by Perry Rhodan
The intercom blared out an interruption. It was Pattizius Angustus whom Rhodan had commissioned to make a concerted blitz raid on all worlds of the Solar Imperium to confiscate the Liquitiv. The man virtually shouted his message: "Sir, we have just determined that yesterday another 16 million units of Liquitiv were brought to Earth from Lepso-yet this massive shipment has not been located so far!"
Rhodan turned pale. He looked at the intercom screen as if in a trance. "Angustus, get in touch with Intelligence and all police agencies available. The poison must be found! Use all the forces you think necessary for this operation. Forget the expense! But I shall expect you to locate it-that is all!"
Rhodan took a long, deep breath and stretched himself in an effort to calm himself. "Did you hear that, Arkonide? 16 million flasks of Liquitiv arrived yesterday and vanished without a trace. Alright, why are you waving your hand?"
"Why, Perry? Because just about three hours ago by Arkon time my Secret Service learned that 41 million flasks of the liqueur arrived on the Crystal World! Also, not a flask has been found, as yet. Our opponents aren't just playing games-they're using battering rams against our defenses. Don't these tactics indicate to you that they are aware of our plans-or that they at least have a suspicion?"
Rhodan's voice was almost metallic. "Atlan, I hope they underestimate us on Lepso!"
Over the distance of 34,000 light-years, Imperator Gonozal VIII regarded his friend through narrowed eyelids. He merely nodded as the hint of a grim smile touched his lips. "Perhaps, Perry, at this moment I am also underestimating you..." It was the last thing he said before he cut off the hypercom connection.
Destiny had once more been placed entirely in Perry Rhodan's hands.
The intercom screen lit up with the face of Col. Nike Quinto, Chief of Division 3 of Intercosmic Social Welfare and Development. He was not in agreement with Rhodan's policy of cutting off all sales of Liquitiv immediately. "Sir, you must remember the affidavits we obtained from the 48 addicts on Lepso. They all agreed on the fact that a lapse of six days in taking Liquitiv will bring on an attack-a craze for the stuff that ends in death if not satisfied. The whole process, from the time of an attack to the state of mental derangement and death, is supposed to take about four weeks. Then it's curtains!"
"Quinto, don't worry about it now. We'll be through with Operation Lepso in three days and we'll be back here. Then we'll go into this entire matter again-but when we do we'll surround ourselves with the experts. I assure you I didn't order a clamp-down on sales of the liqueur until after I had consulted with the medical authorities. Anything else, Colonel?"
Nike Quinto hurriedly switched off. He didn't need a signboard to tell him the Chief had rapped his knuckles for him.
Rhodan turned back to his assistants. "Atlan's report on that latest import of 41 million flasks is something that speaks for itself-but it makes our final decision easier. If they drive us to it I'm going to have to consider galactic war. After all, from their side we've been in such a war already and they're the ones who opened the offensive. From today forward, this is as far as they get. That goes for the Springers, the Mounders and the Antis-and if the Aras want to join them then I'll not end this war until I've pounded some sense into all of them. I am well aware of everything that is at stake here but all I have to remember is that on Earth alone there are multi-millions who have been addicted to this death drug. Then I feel compelled to go all out and risk everything-to guarantee that such a crime will never again be possible!
"The Fleet units present at the Terrania spaceport will be taking off in an hour and a half from now. We'll be going on board the Ironduke, which is faster, so that will give us an extra three hours before we take off. I still have a few chores to wrap up. Thank you, gentlemen!"
This was a Perry Rhodan whom they had never seen before. And it was a Perry Rhodan who didn't exactly please them. He had become a man who had drawn within himself and Out of his isolation he came to decisions which he had formerly been in the habit of discussing first with his closest colleagues and confidantes.
Yet there was someone else who had also acted differently than usual. This was Pucky the mouse-beaver. The little rascal was famous for what Bell always referred to as 'smarting off' at such meetings but in this one he hadn't made a sound. So he departed as he had come-by means of teleportation.
Rhodan's colleagues had come to a halt in front of the antigrav lift, clustering around Bell, who kept shaking his head almost incessantly.
"Well, did you notice anything peculiar in there?" he asked them angrily.
"Yes," said Julian Tifflor. "The Chief didn't once mention the name of Thomas Cardif in front of us nor did he speak of this Dr. Edmond Hugher or even make any reference to the subject."
Mercant, Marshall and Deringhouse were of the same opinion.
"And our Mickey mouse friend in there," added Bell. "He was always such a rooter for Cardif but this time he was especially strange. Either he's sick, because he didn't let a peep out of him, or the rascal has something on his mind again that he'll keep to himself till the facts are out. Mercant, it would be a good idea to keep him under close observation at all times."
Mercant laughed with a note of exasperation. "Thanks a lot! But I'm handing that one back to you right now! How do you think anybody could ever keep an eye on Pucky?"
At that moment the air shimmered and Pucky materialized. He drew himself up confidently between Bell and Mercant and his normally sincere big mouse eyes flashed in anger. In his shrill, chirping voice he turned on Bell. "You've got your nerve to stir up everybody about me but I'm going to tell you something you'd better remember: you can't even badmouth Thomas Cardif without my knowing about it! Nobody can condemn him in spite of every suspicion to the contrary, you-you bunch of pharaohs! (He obviously meant Phaxisees)"
Enraged, Bell reached for him but grasped only air. Pucky had elected to teleport out of a hot spot.
"That crusty little freak!" exclaimed Bell. He ran both hands through his red stubble of hair in a gesture of vexation. "Sometimes he comes on just a bit too cute to suit me! It gets a little old! Alright, Mercant-why so unhappy? Has Pucky moused his way into the cockles of your heart?"
"It's not that, Mr. Bell," replied the Solar Marshal, "but I think there's cause for being ashamed at this moment. Our mouse-beaver friend gave us a moral slap in the face and I think we all deserved it."
"Is that so?" retorted Bell belligerently. "When those 20 million addicts are dead, Mercant, you may be talking out of the other side of your mouth-and maybe then you'll have another opinion of Thomas Cardif."
"Perhaps, Mr. Bell, but only after it's been determined in the first place that Cardif is completely in possession of his mental faculties again-and in the second place that during the past 58 years he obtained a medical degree somewhere and has been able to take an effective part in producing the Liquitiv."
Bell turned impulsively, staring at Marshall for support, but the telepath avoided his gaze. "Oh ho! So you guys are all in Mercant's camp, are you? Very interesting. But this is one time I'm not ready to go along with you. I'm telling you, once and for all, that Thomas Cardif is behind this whole poison business. It doesn't make any difference whether he's in it with or without the help of the Antis. And if we don't pull him up short, for all time to come, one of these days he's going to dump the whole Solar Imperium down the tubes! If you don't think he can do it, just don't forget he's Rhodan's son!" At this point he turned on his heel, entered the antigravitor and let it carry him down below.
"There's another question," said Julian Tifflor. "How do you explain the fact that in almost six decades Cardif doesn't seem to have grown any older-and yet his facial features have changed almost enough to make him unrecognizable?"
"That's been bothering me ever since I got that photo from Zuglert. Tifflor. Cardif's mother was Arkonide and their life-expectancy even today is greater than ours. It could explain why he hasn't aged much in the past 58 years but I can't
figure what's caused his expression to change so much-I mean there's something almost hideous about its blankness."
"Maybe a plastic mask?" suggested Deringhouse.
Marshall contradicted him. "That's unlikely, General. Even the Aras advise against wearing a facemask more than a year. It causes serious tissue deterioration that can hardly ever be healed again."
Tifflor shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe Cardif really looks different than he does in that old picture...
"You may be right-so let's all be surprised," said Mercant. It was obvious that he wasn't interested in discussing the subject any further.
John Marshall was the only one to continue along the corridor. Mercant, Deringhouse and Tifflor drifted slowly down the antigrav shaft to the lower levels where their respective offices were located.
• • •
Rhodan had left his office suite and gone to his living quarters on the top floor of the administrative building. Here he stood at his window and gazed out over Terrania. After awhile he made a helpless gesture with his hand. Here, too, was a city that had been victimized by the liqueur.
"Thomas, I'm coming," he spoke half aloud to himself. "I'm on my way to find you! You will soon have to confess and hold nothing back. After that there will he nothing more for you, if it is true that you've had anything to do with the Liquitiv..." Thus his thoughts came audibly to the surface and in spite of their dire import it seemed to relax the knot that had been forming in his solar plexus.
The thunder of pulse-engines came to him from the spaceport. He saw three heavy cruisers race into the sky and disappear. He looked at his watch: two hours and 20 minutes yet before his take-off.
Standing on its pad apart from the major Fleet units was the battleship Ironduke, which was equipped with the new linear space-drive. In comparison to the giant super battleships out there, its 800-meter hull seemed almost insignificant yet there was a gleam of pride in Rhodan's eyes as he looked at it.
It was the fastest ship in the Solar Warfleet and also the first to be fitted out with the fantastic hyper-propulsion system. Linear drive made it possible to reach translight velocities which were unimaginable and so far no absolute limit had been determined. Aside from eliminating transitions and their accompanying shockwaves, this system also had the advantage that the firmament did not disappear at translight speeds and so the target star was always kept in sight.
In addition to that, even at a million times sped a linear ship did not enter the fifth dimension; it remained instead in an unstabilised semispace zone between the fourth- and fifth dimensions.
A renewed thundering of engines warming up brought Rhodan back out of his own 'hyper' realms-into the world of raw reality. He also had a sudden presentiment that he was no longer alone and he turned around. Pucky was squatting there behind him. How long had he been here, Rhodan asked himself. Undoubtedly the scamp had been reading his mind again.
"Perry, will you forgive me if I tell you you guessed correctly?" chirped the mouse-beaver, inclining his head to one side with his typical pleading look.
"What are you doing here, Puck?"
This sounded ominous. Perry had dropped the "y" from Pucky's name again, not even addressing him as Lieutenant Puck, which was his normal habit when angry. The mouse-beaver had been a lieutenant for many decades now. Others who had received this commission had meanwhile climbed the ladder of success in their military careers. Not Pucky. He was satisfied to be a lieutenant in the Mutant Corps. Having no particular military ambitions he was content to do without the usual clutter of stars, wings, or comets on the epaulettes of his uniform. But if it came to that he always managed to disregard rank or official red tape and back himself up with the facts.
"What do you want here?" Rhodan repeated his question sharply.
"I just wanted to be with you, Perry, to join you in looking out of this window at Terrania. I guess I could have picked a better time for it, wouldn't you say, Chief?" But he wasn't showing his incisor tooth this time. It was an unmistakable sign that the mouse-beaver was in a serious mood-neither jesting nor planning his usual tricks.
"Then come," Rhodan invited. He was aware that Pucky had come with something definite in mind. "But just don't crush the flowers there, my little friend."
The mouse-beaver reached the bench under the window in a single jump. He gazed down at the sea of buildings below as he prattled on. "You could have saved yourself the remark about my crushing your flowers. I am not a vandal, even though others may be hypocrites."
"Who?" asked Rhodan quickly. He knew the mouse-beaver had not made the remark unintentionally. But when he attempted to scan Pucky's thoughts he was obstructed by a powerful defensive current which set up a complete resistance against his weaker paranormal probing.
"Fatso, first of all! Mercant, Marshall, Deringhouse and Tifflor are next. I even told them what they were, Perry. And then I left them standing there.
"So why did you call them that?" Rhodan's voice took on a sharper tone again.
"Because in their thoughts they have no use at all for Thomas, Chief. To them he's all bad!"
"Hm-m... Now don't tell me you think you can talk me into any leniency for Cardif!"
"No," Pucky answered, but he turned on the window seat so that he could look up at Rhodan. "But I will tell you I think that you and I have the same suspicion-that is, that this whole thing about Thomas doesn't set right. Don't get mad at me, Perry, when I tell you that in this situation I've been a bit sharper than you now and again. You know that I can be as silent as a tomb and you have yet to hear me blowing my own horn over a good idea. For example..."
Rhodan grasped him firmly by the shoulder and glared at him. "Alright, Puck," he said severely, "no more beating around the bush! Quit your babbling and tell me why you showed up here-or I'll toss you out into some nice fresh air!"
"OK, Boss. You're in command here, not me." But the little one remained unmoved by the threat. "Perry, I have an uneasy feeling that Thomas has gone completely off his rocker!"
"Then are you saying, Pucky, that Cardif is behind this villainy? Then why did you say that Bell and the others were hypocrites?"
"I don't know why. I think I lost my temper when I read their thoughts and saw how prejudiced they were against Thomas and so I simply had to jar them to their senses. That's the best way to get a little juice to flowing through their brains."
"You mean that's the way you could get them to think?"
"You might put it that way. And now they're mulling over this whole narcotics situation, shoving it back and forth in their minds, and now even Fatso is convinced it's impossible for Thomas to be to blame for all of this."
Rhodan looked off into the distance, lost in thought for a moment. So the little tyke had come here to whitewash Thomas Cardif. He finally looked back at Pucky with a hard gleam in his grey eyes. "Doesn't it mean anything to you that 20 or 30 million humans may die a slow death because of this drug? In view of that, how can you still speak for Cardif?"
But this was one time when not even Rhodan could shake up Pucky. "Perry," he pleaded, "don't keep saying Cardif! At least refer to him as Thomas-he's still your son, even though he doesn't wish to use your name."
"Don't get off the track, Pucky. I've asked you some questions and I demand that you answer them right here and now!"
"I've already told you you're the boss but you can glare at me and yell at me all you want-I'm not going to turn tail and run. So you're asking how I can still speak for Thomas Cardif? Am I really doing that, Perry, or am I trying to warn you? You know at any other time you have such a marvelous faculty of judging people and discerning things in general but whenever it comes to your son you don't see things that may be right under your nose. For instance, can you tell me why the Thomas Cardif of today neither looks like you or his old self?"
"You sneaky little devil!" muttered Rhodan. He realized the mouse-beaver had neatly put him on the defensive. In the next moment, however, he tensed. "Pucky-what are you tryi
ng to tell me?"
"I could almost swear that Thomas is still under the hypno-block. I think that's why his features have that vacuum look that sort of curls your spine when you see him now. But if that is so, can he be held responsible for the Liquitiv?"
"Come on now, Pucky-are you still trying to get Cardif off the hook with me?" retorted Rhodan gruffly.
"No, I am not!" His sudden exclamation was startling-especially since he actually did not return to his original theme. "The main thing I'm asking myself is how we're going to trace down his thought impulses on Lepso if he's still under that hypno-block. It's highly possible that neither Marshall nor Lloyd will be able to pick up his vibes. So what happens if we telepaths let you down or even Lloyd fails to track him?"
"Hm-m... I hadn't thought of that." Rhodan confessed the fact quite frankly. "It's a good thing you brought it up. If you hadn't had that little brainstorm, you know, we might have drawn a blank on Lepso-no Cardif! They say that when men have been even partially brain-blocked their output of thought-impulses is very weak as far as any exterior detection is concerned. The only ones who can help us on this short notice would be the Swoons-the cucumber people."
"You mean the individual pattern detector? Those micro-mechanics really came up with a wild one when they made that gadget!" For a moment Pucky was enthusiastic but then he suddenly slumped again. "But if you're still intending to put Thomas through the meat-grinder..."
"Get out of here, you scamp. I have things to do."
"It's a good idea!" replied the mouse-beaver.
Just before he teleported out of sight he had shot a probe into Rhodan's mind. He caught him deliberating whether or not a man could be held responsible for his actions when even partially under hypnosis.
