Secret Mission Moluk

by Perry Rhodan

  Then something came towards him out of the gloom. He squinted so that he could see better.

  It was a man in a spacesuit. Landi waved. They finally met and stopped. A third man appeared, crouching through the maelstrom towards them.

  "Everything alright?" asked the man next to Landi.

  Landi recognized the rich, manly voice at once. "Sir!" he stammered. "How did you get here?"

  "You might say the wind blew us," said the Colonel. "The others are right behind me."

  As though to confirm his words, some shapeless silhouettes appeared in the walls of sand. Landi could have shouted loudly in sheer relief. "What happened?" he asked. "Did everything go well, sir?"

  Some time went by before the commander answered. "Napoleon is a shape changer. At the moment he has the upper hand. His target is the Mexico."

  Landi, who also had been aboard the guppy whose crew had fallen under the influence of Mataal, felt his joy transformed into alarm. "What should we do now, sir?" he asked lowly.

  He knew the answer even before the Colonel pronounced it. They didn't have even the ghost of a chance against this creature. Once luck and chance had come to their help. Luck is a rare thing and repeats itself only infrequently. The radioman would have liked to believe that they would overcome all dangers. However, reality looked as though they were at an end.

  Amid the raging elements, the spaceman became aware that any hope for rescue was only self-deception.

  8/ END OF THE RACE

  The call signal had died. Three hours before, it had sounded hesitantly a few times, then finally it went silent altogether. Walt Scoobey wondered if the dark clouds visible on the horizon in the distance had anything to do with it. It was undoubtedly a mass of dust being driven into the air by a storm. The bad weather was evidently taking place where their goal lay. In vain the First Officer tried to tell himself that nothing was happening to the expedition. He hoped that they would have reached Landi's position before the next two hours had passed. Whether they would then encounter the men was a question that Walt Scoobey did not dare try to answer.

  They were making good progress. Murgut's strange attack had passed. The native had recovered nicely after having been given an injection by Dr. Lewellyn. Now he was more convinced than ever that the weapons of his friends were mightier than all the spirits of the desert put together. He stared respectfully again and again at the ray cannon being transported by the robots.

  No spaceship hull not protected by energy screens could hold up under an attack by this weapon. Scoobey wondered if the effect on ghosts and demons would be as impressive as the effect to which one was accustomed on solid matter.

  • • •

  The storm had ebbed to the point that the spacemen could stand upright. The area gradually grew light again. Napoleon kept away from the group. He gave his orders telepathically to Goldstein, who had to pass them on.

  Two attempts at attacking the molecular transformite had failed miserably. Napoleon had announced drastic punishments should there be a third attempt Goldstein guessed that the false Green was now in the act of putting them all one after the other under his mental control. Once he had done that, they were irretrievably lost. Ogieva, Bellinger, Dealcour and various others already presented such an apathetic aspect that the mutant suspected they were already mastered by Napoleon. Goldstein had long given up trying to resist the telepathic orders. The last molecular transformite was able to shrug off any action on the part of the mutant. They moved slowly through the dying wind, 30 depressed Terrans and one long-legged being whose true shape only a few men could imagine.

  Goldstein did not take note of the time that passed by during their slow march. It was purely meaningless when they reached the Mexico. The sun reappeared at some point during the march. It was already low over the horizon.

  The desert was quiet again and there was nothing to indicate that a hurricane had blown over it just a few hours before. Goldstein's body hurt in different places. A feeling of paralysis was spreading in the arm he had injured during the crash of the Mexico. A glance at the others showed the mutant that not one of them was in good shape. Bellinger had to be supported by two men. Pentsteven, the young astronomer, dragged his right leg behind him.

  The mutant looked at Everson. Even if he had wanted to, he would not have been able to pick up the commander's thoughts.

  Just as Goldstein was about to glance down at the ground, a dark spot appeared on a distant dune ahead. Soon a second appeared. Before Goldstein could say anything, there was an entire group.

  Scoobey and his men!

  I've already seen them, said Napoleon in his mind. They can't help you.

  Without stopping, the two groups moved toward each other. Goldstein noticed the robots pulling a ray cannon. He smiled painfully. The size of the weapon was utterly meaningless. A surprise was in store for Scoobey.

  Then Goldstein saw the Green. He walked behind Scoobey's men, his long legs moving over the sand in the inimitable style of his race. It was probably Murgut. The mutant gradually became aware of who had served as a mental relay station for him.

  A thought shot through his mind like lightning. Wasn't it possible that Napoleon's paranormal power would be weakened by the proximity of the native? Goldstein tried desperately to take hold of the native's thought pattern. Nothing happened. The shape changer had done his work carefully and not left the mutant any chances.

  They were still 50 meters apart when Scoobey's voice sounded in their receivers. "It looks as though we went to all our trouble for nothing, sir," he said happily. "I hope that your expedition was successful."

  Everson explained to him what kind of success they'd had. He had to bring all his ability in convincing argument to bear to convince the officer of the senselessness of an attack.

  After awhile Murgut moved to go greet his assumed compatriot

  Keep him away from me! Napoleon ordered telepathically.

  Although everything in Goldstein struggled against it, he could not refuse to obey the order. Every nerve fiber in him fought the mental pressure from the molecular transformite. His head seemed like a buzzing beehive. But his legs moved him toward Murgut in order to cut him off from Napoleon.

  Faster! came the mental command.

  Goldstein knew that it was wrong but he began to run. He raced across the sand to catch up with Murgut. Meanwhile, an odd chain of thought was forming in his mind. The closer the Green came to his false friend, the weaker Napoleon's pressure on the mutant's power of decision became. In return, the Green's parawaves were intensifying. Now Goldstein ran of his own volition. As he ran, he drew his gun.

  But he had underestimated Napoleon. Now, when the being had begun to lose control over him, Napoleon fell back on other methods. Directly in front of the mutant, a fountain of sand spewed into the air with enough force to tear the head off a bull. A jump backwards brought Goldstein to safety. He had no time to see if the others involved themselves in the struggle. Murgut marched unsuspectingly towards Napoleon. Then the shape changer began to flee.

  Goldstein's eyes were sealed shut with sweat. He fired without aiming. "It's a demon!" he cried to Murgut. In his excitement he had called out in English. Quickly he repeated himself so that the native could understand.

  The molecular transformite stumbled and fell. Murgut reached him first. The mutant did not dare shoot for fear of hitting the Green. Horrified, he watched Murgut help the enemy to his feet. How could he explain to the Green that Napoleon was an enemy? Goldstein called on the last reserves of energy in his body. A huge hole formed in the sand in front of him. He stumbled and almost fell in. Only the inaccuracy of the malicious attack had saved him. He ran around the crater. His terrified eyes watched the sand between him and the molecular transformite begin to rise. Like a gigantic wave, it rolled towards him. In spite of the Green's immediate proximity, the molecular transformite could still influence matter as he wished.

  "Duck, Sammy!" shouted a voice in his helmet loudspe
aker.

  He threw himself down, expecting at any moment to be buried under a wall of sand. Something hissed hot and angrily over him. He raised his head cautiously. The artificial wall had come to a halt. With effort, Goldstein scrambled over it.

  Murgut knelt before the motionless figure of the last member of a very strange race. The shot from a thermoweapon had oddly changed Napoleon. He no longer looked thin and fragile. The wrinkles of his face had smoothed out. He was half-buried in sand but that which the mutant could see no longer had anything in common with a Green.

  In death Napoleon had assumed his true form.

  Someone slowly came up to Goldstein's side. It was Col. Everson.

  "Who fired the shot?" asked the mutant softly.

  "A robot," answered Everson quietly.

  Together they drew Murgut away from the corpse. Now that the battle was over, Goldstein felt no triumph. Even the thought that in a few days they would return unhindered to the Earth in the Mexico could not pull him out of his depressed mood.

  SECRET MISSION: MOLUK

  Copyright © 1975 Ace Books

  by arrangement with Arthur Moewig Verlag

  All Rights Reserved

  THE SHIP OF THINGS TO COME

  THE WORLD by which they were now surrounded gave them an eerie feeling. They were familiar with the wide open spaces of the universe or the inhospitable surfaces of other worlds but rarely ventured into the deep regions of oceans. Although deep sea cruises in land-sea-air transporters had been part of their training they had assumed they would spend all their time in the comfort of a spaceship and never seriously contemplated a life underwater.

  As soon as they entered the water the observer had detected small semi-metallic objects moving in the vicinity of the ship. The way they moved indicated that they must be steered. Untcher tried to contact them with the short-range intercom but received no answer.

  The unidentified boats finally left as if they had been suddenly called back.

  What happens next is part of the exciting plot of–

  ENEMY IN THE DARK

  by Kurt Mahr