Friend to Mankind

by Perry Rhodan

  Then he noticed the Unither. He lay prone on the rubble of the Kaszill's engines less than 15 meters from Khrest. He was hardly recognizable.

  The Arkonide stared in consternation. The Unither moved. It was alive. He had lost his weapon and his big green eyes stared at Khrest with an expression of dull resignation.

  Khrest kept standing in the rain, an emaciated old man with a heavy weapon in his hand that almost suggested a caricature.

  Liszog began to slip down from the engine ring, leaving a dark trail of blood on the wet surface.

  "Stay where you are!" Khrest warned in Interkosmo.

  The Unither crawled toward him. There was a quiet obstinacy in his movements, as it he could go on forever. His round eyes stared wide open.

  "Stop!" Khrest repeated his call, strengthening his order with the unmistakable gesture of raising his raygun.

  His opponent seemed to be dazed and refused to listen. He kept advancing toward Khrest like a sleepwalker. The rain ran over his face and greyish skin. His eyes had a mad, feverish gleam.

  The weapon in Khrest's hand seemed to weigh a ton. The old man took one step back and thought: I can't simply shoot him down. Why doesn't that thing stop?

  The wind grew to a storm. It howled and whistled through the shambles of the spaceship and rattled eerily through loose metal plates.

  Liszog persisted in a steady pace and almost touched Khrest. He flexed his trunk and the thermo-beamer in Khrest's hand trembled.

  The Arkonide could not bring himself to open fire. His foe moved against him like a helpless zombie. It would require but a mere touch of the trigger to repulse him but Khrest felt incapable of shooting a defenseless man.

  He lowered his weapon, although Liszog stood only two steps away. He had finally paused in his advance. Khrest was still fearful that he would close the last gap to overpower him. The old man could hear his own rasping breath. Then he noticed a sad look in Liszog's eyes, which expressed to him lost hope of a goal ardently aspired.

  Suddenly Liszog's broad robust figure doubled up and crashed to the ground, where it remained motionless.

  Only then Khrest saw the grisly wounds the horned burrower had inflicted on his enemy. His retreat to the engine ring had come too late. Liszog was horribly dead.

  • • •

  Ufgar had mentioned in his report that it would frequently rain for days on the second planet of the yellow sun. He had made his observation in one concise sentence. There was nothing further in it to prepare an old man with waning strength for the hardship and toil he had to cope with in his struggle for possession of a spaceship. Ufgar was a young and bold discoverer, not a degenerate Arkonide of the presentime. He had leaped from his spaceship, unfurled the flag of Arkon and let it flutter in the wind before he set out to explore the planet with his men.

  Khrest had no flag. He would not have known which emblem it ought to show, that of the Great Imperium or of the tiny system comprising 10 planets which was proudly called Solar Imperium by the Earthlings.

  There was nothing left in Khrest of the Arkonide ruling race's arrogance as he limped away from Liszog. But he had retained his personal pride. He was glad that he had survived the battle without resorting to force. He was determined to fight hard and without yielding for the spacejet but had no desire to employ means distasteful to him.

  The windstorm had become so fierce that Khrest had to lean heavily against it to make headway. As long as the storm raged, it was senseless to attempt reaching his ship. He was much too weak to withstand the strain. He would be much safer now in the ship of the Unithers.

  He was too tired to think clearly and he staggered like a spastic into the Kaszill. Outside the storm mounted in fury and the rain poured down on the vessel in sheets. Khrest hardly heard it. He collapsed on the floor.

  Now there were only two intelligent beings on Khrest's Planet, both striving for the same goal, resolved not to relent. They were the same in this regard but there was a big difference between them. One was an ancient Arkonide and the other a Unither in the prime of his life. In their desperate fight to the finish everything else paled into insignificance. It was of little importance in this contest that Khrest was a scientist and Golath a thief. The stronger one was destined to win—or the smarter.

  The vortex of Khrest's thoughts ebbed away in obscure emotions and his nerves began to lose their tension. Then he lost track of his environment. The old man had fallen asleep.

  8/ NOT ALL ALIENS ARE NECESSARILY ENEMIES

  On the 24th of January, Khrest had again become the subject of a discussion at Terrania.

  Reginald Bell, Rhodan's tubby deputy who was called Fatso by his friends, came barreling down the corridor. His stocky figure didn't slow down when it reached the door of Rhodan's private office. He pushed the door Open and barged into the room, sputtering in disgust.

  "I knew it could only be you," Rhodan received him calmly.

  For a moment Bell was taken aback, then he said with a grin: "Since when can you keep track of me by telepathy?"

  "Nonsense," Rhodan rejected the question of his friend. "To keep tabs on you is the last thing I want to do and you know it. But there's only one person who would dare to make such an entrance without even bothering to knock first."

  Bell's face flushed, less from embarrassment than indignation. He was an extremely intelligent man, but with a stormy temper of the highest magnitude, who loved to play tricks on his friends. "That crazy Mangelmann has been pestering me out there for a full hour. Do you know what that nut wants?" Bell blurted.

  "He came to talk about Khrest's monument," Rhodan replied. "I asked him to come."

  "You did what?" Bell asked flabbergasted. "That skondola! from the rest home for the deranged couldn't carve a garden decoration—let alone create a monument for the old scientist."

  Rhodan gave him a disapproving look. "Mangelmann is the most gifted sculptor of our time. You should know that. And if we ever have any need for a garden decoration I won't have any trouble finding a model." The administrator left no doubt whom he meant.

  Bell became serious. "How do we know that Khrest would agree to have a monument?" he asked. "He is an unpretentious man who does everything strictly as a matter of course. I can hardly believe that it would be in keeping with the ideas of the old Arkonide if we were to assign such a task to Mangelmann."

  Perry Rhodan nodded. His grey eyes seemed to reflect his true age, not the age his body represented. "I'm sure Khrest would object," he agreed. "However we don't erect a memorial for him but for us. It is important to perpetually remind mankind that extraterrestrial beings can be our friends and that not all alien beings must be regarded as enemies.

  "I share your opinion," Bell said. "Shall I tell the man to come in?"

  "Of course," Rhodan replied.

  Mangelmann entered: a small, crumpled looking man who seemed lost in his shapeless jacket. His face had a grey color and it was difficult to guess his age. He was polite and calm and his voice had a resonant ring.

  Rhodan showed him two large pictures. "Can you work from these?" he inquired.

  Mangelmann studied the pictures and looked up in confusion. "But this is..." he began hesitantly.

  "Yes, it's him," Bell interjected from the sidelines.

  Rhodan rose from his chair and walked around the desk and looked at the pictures over the shoulder of the sculptor. "I regret that Khrest is unable to sit for you," Rhodan explained. "Certain circumstances have prevented it."

  "I understand," Mangelmann answered softly.

  "No, he isn't dead," the administrator assured. The artist shifted the pictures between his hands, trying to make up his mind. "Well, sir," he finally consented, "I'm honored and I accept the assignment."

  "We won't require you to finish it at a particular date but we expect you to do your best. We want you to set everything else aside and create a statue of Khrest in stone. You can consult with Bell about the dimensions. Your reward will be determined by our satisfac
tion with your work."

  Mangelmann got up. His movements seemed nervous and jerky. They shook hands and Bell showed him to the door.

  "A good man," Rhodan said after he was gone. "You rank everybody on a fixed scale," Bell muttered glumly. "You rate people as good, bad, intelligent and so on. Every man is neatly put into his place."

  "But I have trouble finding a spot for you," Rhodan shot back. "You don't seem to fit into human categories."

  "That's because I'm something special," Bell answered with deep conviction. Khrest's name was not mentioned again that day. But the following day they talked about nothing else except the fate of the ancient Arkonide.

  9/ KHREST'S DESPERATE SACRIFICE

  Almost all oxygen breathers in the Galaxy require regular periods of rest and Golath was no exception. It had become a problem for him to overcome his fatigue. His life could depend on being awake or asleep.

  He had built a shield against the rain but the storm had swept it away and he was exposed to the rain all night.

  Neither Liszog nor Zerft had returned and it would have been unwise to look for them. Whatever happened, he could not abandon his place. Perhaps the Arkonide was already waiting up on the slope, hoping that Golath would leave the vicinity of the ship for a moment.

  The Unither did not really believe that the old man could have succeeded in defeating Zerft and Liszog. He was more apt to assume that the latter two had killed each other by their deadly rivalry. On the other hand Zerft might have persuaded the youth to join him in his search for Khrest in the forest. Liszog had failed to come back with the missing parts Golath needed for the completion of his force-field generator.

  Golath leaned his back against the last branch left of his rainroof. His body was stiff from the cold. From time to time he ran around the ship to keep his blood circulating. He had been forced to clean his trunk already once in the old primitive manner and he almost died of shame although nobody was there to watch him. He had wrapped leaves around a stick like an uncivilized barbarian and suffered agonies as he compared it with the luxurious automatic cleaning apparatus he was used to.

  The wind battered and howled in his ears while torrents of water nearly drowned him. The soil was so muddy and soft that his feet sank in. The wet ground gave little support to his 300 lb. body.

  The gale created mountainous waves on the lake. Golath was unable to see them because he was in total darkness. However he could hear them roll in and crash thunderously against the shore. Once the wind blew in a small, monkey-like animal. It was thrown against Golath and clutched his chest, screeching helplessly. Golath pulled it off with his trunk and tossed it away but the cries of the creature still jarred his ears.

  Then he fell asleep but was plagued by violent dreams. A piercing noise woke him up and caused him to tremble in fear. It was the branch which had broken under his weight.

  The night seemed endless. Several times Golath thought the Arkonide had arrived, only to realize that he had been fooled by the roar of the storm. Although he considered it highly unlikely that the old man could brave such a hurricane, the possibility that his foe could suddenly appear on the scene robbed him of his sleep.

  That night Golath cursed the tribunal of his judges. He was driven to thoughts of revenge. If he succeeded in gaining control of the Arkonide ship he would return triumphantly to Unith and retaliate mercilessly against all those who were responsible for his punishment.

  As the hours dragged on, Golath became more and more embittered. At first he felt merely sorry for himself. But the conviction that he was the victim of a gross injustice grew stronger all the time till it left no room for rational conclusions. He was filled with hate and blind fury against any threat that could prevent him from extricating himself from his critical situation. But he had no possibility of venting his wrath and it accumulated inside him like water rising in a basin and overflowing. His animal instincts came to the fore and his emotions gained the upperhand in his mental state. He no longer felt the effects of the rain and the wind, nor his wretched tiredness. He waited for Khrest with the intensity of a beast of prey, feeling in his bones that a fatal decision was nearing a climax.

  Dawn came only very slowly and there was not a patch of sky devoid of dark clouds.

  Golath shook himself. He was ready for the fight with the Arkonide. Let the old man dare show his face!

  • • •

  When Khrest awoke he dragged himself out of the Kaszill's airlock and got on his way. The storm had slackened but the rain persisted, drenching the land, and big puddles formed everywhere.

  Khrest bent down and massaged his swollen ankle. After waking up at daybreak it had taken him some time to pull himself together. His weakened body rebelled. Khrest knew that he was sick. During the night he had been disturbed by many feverish dreams. He lacked the strength to fight off his cold. Strangely enough his feeble state failed to discourage him. He had mustered more self-assurance than he would have thought possible under the bleak circumstances.

  He mobilized his scant resources by sheer willpower, challenging death itself. Not once did the idea occur to him that he was making a sacrifice. He simply felt duty bound to save the spacejet.

  He departed from the ship of the Unithers and sloshed through the desolate expanse of mud and water. A strange fire glinted in his reddish eyes. He never became aware that he could fall victim to his strenuous exertions. Was it his fever that prevented the voice of reason from reaching the level of consciousness?

  Time and again he gathered his strength and walked on in his limping gait, splashing water with every step. Within minutes he was soaking wet again.

  On days like these he had planned to sit in the comfortable warmth of his house by the window and watch the raindrops splatter on the glass and run down in glistening strings. He would have been contented to look out on the lake and enjoy the rest while a robot quietly served him a steaming hot drink.

  Khrest swallowed hard. It was better not to think of the idyll.

  He looked back. The Kaszill had become a black blot which he would probably never see again. He wondered why he had not regretted his choice of this planet earlier. He knew that Perry Rhodan would accuse himself with bitter feelings of self-reproach. His friend had implored him often enough to select a peaceful retreat on Earth.

  Khrest paused a moment to catch his breath and contemplate what was in store for him. He tried to surmise what shape the Unither was in. The Unither must have spent two harrowing nights out in the storm and he probably suffered some ill effects. Was he already at work to penetrate the protective shield? The thought made Khrest shudder. Perhaps he had already managed to enter the spacejet and he imagined him testing the controls with his trunk, trying to determine how they operated and what purpose they served.

  The thought instilled new determination and strength in Khrest. He had to get there in time. Contrary to all expectations he had already eliminated two of his adversaries but the last of his enemies could prove to be his downfall. His mouth formed a thin line in his pale face. He approached the imminent last decision with fear but the fear was not for himself.

  For a fleeting moment Khrest recalled his first meeting with Perry Rhodan at the time when the Administrator was still an unknown major in the Spaceforce who had made his first landing on the Moon in the rocket Stardust. Since then Khrest had dedicated most of his endeavors to the benefit of Terra. Now he was at the end of his strength.

  He checked the operation of his thermo-beamer with numb fingers. It was remarkable how similar the weapons of the spaceroving races were in principle. Of course, Khrest reflected grimly, they all were made to spread death and havoc. With this identical purpose in mind the inhabitants of most planets had inevitably developed the most practical form of handguns—provided they had hands, not tentacles or flippers.

  The Arkonide glanced at the lake. He was unable to see the shore since it was below the angle of his view. By the time he reached the landing place of the Solar System
the rain had washed away all tracks. Neglecting to take special precautions, Khrest stumbled on to the rim of the slope and was pleased to find the spacejet still at the same place. Then he noticed with alarm a conglomeration of unrecognizable machines which seemed to indicate that the Unither was already busy with attempts to break through the protective screen.

  Khrest hastened his steps.

  • • •

  Golath jumped back into his hole with a mighty leap, sending the water up in a big spray.

  The Arkonide had finally arrived. For an instant he had seen his shadow up there on the slope, a fragile figure that seemed to be swept away by the wind. Before Golath could reach for his weapon his opponent had disappeared again. The Unither strained his ears to listen in the rain. From where would he spring the attack? If his eyes had not deceived him, the Arkonide carried one of their own thermo-beamers in his hand.

  This meant that either Zerft or Liszog were dead. Or both. Golath peered tensely out from behind his cover. He had a good view of the slope, which was a great advantage. If the Arkonide descended—which he would be compelled to do if he wanted to get to his ship—he would have no place to hide on the bare sandy incline, whereas Golath was concealed in a safe place.

  The old man would not be so careless as to climb down to the shore in the immediate vicinity of the spaceship. Golath assumed that Khrest would risk a descent only at a safe distance. However this would not help him very much. The beach was flat and the Arkonide could not conceal his approach. There was only one thing for the Arkonide to do—he would have to face him in an open duel.

  Golath laughed jubilantly. He would deceive the other one by leaving his pit, only to jump back the moment he got his chance at a good shot. However the old man seemed to have lost his nerve. Despite his keenest surveillance the slim silhouette failed to appear again.

  He thinks he can accomplish more by a tactic of wearing me down, Golath speculated, but he won't get anywhere with that strategy. He was firmly convinced that he would be the final victor. He was ready for any trick his rival might have up his sleeve. In the final analysis there was only one way leading to the ship—a path down the slope.