by Perry Rhodan
With their tracing and sensing devices the soldiers of Earth had quickly located the subterranean installations where the narcotic elixir had been produced. Robot commandos and elite troop detachments had penetrated such areas and occupied all locations which appeared to be at all important. Nevertheless when the facts were in it was soon apparent that Lepso alone could not have produced the tremendous quantity of the toxic elixir which had made itself evident throughout the galaxy.
Surveillance patrols were flown on regular schedules as a precaution against the possibility of some strongholds on Lepso not having been discovered. Stephen Elliot circled over the sombre grey town, beyond which the barren Lepso landscape extended. He manoeuvred his glider to a lower altitude. For him the daily routine flight was over with.
"Hi there, Stephen," said a cheerful voice suddenly.
It jolted Stephen although he knew who had spoken. Desoga had a very unconventional way of handling his voice traffic on a military waveband. As Elliot switched on his transmitter he had a vision of the lean Spaniard as he sat there below in the control post.
"This is glider FTP 34," announced Elliot. "I read you."
Desoga could be heard coughing. In the matter of rank he was Elliot's superior officer but Elliot asked himself as he often had in the past how it was that such an unmilitary type could direct operations which required a high degree of responsibility."When I look out the window I can see you up there," Desoga remarked.
Elliot stared below disconcertedly. From his position he could not determine which of the grey buildings down there contained the patrol post. From the air they all looked alike. Moreover it made no difference to him whether Desoga could see him or not."Don't come in yet, Stephen," ordered Desoga.
Elliot sat there in the wide-view cockpit and waited. Desoga made a few snuffling sounds as if he were waiting in turn for Elliot to say something.
Finally he forced himself to answer: "Do you have further orders, sir?"
Secretly he cursed Desoga-in fact this whole city and the entire planet which seemed to consist of nothing but rocky wastelands and barren cliffs. But Desoga finally spoke again before he could include other items within range of his maledictions.
"Yes I do, Stephen." He cleared his throat in a way that made Elliot think he was in for something. "Get over to sector X45-B3," ordered Desoga. "A report's come in from the sentry detail over there. Apparently they've uncovered a small enemy base that we hadn't braced before." Desoga had not traced down a single enemy stronghold as yet but he spoke as if he had discovered them all. "The guard troops have a mutant with them, Stephen. He's a telepath. Presumably there's supposed to be just one man holed up out there somewhere. Go see what you can do."
It was typical of the Spaniard's orders. He had given no specific instructions as to what Elliot was supposed to do. Nevertheless he banked away toward the coordinate he had been given.
"It might be a good idea," said Desoga pleasantly, "if we could take this fellow alive."
At any rate the Spaniard seemed to know more than he was telling Elliot. Desoga always seemed to know more than people around him. The pilot suddenly realized that this might explain a few facts-such as why this skinny Spaniard was his superior, sitting there in the patrol post.
"Very well, sir," Elliot replied.
But apparently Desoga had cut off already. The city fell away behind Elliot All he could see of it as he looked back was its dark silhouette on the horizon. Fering, the small brownish yellow sun of this system, still dispensed enough light to illuminate the landscape below. But Elliot wasn't concerned with keeping a constant surveillance on nothing but rocks and gravel.
"What are we doing here, anyway?" he asked himself.
It was a question that nobody seemed inclined to answer. He glanced at his flight panel. In exactly 10 minutes he would be in the grid sector that Desoga had indicated. The troops there would probably be looking for him by now.
As he had expected, when he circled over the area he could see the men waving at him. He made a smooth landing. The sentries' uniforms revealed that they were a unit of the Solar Fleet. They were heavily armed. Two combat robots were present but they remained lightly withdrawn from the men.
Elliot clambered out of the small flier and felt the unyielding stony ground of Lepso under his boots. This being an oxygen planet, the Terrans were able to operate without their spacesuits. It was hard for Elliot to figure out why this world, of all places, should have blossomed into a center for intercosmic smuggling. Lepso had been the central transacting and liquidation point for all such shady dealings until Perry Rhodan had shown up with the Solar Fleet. Even the counteraction of the Springers' cylindrical long-ships had not kept Rhodan from moving in full force against the Antis.
A stocky soldier came up to him. "You must be Elliot," he said by way of greeting. "Desoga told us you were on your way here. We were told to hang loose until you arrived. I'm Corporal Higgins, in charge of this detail."
Elliot looked around him at the 16 men of the sentry squad. Where was the mutant the Spaniard had mentioned? He was sure he could pick out any member of the legendary Mutant Corps immediately.
Higgins seemed to guess his question. "The telepath's gone over to a second detail with Lt. Lechner. Lechner has captured some suspicious-looking Arkonides. They're from some colony of the Greater Imperium and at the time of our attack they were here on Lepso for some shady reason or another."
It was obvious that Higgins was expecting him to take over the command here. Uncertainly, Elliot looked out at the desolate terrain.
"So what's the story here?" he asked.
Higgins was anxious to give his report. "The mutant has detected a hidden enemy post up there," he said, and he pointed toward a low flat hill that seemed a very unlikely place, in Elliot's opinion.
Higgins only shrugged. It was obvious that he wasn't familiar with how mutants operated. Nor did he seem to think it was any of his business. He was satisfied with the matter as far as he had been able to bring it. Any decisions beyond this stage he was glad to leave to somebody else.
But he added: "The mutant told us that there's only one Terran holding out there. He's supposed to be armed but the telepath thinks he's not dangerous."
"That we'll have to find out," Elliot decided.
Corp. Higgins struck an attitude of being the battle-scarred veteran. "Yes sir, that's right!"Elliot didn't have any clear idea of how he was supposed to take this so-called 'stronghold' but since the men were expecting him to make something happen he started moving toward the hill.
Higgins chattered on beside him. "We already tried to contact that Terran by radio," he said, "but no luck there either."
They had traversed about half the distance toward their goal when Elliot's problem was solved in a very surprising manner. A swaying and staggering figure appeared on the hill.
"Forward!" Higgins called out to his men. As he ran past Elliot on his rather short, bowed legs he was suddenly almost comical. Elliot merely increased his walking speed. "That must be the one, sir!" Higgins yelled as though they were preparing to storm a Springer battlecruiser.
Elliot was wondering about the stranger up ahead. Why should anybody who had been hiding out for a long time suddenly pick this moment to show himself to the very forces he had presumably tried to escape from in the first place? The man was either sick or completely exhausted, judging by the way he reeled almost drunkenly down the hill toward them.
"Take it easy with him," Elliot ordered. "He seems to be wounded."
He and Higgins and two other men were the first to reach the stranger. There was no doubt about his being a Terran. He was of medium stature and very thin-almost as skinny as Desoga. His features were sunken and more than half-covered with a growth of beard. His clothing was badly torn and he had a makeshift bandage on his right thigh.
The man looked into Elliot's face without knowing apparently where he was or whose hands he was falling into. Elliot had a hunch that the
fugitive's leg wound was not alone responsible for his condition. There was something familiar about that vacant stare. He suddenly remembered seeing such a look on the faces of other prisoners here on Lepso a few weeks back. This one was heavily addicted! He was far gone on Liquitiv. Elliot shuddered inwardly. Desoga had ordered him to bring the prisoner in alive but he knew he'd have to move fast if he was to comply with the command.
"Give him some support, Higgins!" he ordered.
They surrounded the half-dead captive and dragged him to the glider.
So far no one suspected that this man was the beginning of a new trail-a path that would lead directly into the heart of the galaxy. Except that this might have had something to do with Desoga, the lean Spaniard who was waiting with more than usual interest for Elliot to return to the patrol post.
• • •
What Elliot could not know-for the simple reason that no one had told him-was that Miguel Desoga was a special agent of Solar Intelligence. After a private conference between the two of them, Rhodan and Mercant had decided to station a mutant and a special agent in each town of Lepso. This strategy was to prevail for a duration of two months until they could be certain that this second planet of the Fering System did not harbor anybody who might have important information. Miguel Desoga had sent his pilot out of the room two hours ago. Now there was only the doctor who had been trying with hypos and other medical treatments to bring the semi-conscious prisoner into some kind of shape for interrogation.
"He's lost a lot of blood," explained Dr. Silverman. "That raygun wound in his hip is a bad one-and then of course he's been pretty well gutted out by the narcotic poison. It appears to me that he's been on Liquitiv for more than 12 years. At least he has all the symptoms."
The Spaniard's dark eyes narrowed. His lean, intelligent features were taut. "So you mean he's going to die?" he asked.
Dr. Silverman eyed him disapprovingly. "Yes, in fact quite soon."
"Hm-m-m..." Desoga studied the emaciated figure of the patient who sat a few yards away in a chair, completely slumped down and helpless. In spite of his moribund condition he gave an impression of high intelligence. "Alright, Doc," Desoga said somewhat peevishly, "bring him around so I can talk to him."
Dr. Silverman knew that it was completely useless to argue with an agent. He had worked with such men for 20 years. When they made a decision they always had a good reason for it. He prepared another injection. Desoga waited calmly until the doctor was ready.
"If were lucky," Silverman announced finally, "he'll be fully conscious in about 10 minutes. Then you can question him."
"For how long?"
Silverman shrugged his angular shoulders. "All depends on his resistance. If this is your bad day he may only talk for a few minutes before he goes out completely. But at the most you'll have just under an hour or so."
Desoga decided that in any case he'd have to run a tape on the interview. He got his equipment ready. Since he would have to hurry the interrogation he had little time to prepare his questions but the recorder was an incorruptible witness. It would pick up every detail of the conversation and the replay later would be much more effective than Desoga's memory alone, however well trained. He had hardly finished his setup before Silverman gave him the signal.
"He's coming to."
Desoga drew up a chair and turned it around backwards so that he could lean on its backrest and face the patient. The subject groaned softly. His eyelids fluttered.
"You can go now, Doc," said Desoga curtly. "I might need you again before I'm through-so stand by!"
"You might need me," muttered the doctor, "but he won't-not any more!" And with that he went out of the room. Desoga nudged his chair a bit closer to the awakening prisoner. "Can you hear me?" he asked in a deliberately urgent tone. "Do you understand me?"
The man nodded. He opened his eyes, which were bloodshot and red-rimmed. He was looking at him in obvious bewilderment. Desoga decided to give him a minute or so to collect himself.
"Where am I?" stammered the prisoner.
"Back on Earth," Desoga lied. He knew that his subject was aware of approaching death and every Terran in his condition always had an instinctive longing to be back on his home planet before the end came. "You are in a hospital."
"Hospital?" The addict repeated the word in dull wonderment.
Desoga took one of the other's hands and shook it gently. "We want to know who you are."
"I am Dr. Nearman." The sudden statement came with a note of pride. "I am Nearman, the well-known biologist and astro-medical authority."
Desoga had never heard of any Dr. Nearman but before he could ask any more questions Nearman continued with his story. "I left the Earth about 38 years ago," he said.
Desoga was alarmed to see the pupils of the man's eyes changing from small to large and back again continuously although the light in the room remained constant. Was it because of the stimulus of the injection-or a sign that the end was near? "What were you doing on Lepso?" he asked him.
During the following half-hour, Nearman gave a somewhat incoherent report which Desoga had to keep clearing up with questions in between. It developed that Dr. Nearman had become friends with a man named Dr. Edmond Hugher-no less than Thomas Cardif himself. They had worked together on the further development of Liquitiv. Desoga presumed that they had hooked Nearman on Liquitiv in order to bind him closer to the criminal organization. Dr. Silverman's guess that the victim was in his last stages turned out to be valid. After the appearance of the Solar Fleet on Lepso, Nearman had experienced his first qualms of conscience concerning his activities. He had tried to get away and had been wounded by a shot from a robot. Yet in the overall confusion he had been able to reach a hiding place and there the mutant had detected his presence. Being completely exhausted and unable to resist any longer, he had finally given himself up.
Desoga found out that Dr. Nearman had an excellent knowledge of galactic navigation and he knew his position calculations. He kept talking about a mysterious planet named Okul. Somehow Desoga made a connection between this planet and Thomas Cardif and the Antis because Nearman mentioned that the 'organization' was convinced that it would find a safe sanctuary there. As far as he could, the Spaniard extracted all the data that the dying man seemed to know about this very secret world.
Desoga sighed with relief when he checked the recorder and found that everything was still operating perfectly. He was sure that they would be in a much better position to use Dr. Nearman's information on Terra than he was here on Lepso. He was already deciding to send it to Earth by the fastest means possible.
"Okul must be a jungle world," Nearman continued. His voice was becoming weaker with each passing moment. "I remember Dr. Hugher saying that there was no intelligent life there. That's why the Baalol priests figured it was reasonable to establish a settlement there."
"Just keep talking, Dr. Nearman," Desoga urged quietly.
Suddenly the biologist was seized by the strange apprehensions which all dying people seem to experience. "Are you a doctor?" he asked. "What do you want from me?"
"Everything is alright," the agent assured him. "You are safe. Nothing is going to happen to you."
But Nearman's gaze had stiffened and gone blank. Desoga knew that the man was dead.
He stood up and went to the door. Dr. Wilverman was sitting outside in the hallway with his legs crossed and a notepad on his knee."Better come in here, Doc," said Desoga.
6/ TARGET: OKUL
The histories of galactic empires all have one paradox in common: the more they extend themselves and the larger they become the more their existence is endangered. There are two reasons for this. A smaller realm, which is under the protection of the Imperium, never has much to fear. If the greater empire is conquered, the smaller community of worlds automatically transfers to the possessions of the enemy and under the new rulership its peaceful life continues. For a major Imperium, however, such a policy isn't possible. It has to battle
for its existence against opponents who are either of equal strength or stronger or weaker. It is very seldom that one race of people ever arrives at the point of ruling one galaxy alone. The basic reason behind the paradox lies simply in the immeasurable distances between the various solar systems. Through the natural course of development a cosmic Imperium is governed from the mother worlds of the ruling race. From that center invisible threads reach out to the various colonial planets, to many commercial bases and to the conquered and friendly worlds of other races. With the passage of time the task of coordinating all events and operations becomes gigantic. Even through application of all technological facilities it becomes impossible in the long ran to monitor and control a mighty stellar empire from a single planet.
The inevitable consequence is the political sovereignty of a number of colonial planets which then pursue their own ways. It simply goes beyond the capacity of any intelligence to extend and maintain its rule from a single planet across the fantastic dimensions of a galaxy. And no concentration of military might can help. No matter how vast the battlefleets they become lost among the stars. Further, the histories of mentally advanced races prove repeatedly that the Imperium is only a transitional stage. But during this phase the destiny of any given race is decided. One portion of it succeeds in contracting itself and, thanks to its technological development, it is able to shut itself off from every attack-whereas the remaining portion is systematically destroyed.
An old cosmic law states: the more advanced the race is, the less frequent is its appearance in the power struggles of the worlds.
But in order to reach such a state of socio-technological evolution, the long and difficult road of the Imperium must be traversed. The Solar Imperium found itself at the beginning of such a road, and already there were signs of increasing difficulties. Opposing forces were becoming more numerous and more powerful. An Arkonide philosopher had once said: "All we are doing is to continuously extend the battlefield-otherwise nothing changes."
