Blockade: Lepso

by Perry Rhodan

  Instead of waiting for Bell's opinion he looked across the Control Central to where John Marshall was conversing in whispers with Fellmer Lloyd. Telepathically he called to him: John, start using the Swoons' pattern tracer. Take along your best tele paths. Whatever happens in the next hour is not to distract either you or your group.

  OK, Chief-Marshall telepathed back. I hope we find him!

  Hopefully, yes, he answered. But it was not a wish that he was pleased about.

  Then he turned to Claudrin. "Take off, Colonel! Land the Ironduke in the main plaza in front of the Central Government building. Evidently I have to show the lords of Lepso that I intend to be answered."

  Claudrin leaned over to his intercom and instructed weapons officer Brazo Alkher.

  4/ RETURN OF THOMAS CARDIF

  Dr. Edmond Hugher had become aware of the new events taking place which had unleashed such a wave of fear and panic in many of the cities on Lepso and yet he seemed to be indifferent to most of what was going on. In keeping with his unexcitability and his almost psychotic complacency, he waited quietly for certain further developments of his experiments in the temple laboratory.

  He had only issued one instruction that was directly related to the Solar Fleet's presence in the Feting System: the swift transfer of the Liquitiv's bottling and packaging process to sector TT-1.

  Sector TT-1 was located in the barren fastnesses of the Cif range which divided the rocky desert wastelands. Here a tunnel more than 10 km long led into a series of natural caverns where the Antis had made a maximum expenditure to create the most modern pharmaceutical processing plant in the galaxy. A small staff of technicians monitored the positronic equipment and the robot activities but other than that there was no humanoid labor performed here, neither by Antis, Aras nor any other form of living intelligences.

  The technical staff consisted of eight persons. For more than 10 years now they had been supervised by the astro-medical specialist, Dr. Nearman. Some 38 years before this time, officials of Solar Intelligence had attempted to apprehend him and deprive him of his freedom forever so he had disappeared permanently from the higher ranks of the Sol System's official hierarchy.

  His fugitive odysseys clear across the Greater Imperium had not done him much good as far as any anchorage was concerned. Being unstable in his character he had gone from bad to worse until finally he had been hard put to it to even elude the jurisdiction of the Arkonides. But about this time, a good 10 years ago, several devotees of the Baalol cult had approached him. They surprised him with their detailed knowledge of all his criminal activities and general misdeeds during the previous 28 years; but on the other hand he also surprised the Antis by immediately accepting their offer to work with other unscrupulous men in the supervision of the Liquitiv production. For after all, with his record what did he have to lose?

  It was a tragic destiny, however, for a man with his outstanding medical knowledge and his former fame in the field of biology, for whom also galacto-astronautical calculations were simple child's play.

  A few hours ago Dr. Nearman had been in direct communication with Hugher and had learned that the final processing stages of the liqueur production were to be transferred to sector TT-1. In addition he had been issued orders to drain all remaining supplies of pure Liquitiv into the main storage tank. Without further comment, Edmond Hugher had cut off the connection. Nearman carried out the instructions and watched to see that the small tanks were all emptied into the main reservoir. Having then confirmed to the temple that he had accomplished the task, he proceeded with his routine rounds of inspection.

  Although Hugher did not seem to be disturbed by events, this was not true in his own case. He was highly apprehensive of what was going on. Rhodan had landed on Lepso with his fleet and placed the whole government under arrest-all this merely to carry out a police action, as he had implied, to catch some criminals who were fugitives from the stellar empire of the Terrans. Therefore he himself might be in danger of being caught.

  But on second thought he smiled disdainfully. He was betting on the Antis. He was sure that they would make short work of Rhodan, which meant in turn that he'd run very little risk of being apprehended by Solar Intelligence. Otherwise Hugher would have warned him because after all he was more or less in the same boat. In this regard Nearman had once heard some curious things whispered about him but when he had then questioned Hugher himself about it he had been met with uncomprehending surprise.

  "Why no, Nearman," the scientist had told him at the time, "I am certainly not of any Earthly origin. I was born on some other planet but nobody can tell me where. Hm-m... Ever since I left Zalit, I haven't concerned myself much about it. For some reason my parents and brothers-if I had any-have become faceless strangers to me. What would be the use of searching into the matter at this stage?"

  This Hugher was a strange duck alright, thought Nearman. He reached for a flask of Liquitiv, unsealed it and lifted the plastic container to his lips. Like a bon vivant he drank the two cc of liqueur, wiped his mouth casually and tossed the empty bottle aside.

  Almost at once an astounding change came over him. His dragging steps became feather light. His features firmed up. The things that had been weighing on his mind seemed to evaporate under the spell of a new euphoria. Feeling as though he were in the prime of his life, he began to whistle a tune.

  Sector TT-1 was being supervised by a drug addict.

  • • •

  The plaza before the government building was a scene of devastation. The shattered and melted remains of fighter robots lay everywhere, with a fairly equal distribution of Terran, Springer and Mounder types. The metal monsters had fallen in a pitched battle during the occupation of the area.

  Shortly after the Ironduke landed, the Lepso governmental staff had surrendered in the diplomatic quarters of the palace. Prime Minister Gal-Tan renewed his protest against this 'illegal' occupation by the Solar Fleet yet was cowed somewhat by Rhodan's cold steady gaze.

  Perry spoke to the Lepsonian in perfect Arkonese. "You know why we have come."

  Just then his micro-transceiver buzzed an emergency signal. He reached for his left arm, where he carried it, and quickly turned on the receiver portion.

  The mini-speaker brought him the sound of a familiar voice. "Sir, there is a heavy engagement both outside and inside the ring of robotships. More than 3,000 Mounder ships and about 4,000 Springer units are trying to break through. The robot fleet is taking a very bad beating. Atlan has authorized additional reinforcements but they can't get here in under six hours. Sir, will you give the order for our third-wave task force to support the Arkon fleet?"

  The message was from Gen. Conrad Deringhouse on board the Ironduke. It was a deviation from standard practice that in this operation he was not commanding the Drusus as usual.

  Rhodan hesitated but it was not because of any uncertainty on his part. His gaze seemed to pass through or beyond the rulers of Lepso-these men who together with their predecessors had made of the planet a hideout for criminals, racketeers and pirates, unscrupulous miscreants who had made Lepso the center of a galactic narcotics organization. He was looking beyond them at the telepathic mutant John Marshall, to whom he sent a mental message:

  Marshall, when I speak to you now in English, check their minds to see if any of these Lepsonians can understand it.

  Almost simultaneously he spoke into his microphone: "Wait!" Then he made up a test question for Marshall in English: "Haven't you also forgotten to order the attack against object four?"

  Marshall made a pretense of being surprised and confused but at the same time he probed the thoughts of the Lepso government men. He soon telepathed to Rhodan: Four of them understand English, sir!

  Faced with this problem, Rhodan turned to a last resort. Both he and Deringhouse had been born in North America and they still knew their slang. To the aliens what he said must have been a ghastly hodgepodge of gibberish but he was able to transmit his command to the general-so
mething about a Day in May, the Alma Mater and a Donnybrook, red-eye cement mixers, a 'beef trust' and the sheenies-all of which was decipherable as: no Terran engagement in the battle between Arkon robots, Mounders and Springers except in case of catastrophe.

  Even Marshall complained by means of telepathy: Sir, that slang was awful. I didn't understand a word!

  Following this little sideplay Rhodan was about to continue with the Prime Minister when he was again interrupted mentally by Marshall. Sir, this staff is a camouflage to deceive us. They all take orders exclusively from the Antis. The local headquarters of the Antis is in the trading house of the Springer clan of Guvtgol. From the way the streets are laid out here, that would put it at the corner of streets 33 and 107...

  Rhodan swept his gaze to Julian Tifflor, who had once operated as a 'cosmic decoy' in the beginning of his career. Sensing that he was being summoned by the Chief, Tifflor came over to him.

  Rhodan whispered to him. "Tiff, place these crackers (characters) under guard and pass out orders that the local Antis are not to be allowed to escape, They're located in the trading house of the Springer clan of Guvtgol." He then told him how to find the place. "But while you're about it, don't forget the mental powers of these fanatics. Stay on your guard, Tiff, as if you were dealing with the fiends of Hell!"

  He gave the rest of his companions the signal to leave.

  Prime Minister Gal-Tan suspected what lay ahead for him and his government. "Rhodan!" he shouted after the First Administrator. "This whole planet will be a Hell for you if you dare place us under arrest!"

  Rhodan did not so much as turn to look at him. Escorted by 30 ponderous Terran robots he left the presidential palace and returned to the Ironduke without further incident.

  The watch officer at the airlock saluted him as he gave him an order. "Advise Deringhouse and Claudrin that I'm back on board. I will be in Marshall's cabin but I am not to be disturbed except in an emergency.

  • • •

  The Swoons' individual pattern-tracer was sitting on Marshall's small magazine table. The compactness of the device alone was an indication that only the cucumber people could have made it. It was no more than five cm long. Its 12-inch antenna ended in a clear glass-like ball, the secret of which could only be seen under a microscope. Its surface was covered with more than 300,000 mathematically-precise lines. Except at the poles of the sphere, not one of the lines touched each other.

  6 of the best telepaths in the Mutant Corps were standing around the small table. Each of them appeared to be in a state of trance as they held their concerted gaze on the ball antenna. Rhodan sat in the background, stretched out calm and comfortably with his legs crossed and frying to breathe without a sound.

  The personality tracker was working.

  Without telepaths it was nothing. Only the paranormal energies of an esper could start it functioning. Without moving a finger the six mutants had adjusted it to Thomas Cardif's brainwave pattern. Like a defruiter system in space traffic control but on a much more complex level, the sensor device could differentiate one single wave pattern from billions of others and respond to it. As opposed to all other types of tracers this device worked only in relation to paranormal forces. Basically it was a form of rectifier and amplifier of mental vibrations and it could scan the sea of billions of different brainwave frequencies. Thus all patterns and frequencies not related to the specific one it was seeking became blank to it, even though they might still continue to come in. Although this process was unexplainable from a mathematical standpoint, it was the only means of guaranteeing that Thomas Cardif's wave-pattern had to be found. And although it only had 300,000 lines on its antenna globe, it covered billions of variables on the basis of a microsecond strobing cycle.

  Rhodan noted that all six telepaths suddenly seemed to tense at the same time, as though they had been jolted by something. He sat up instinctively and leaned forward with a tension of his own on his face. He recognized the strange attitude of the mutants which they always exhibited when they were straining with all their energy to hang onto an impulse source that had come within their range. Even the mouse-beaver was no exception.

  Nevertheless, Rhodan suspected that something had just gone wrong. Which was confirmed when Pucky abruptly turned around, shaking his head in exasperation-at the same time avoiding Rhodan's eyes. This was followed by John Marshall, who also gave up. In sheer exhaustion the latter approached Rhodan and slumped into a seat.

  "Sir, I just don't understand it!" Marshall leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor while he supported his head in both hands. "We had several seconds of contact with Thomas Cardif-the reception was perfect I could even read his thoughts but since we contacted him just at the end of some deliberation I couldn't understand what came through. Who in the heck could somebody named Luel or Liii be? Anyway, in the next instant it was as if a wall had dropped between us."

  As Rhodan watched him, Marshall slowly began to relax from his tension. Apparently he was recovering from the ordeal. Pucky waddled up and was followed closely by tele-tracer Fellmer Lloyd.

  The mouse-beaver stopped in front of Rhodan and complained plaintively: "If those Antis didn't just pull a trick on us, then I don't know an Anti when I see one!"

  Fellmer Lloyd corroborated the little fellow's conclusion. "Sir, Pucky is right! I think the Antis' para-mental faculties enabled them to detect our trace attempt, and they've blocked it. We were right on Cardif's wavelength. I could see his brainwave pattern perfectly-even recognized his mental block..."

  He got no farther because Rhodan sprang to his feet before him, almost knocking Pucky out of the way. The Chief stared at his tracer mutant who was not only capable of seeing brainwave patterns at a distance but could also detect whether or not the person generating them was menacing and in what way.

  Rhodan's grey eyes were flashing now in his new intensity. "Are you certain, Lloyd, that Thomas is still under the hypnosis?"

  Behind him Pucky was heard to sigh as though a great weight had been lifted from him. Rhodan had just referred to his son as Thomas!

  The tele-tracer answered without hesitation: "I'm absolutely sure of it! He's not only hypnotized but it's the same unchangeable state he was put under by the Arkonide psycholator."

  "Thank you." Rhodan turned back toward his seat but took time to pat the mouse-beaver on the head. "You were right again, little one."

  The ship's intercom buzzed an alarm. The screen lit up to reveal Col. Myler, chief of the Solar Fleet's third-wave task force, which was still circling Lepso at the 15,000-meter level. He was visibly agitated. "Sir, the outer blockade force of robotships has suffered 50% casualties. Three groups of Mounder warships-about 600 of them-have broken through! They'll reach Lepso in 30 minutes!"

  "They could reach Lepso in 30 minutes, Colonel," Rhodan corrected him. "But you keep the third wave out of it! Just don't worry about it-stay with your firecover assignment. That is all."

  For Myler this meant he had to cut off the connection but the Ironduke's inter-ship channel remained open.

  "Deringhouse?" Rhodan said into the mike.

  The battle-wise features of Conrad Deringhouse appeared on the screen but he didn't have a chance to say anything.

  "Deringhouse, order an offensive attack on the Mounder forces which have broken through. Use all super battleships except the Drusus. Thank you."

  He shut off immediately and seemed at the same moment to forget all about the fact that the situation was getting more menacing for the Terran Fleet with each passing minute. He turned again to Fellmer Lloyd and asked him the same question. "Can you swear that Thomas Cardif is living under the same hypno-block that was impressed on him 58 years ago on Arkon?"

  And again the tele-tracer confirmed without hesitation: "Sir, I am able to swear to it!"

  Rhodan wiped his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "I find it difficult to believe that but I have to. Lloyd, what I have to do..." He trailed off, leaving
the rest unexpressed, and not even Pucky dared at this moment to invade the Chief's private thoughts. Rhodan stared at each of them in turn. "Men, hasn't anybody been able to determine where Thomas Cardif is located? With the Swoon tracer you should have gotten some indication."

  Marshall explained this. "Sir, there's a false assumption there. The personality-tracker is a high-powered amplifier. It pulls in the brainwaves but it doesn't have any directional capacity. Its spherical antenna bulb isn't designed for it. Only we could have figured it out-but we didn't have enough time. So unfortunately we don't have the direction."

  "I think I know!" chirped the mouse-beaver, to everyone's surprise. "It's just come to me now. Direction of brainwave emanation is north-north by west-provided that my sense of direction isn't playing any tricks on me here on Lepso..."

  Rhodan was already channeled in to the Control Central, demanding to know what lay in a north-north by west direction.

  After only a few seconds the metallic voice of the Ironduke's positronicon was heard on the speaker. "City of Tu-ki; 30,000 inhabitants. Sea of Frugid, 210 sq km surface area. Then the Glogu mountain chain. Finally the great desert of rocky wastelands. The Temple of Baalol. Beyond are the Cif Mountains, which divide the desert region; 518 km beyond them begins the jungle of Morw..."

  Rhodan reasoned he had received enough information so he cut off. When the computer brain mentioned the Baalol temple, everybody in Marshall's cabin had suddenly tensed.

  "That gang!" chirped Pucky menacingly.

  The ship's telecom lit up and the face of Julian Tifflor was visible on the screen. When he saw his expression, Rhodan knew what he had to tell him.

  "Sir, more than 80 Antis have gotten away from us. We weren't able to catch a single anti-mutant at the Springer's trading house. They went off in four high-speed gliders and flew away in a north-north-west direction. The Ghandi struck them straight on with three beam shots but they still weren't powerful enough to break through their defense screens.