacturing centers of Arkon II were serviced for operation. They were to replace the regulation 'shift-craft' because these powerful vehicles offered much better possibilities. Their robotic equipment was easily adaptable to the present heavy gravity of 2.8 gravs and their armaments would have been capable of wiping out a conventional army of the Earth.
700 highly specialized crewmen, including those who were not to leave the ship, were equipped with Arkonide combat spacesuits. Rescue units in high-pressure armor-plated spacesuits stood by with antigrav flight equipment.
8 hours after the arrival in the Mooff System, a brilliant glow of light flashed from the super-battleship's navigation forcefield tubes. In a fast-dropping course it followed the swiftly increasing tug of gravitation. With a muffled roaring of the repulsion field projectors, the Titan hurtled into the upper regions of an atmosphere whose poisonous gases alone could kill a man instantly.
Then came the extreme high pressures at the bottom of this ocean of super-dense suffocating vapors. It was a hell world—too big, too heavy and too alien to ever serve as an effective base for an oxygen-breathing race.
On this basis it seemed to be almost a foregone conclusion that the robot brain decided on a total destruction of Mooff 6. But only almost…! For here, lived creatures whose outward repulsive appearance could not detract from the fact that they were endowed with a mind and intelligence.
Commanders with the stature of a Perry Rhodan could not avoid a certain bout with conscience, whenever they were forced to land on such worlds as this. The absolutely inhuman and alien nature of the enemy swayed one's very reason, which by a logical consequence seemed to dictate that no human sentiment should be allowed to enter. In the depths of this anxiety, Rhodan recognized that the problem had to remain practically without a solution. He had seen too often how insuperable the purely mental weapons could be. His counter-weapons against the parapsychic characteristics of the Mooffs, practically all of the mutants, had been knocked out. For the first time in the history of the New Power, humans were almost defenseless before supernaturally endowed intelligent-beings who had already demonstrated, on the planet of Zalit, how cruel and alien-thinking they were by nature.
So Rhodan was obliged to go a step further and remove the concept of cruelty from this particular chain of reasoning. Probably no word in the human vocabulary could be found that would fully assess the situation.
Pucky, the one remaining creature who was possessed of outstanding telepathic abilities, listened with his eyes closed. The jellyfish-like Mooffs had been able to develop their intelligence but the available backup data concerning this race had indicated unequivocally that buildings and other evidences of a highly developed technology were not to be expected. These entities had never been capable of manufacturing or fabricating a single item since they lacked the necessary physical requirements for this. The human hand, the most beautiful and practical tool of Nature, had never evolved among the Mooffs.
Increasingly bright-glowing gases built up compactly against the hurtling Titan's bow screens. Molecular compression was quickly developed here because of the natural air density. The automatic gravity neutralizers counteracted all traces of the increasing pull of weight on the Titan. The idling propulsion engines were required only for balancing and controlling the mass of the ship's hull. Overcoming the air-resistance was a task which only one of the 18 engines was able to handle.
"Triangulation negative," reported Capt. Brian from the Com Central. "No technical tracking traceable, sir. No radio traffic. Nothing, The qualitative scanners also drew a blank. Only naturally evolved elements, no synthetics, no alloys…"
No muscle moved in Rhodan's face. He gazed silently at the giant screens of the panoramic video gallery. Just now the super-battleship passed through a storm front of frightening turbulence. In the upper air strata of Mooff 6, demonic forces seemed to combat those traces of actual life forms which had slowly developed at the bottom of the atmospheric oceans.
"Sector P-3 explored, flying task course over search zone P-4," babbled the computer confidently.
The Titan began its second circumnavigation of the planet but this time closer to the equatorial zone. Any recognizable surface areas were rendered in infra-red and electronic scan-tracings into relief maps, programmed accordingly, and were fed in the form of millions of impulses into a pressure die caster. Wide plastic strips glided from the steaming extruder of the high-precision cartographic automat. The 3-dimensional renderings of surface areas represented a tolerance of plus-or-minus 0.001%.
After the 12th trip around, the relief map of the Northern Hemisphere was completed.
10 minutes later, the first telepathic impulses were felt. It happened with such surprising swiftness, without warning or transition, that the mouse-beaver was badly shaken.
"It's here…!" shrilled Pucky. His large eyes gleamed as though with an inner flame.
Rhodan hurried over to the furry creature, who was obviously disturbed. Small, rose-tinted hands grasped Rhodan's arm.
"What is it?" queried the 'seer', Wuriu Sengu, excitedly. Tensely, he bent over the trembling mouse-beaver.
"Little one, speak!" whispered Rhodan imploringly. "What's the matter?"
Behind them, Everson's mighty figure went into a whirlwind of activity. His fingers shot across the console keys of the manual command computer. There was a muffled roaring in both forward engines in the ring-bulge, a deep thunder in the inertial-neutralizer chambers. In the fraction of a second, the Titan paused in its rapid flight. Rumblings resounded in the power sectors of the lower decks. Fine fingered filament bundles of highly concentrated quantum rays held the ship in a hovering mode. Humming auxiliary gyros reacted to the signals of the automatic stabilization circuits.
The men at the fire command center of the great fighting ship started suddenly, finally concentrating their gaze on the small vidscreens of their target trackers. Nothing could be seen. Nowhere was there to be observed any circumstance or condition that could be construed as threatening or disturbing.
Maj. Chaney, commander of the ground force commandos, uttered a heavy oath—in the same moment that Perry Rhodan went into a seeming trance.
Perry's telepathic training was being put to practical use for the first time He opened all of his mental gates. The fallow centers of his brain became sensitive organs and scanners, which submitted willingly to the pulsing stream of, superimposed impulses. Pucky must be receiving it much more intensely. The Titan stood hovering in the turbulent wind. The impressions became stronger, until Rhodan could read in them a clear meaning.
Someone was calling! He cried out in utter distress and profound alarm, so penetrating and with such an intensity that the mouse-beaver began to whimper.
Don't land—stay where you are—don't land! Danger—don't land! They are waiting for you. Go back to where you came from! Danger—don't land!
Rhodan mumbled softly to himself. Dr. Certch cowered before the bent figure of the Commander. It was an unreal, thought-crushing situation. Always the same pattern of thoughts came through from the unknown sender
s. Suddenly the impulses were so strong that Rhodan swiftly threw in a mental shield of the will. Plagued by a piercing headache, he straightened up.
Only then did the shrill screaming register. Pucky lay on the deck in an agony of torture.
"Hayward, quick… somebody shouted sharply. The doctor was already there. Under the sharp hiss of the pressurized needle, Pucky's tissue absorbed the narcotic. Within a minute or so, the furry creature calmed down. Then he lay still after being placed in the pilot's seat.
Rhodan's face twisted in pain as he stared at Hayward's hands, his sorrowful eyes on the hypodermic. "Not for me—I'll stick it out. Get hold of Kaerner fast. Put a double watch on the Corps telepaths. If they wake up out of a deep sleep—" He interrupted himself, placing his face in both his hands.
Things quieted down in the giant Command Central of the super-battleship. Only the men at weapons consoles whispered hastily to each other. But there was nothing outside that one might have considered worth firing at.
"So there you have it," said Dr. Certch. "A surprise psychic attack, which by its overstrike would indicate that there's nothing down there but a bunch of nice, good friends. They're supposed to be warning us?"
"It sounded genuine. You could not hear it."
"As genuine as a politician's promise," said Certch. "But if we assume that the warning was given in all good faith, who transmitted it?"
"Certch, you may have a point. Well-meaning friends would not have blasted their parapsychic message at us with such a brutal mental intensity as to make a sensitive receiver like Pucky break under it. The well-intentioned telepath can recognize immediately when he has overloaded the receiver. So why didn't they stop after Pucky began to whimper?"
"Your argument is fairly convincing, Rhodan. But do you seriously believe that there are other telepathic beings down there besides those monsters? If so, why should they warn us? In case the unknown entities live in bitter enmity with the Mooffs, then a warning to us would be probable. But that would leave the question as to how they acquired their knowledge of space-flight terminology. They did say we should not land, didn't they? Let's just stay with the concept, 'to land', for a moment. What would methane-ammonia breathers, without any technology, know about a spaceship landing? Isn't it much more probable that they haven't the slightest concept of it? So who sent out the telepathic message? Actual unknown friends?"
