Invasion From Space

by Perry Rhodan

  "Yes. I'll fly over to investigate what's behind all this. And better make sure not to let anyone know of it! That goes for the little secretary too! Absolute secrecy! That will he all for now."

  Smith replaced the phone in the wall sate. A pensive frown lay around his eyes as he called for the secretary. As she entered the room he motioned to a chair and then said in a matter of fact tone of voice, "Don't talk to anyone about what happened with Mr. Derring. He is probably ... well, let's say ... sick. Maybe some kind of delusion of grandeur. In about ten minutes I'll have a stack of files sent to your office. Please give those to Mr. Derring. Is that clear?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "Don't worry! You just tell Mr. Derring that the papers were on their way to him. And may I remind you once again-don't let anyone know what has happened."

  The little secretary could not help but remember having already told someone about Sammy Derring's strange request. She had spoken to her department manager, Mantell, before she came to the Commissioner. But Mantell obviously hadn't been interested in her complaint. Maybe he had even forgotten all by now. So she simply nodded.

  "Yes, Mr. Smith. I understand. I'll give the message to Mr. Derring. I only hope he won't look so odd and frightening again. He half scared me to death."

  "Oh, nonsense, Miss ... ?"

  "Thompson. Clara Thompson"

  "There is no need to be afraid, Miss Thompson. Mr. Derring seems to be suffering from a temporary delusion. It was pretty hot yesterday, and he might have got too much sun. Maybe a slight sun stroke."

  Clara Thompson did not quite agree with the Commissioner of Defense. She could not accept such a lame excuse for someone suddenly believing he was the Secretary of Defense. But she did not speak up. After all, who was she to tell the big boss what was right or wrong? So she left and returned to her own office. She forgot all about Mr. Mantell.

  Sammy looked up when she entered. "Well, are you bringing the documents I requested?"

  They will be sent over in ten minutes."

  "Thanks. Bring them right in, as soon as they arrive."

  "I will, Mr. Derring."

  Clara could not get the door closed behind her soon enough. She felt ill at ease in his presence. Still, he appeared quite sensible, no more scary look in his eyes. Yet he still insisted on this idiotic order for the secret documents. Ten minutes later a messenger brought the files. They were in a big red envelope marked, TOP SECRET.

  Miss Thompson stared at the envelope. How important it looked! So impressive with the TOP SECRET stamp. But she knew that in reality its contents were completely worthless. Why was the Commissioner of Defense going along with that stupid request? It seemed childish to humor an employee who had lost his marbles. Or could there be more to the whole affair than met the eye?

  She took the envelope, knocked at Mr. Derring's door, and entered. Without a word she placed the big red envelope on his desk and looked at him, waiting for an acknowledgment. She noticed a gleam of triumph in his eyes. But there was something additional again, something that she could not interpret-something faraway and bottomless. It was as if she were gazing into an abyss so deep that one could fall through it forever, into eternity. Confused, she turned away and left the room abruptly.

  Sammy Derring waited until the door had closed behind her; then he opened the envelope and began examining its contents. A first glance told him that his mission had been successful. There they were, right in front of him, the greatest secrets of this world ... or at least those of one of the big power blocs. In other parts of this planet other M.S. would be just as effective in their efforts. By tomorrow the commander would be informed about the defense potential of this planet's population and the best strategy for starting an invasion. For it was not enough simply to take over the bodies of these clumsy two-legged creatures. They had to be made subservient to the rule of their new masters. To all outward appearances, though, they had to remain independent.

  "While he was perusing the documents he noted with satisfaction that he had greatly overestimated the potential of the Terrans.

  It was almost eleven o'clock. A few doors down the hall John Mantell suddenly remembered the conversation he had had with Sammy Derring's secretary. For a moment he hesitated. Perhaps he should forget about the whole thing and not waste his precious time with the foolish jokes of one of his subalterns. But then his sense of duty won out. After all, such silly pranks occasionally turned into serious problems. Better stop that nonsense at once, before it went too far. He pressed the buzzer of the intercom. A young girl's voice replied.

  "Miss Thompson? What's the matter with Derring? Didn't you tell him that I want to see him here in my office at eleven o'clock?"

  Clara had almost forgotten about Mr. Mantell. She stammered, "Oh, no, Mr. Mantell, I haven't forgotten. But maybe it would be better to ignore this incident?

  I am sure Mr. Derring was just making a harmless joke. I don't want him to get into any trouble ..."

  "Then you shouldn't have come to me in the first place. Well then, are you going to give him my message or not?"

  "I ... I ..."

  Puzzled, Mantell flipped a switch on the intercom to terminate that disquieting conversation. He got up with determination and left his office to walk over to Derring's room. Ten seconds later he encountered Clara Thompson as she was just about to leave her own office. She was startled and scared when she saw Mantell.

  "What's wrong? Where are you going?"

  Her confusion seemed to grow worse. She could hardly bring out the words,

  "To ... to ... to see you, Mr. Mantell. I was coming over to ask you if that visit could wait. Mr. Derring is awfully busy right now. I can't disturb him when he has important work to do."

  Mantell's eyebrows shot up. "Important work? You don't say! This I have got to see for myself!"

  He shoved Miss Thompson aside, and without even bothering to knock he stormed into Derring's room. There he saw his subaltern, busily poring over a stack of papers. Annoyed at the sudden interruption he glowered at the intruder, obviously not understanding what all this was supposed to mean. It was five seconds before a glimmer of comprehension lit up his face.

  "Oh, yes, Mr. Mantell. What can I do for you?"

  Mantell banged a fist on Sammy's desk. "Are you out of your mind, Derring?

  What can you do for me? How dare you pull such stupid tricks on our personnel, asking this poor little girl to bring you our most secret documents! You act as if you think you are the Secretary of Defense in person! And even he himself is not authorized to ... What is the matter with you, Derring? Are you feeling all right?"

  An alarming change had overcome Sammy Derring. First his eyes gazed uncomprehendingly at the raging department manager; then his eyes became empty and lost their luster. When his eyes seemed to see again, they were filled with a steely lack of pity. He asked with an icy cold voice, "What is the name of the Secretary of Defense?"

  Mantell gasped. This was more than he could take. "Derring! Have you gone crazy? Now you want me to believe you don't remember the name of our Secretary of Defense?"

  Sammy nodded, apparently unperturbed by the enormity of his faux pas. "Yes. I don't know his name. What is it?"

  Although Mantell was unwilling to comply with every wish of the obviously insane clerk, the steely eyes of the man behind the desk seemed to compel him to do so nevertheless. He shouted, "Daring, Samuel Daring. You of all people should know this better than I. This isn't the first time that you have been into trouble because your names were mistaken for each other, Sammy Derring! But this is no excuse whatsoever ..."

  Mantell fell silent before he could finish his tirade, for Sammy Derring jumped to his feet, pointing to the documents lying in front of him on his desk.

  "And if I am not the Secretary of Defense, why did they send me the records I requested?"

  Mantell looked at the papers, the envelope marked TOP SECRET in particular. He could not understand this. But before he had a chance to
say anything, the door flew open. In came Smith, Clara Thompson close behind him. He quickly grasped the situation. There was an air of annoyance spread all over his face. Mantell felt frightened. He knew that this inconspicuous looking man had been empowered with the final say in all matters concerning this section of the Ministry of Defense.

  "What's all this supposed to mean? What is going on here?" inquired Smith, who could have given the answer perfectly well himself. He addressed Mantell.

  "Didn't Miss Thompson pass on my orders to you not to interfere in this affair?"

  "He wouldn't listen to me," explained Clara Thompson.

  "She came and told me that Mr. Derring was trying to play a silly joke," defended Mantell. "I only wanted to ask Derring to stop such tomfoolery in the future. The resemblance of his name to that of the Secretary of Defense does not entitle him to"No one had been paying any attention to what Sammy Derring was doing in the meantime. He sat down again, and all life seemed to fade from his eyes. He was sitting behind his desk, head held high. His eyes gazed just as expressionlessly into space as they had done the day before, staring up into the empty blue sky above the little lake in the woods. This lasted exactly five seconds. Then it was over. Life returned to his eyes.

  During these five seconds the same process had taken place as twenty-four hours earlier, but in reverse. The M.S. had fled from his host's body, after having recognized he had fallen victim to a case of mistaken identity. He acted rather panic stricken, for he could have smoothed over his mistake if he had tried to. But he preferred to return to his sleeping body and to release from it the imprisoned mind of Sammy Derring. Sammy's intellect returned to his own body. He lacked any memory of what had befallen him except for a few insignificant details that seemed more like a dream.

  Hadn't he just been sitting at the lake, holding his fishing rod? How was it possible that he was now sitting behind his desk in his office? He saw his department manager, Mantell, standing before him, next to him the Commissioner of Defense in person ... and over there at the door pretty little Clara Thompson contemplating him with consternation in her big blue eyes. Why could he not remember the last seventy-four hours? What had happened during this time?

  "Can I help you, gentlemen?" he inquired mechanically. Then he noticed the open files on his desk. He was puzzled by the red envelope marked TOP

  SECRET. Without understanding he stared from the files to his visitors.

  "What are these files doing here? How did they get here?"

  Before Mantell could give expression to the fury raging in him, Smith intervened. His clear mind was capable of lightning fast reactions. Although he did not understand the reasons behind this incident, he recalled that his superior, Allan D. Mercant, was on his way to this office. And there must be compelling reasons for him to inconvenience himself by flying over here all the way from his base in Greenland. There must be more to this harmless appearing affair than met the eye.

  "These are some old reports, long since out of date, Mr. Derring. Would you please check them over. The Secretary of Defense requested that some reliable employee be charged with this confidential task."

  Sammy still appeared perplexed, but he answered eagerly, "Thank you for the confidence you have in me. I certainly won't disappoint you. How long will I have for this job?"

  "There is no special hurry, Mr. Derring. Come now, Mr. Mantell. And you, too, Miss Thompson. Let Mr. Derring get on with his work now!"

  He pulled the utterly startled Mantell by the arm and walked him to the door, which he held open for the little secretary scurrying after the two men. As soon as the door had closed behind the trio Smith breathed a deep sigh of relief. "It seems to have turned out all right after all. Listen, Mantell! You almost messed up the whole affair. I really couldn't tell you what's behind this, but Mr. Mercant is on his way here."

  "The Chief of Western Defense? The big boss of the International Intelligence Agency? Did I understand you correctly, Mr. Smith? But that can't be!" The words came in rapid fire succession out of the amazed Mantell.

  "That's the way it is, Mantell," said Smith. "Go back to your office and don't bother any more about Derring. That's an order! The Secretary of Defense will not learn about this regrettable incident, so don't worry. And the same goes for you, Miss Thompson. Just keep quiet about this. I'll explain everything to you tonight over a nice dinner."

  "But I--"

  "Would eight o'clock be all right? I'll call at your house-just leave the address with my secretary. O.K.?"

  "I--"

  "Fine! And now sit down at your desk and act as if nothing had happened. And if you look at it, nothing really did happen, did it?"

  "The the stratoliner from Greenland was flying at Mach-three toward his destination, the Ministry of Defense of the Western Bloc, and while Mercant was evaluating and speculating about the suspicious incident with Sammy Derring, the latter was sitting at his desk, checking the long since outdated documents, puzzled by this senseless task, wondering why he of all persons had been charged with it. As far as he could recall he had just been spending the weekend fishing for trout at his favorite spot at the little lake in the nearby forest. How on Earth he had suddenly been transported from there to his desk in the office was a mysterious to him. True, there had been some strange moments, he remembered now. Kind of a daydream. And then the big, dark cave with ... with ... oh, yes that's right! With some monster that looked like a giant wasp. And he himself had been that wasp. Ridiculous! Had he lost his mind? But then he wouldn't be sitting here now in his office, being entrusted with some special, highly confidential task by his superiors.

  He sighed and decided to stop thinking about this whole silly thing. If he began asking all kinds of questions that would merely arouse unnecessary suspicions. And the office here would not have any use for him, if he brought up such crazy stuff. Nightmares or daydreams, whatever it was, he must have been asleep, for he could absolutely not remember anyone bringing these secret documents to him. Blond hair ringed the bald dome of the incredibly young appearing man whose harmless face reminded an observer of some peaceful nature lover. His innocuous appearance was quite deceptive, though, for he was one of the most feared and respected men of the Western Bloc. Until a few short weeks ago all the agents of the Eastern Bloc and those of the Asiatic Federation had trembled at the mere mention of his name.

  Allan D. Mercant, chief of the NATO Defense, was preparing himself for an encounter with a man whose body had been taken over by an M.S. This was not the first time he had met one of the M.S. Only a few days had passed since an M.S. had tried to put him out of action in the disguise of one of Mercant's closest collaborators whose body he had assumed. Only thanks to Mercant's rapid reactions and his faint telepathy had he escaped unscathed. The invasion, expected by only a handful of persons, seemed to have begun. Although it had been expected, the invasion still came as a surprise. This apparent contradiction could be explained. An alien spaceship belonging to the M.S. had been destroyed near the moon's orbital path, and most people assumed that this was the only spacecraft the invaders had inside this solar system.

  Mankind prepared itself for further attacks but did not really believe they would occur. Without the help of the Third Power, mankind would perish. Mercant was fully aware of this. The first manned expedition to the moon under the command of Perry Rhodan had found there the crash-landed interstellar research craft of a highly intelligent but decadent alien race. The scientific leader of this research project, a certain Khrest, had become dangerously ill with leukemia. He had been cured by the Earthlings, especially with the help of Dr. Haggard, the worlds greatest specialist in blood diseases. The Arkonides, as the aliens called themselves, originated from a system thirty-two thousand light-years from Sol. They were searching for the legendary Planet of eternal life. The only two surviving members of the Arkonide expedition, Khrest and Thora, became allies of Rhodan. Together they founded the Third Power, whose base was in the Gobi Desert. This Third Power ha
d managed, within three short months, to unite the three formerly hostile power blocs of the world. Then the first attack from outer space occurred. The M.S. had intercepted the emergency signals broadcast by the destroyed Arkonide spaceship on the moon. The M.S. had come hurriedly in order to administer the final blow to their age-old enemies, the Arkonides. But the M.S. had encountered unexpected resistance from the so far unknown Earthlings and had suffered a crushing defeat at their hands.

  This was the way things stood now. Perry Rhodan was the only person capable of saving the world. Mercant knew this only too well. Although the three power blocs did not yet fully trust Rhodan, they were on the other hand afraid of the M.S. and of the Arkonide weapons that were at Rhodan's disposal. Then there was something else that only a few initiated knew, besides Mercant, Rhodan had succeeded in gathering in several mutants that had been born as a result of the post-World War II atom bomb explosions. These mutants, whose abilities needed further schooling, formed the nucleus of a new troop that Rhodan had organized for the protection of the Third Power. Because of his telepathic talents, Mercant belonged to this mutant corps. But this was known only to the two men, Rhodan and Mercant himself, besides the other members of the secret mutant organization.

  The plane landed. A fast moving car brought Mercant to the Ministry of Defense. He was led to Smith, who was waiting for him in his private office.

  "Well, Smith, what has happened? Where is he?"

  "He doesn't have the faintest idea, sir. Shall I take you to him?"

  "Yes, please."

  Smith was very surprised to see Mercant take a gun out of his shoulder holster, release the safety catch, and then put it calmly into his pocket. He intended to tell Mercant that there had never lived a more harmless person than Sammy Derring, but then he thought better of it and kept silent. He led the way without a word. Mercant followed behind, not speaking either.

  Sammy Derring looked up, startled when the door was suddenly pushed open. He recognized Smith, but he was sure he had never met the harmless looking man before. But as he noted a little while later, the man was not as harmless as he had appeared at first sight. His eyes seemed to be lying in ambush for something.