Man and Monster

  Perry Rhodan

  The Third Power #36

  Man and Monster

  A sinister psychic force spreads throughout the galaxy. The Mooffs have issued their ultimatum and, for Perry Rhodan, it spells deadly danger. Meanwhile, seven hundred members of the New Power's crew are critically ill. The Aras, medical masters of the known universe, must be found. And the answer to their whereabouts lies in an alien world of 250-million-an-hour hurricanes and seas of ammonia. This is the stirring story of–

  —————————————————

  MAN AND MONSTER

  —————————————————

  1/ DESPERATION TITANIC

  HORROR confronted the group. Medusa might have turned the men's faces to stone.

  Behind the horrified humans pressed the small ferret-like robots of the Medicorps. Occasionally a clink was heard as instruments touched instruments which the automatons were programmed to use only in case of special emergency or major catastrophe. The high-precision specialized machines bore on their breast and back plates the insignia of the Medical Service. Never failing, never tiring, they were designed and constructed to help ailing humans. Their thin articulated instrument arms were poised ready for action, only awaiting the order of the physicians and scientists in charge.

  The solemn men peered through a plastisteel partition into the wardroom beyond. An engineer in Air-Conditioning-Control appeared on the videoscreen. His right hand grasped a switch controlling air distribution. Over the loudspeaker of the sound system the high whine of live turbines was a constant hum.

  Everything was ready for the decisive move—but one man could not bring himself to act, could not make the final—perhaps-fatal—commitment.

  Perry Rhodan, First Administrator of the United Peoples of Earth and presently Arkon Expedition Commander, stretched out both hands against the partition as though to enclose all 700 of his fate-stricken crew in one all-protective embrace.

  In spite of appearances, the sight he witnessed beyond the barrier was neither comical nor intended as a humorous performance. A normal sense of humor recoils when, one is aware that it is sick and helpless men who are cavorting as though in the grip of a virulent variant form of St. Vitus' Dance.

  The comedic antics, the clowning, the sidesplitting slapstick was truly sick humor in its medical sense: Hyper Euphoria. A synthetic 'high' or boisterous abandon, an involuntary, unconscious descent into a vertigo of uncontrollable mental impulses where arms and legs flailed aimlessly about and gaping mouths were impelled to utter infantile babbling or shriek out in raucous song. Vaguely akin to some sort of rapturous enchantment, it was actually a dangerous plunge into the bottomless abyss of madness.

  Rhodan observed the wild dancing, singing and caterwauling of his afflicted men with helpless despair. Serious men, clear-thinking galactonauts, technicians and highly qualified scientists—all reduced to incoherent lunatics. To the man, all 700 had forgotten all duties of their service or command.

  There had to be a cause— somethinghad turned them into what they were now: piteously helpless victims. "Do something!" Rhodan was heard to groan. "Just do something."

  Biologist Janus van Orgter could only bite his lips. Toxicologist Tina Sarbowna had lost all of her calloused and haughty sarcasm; now she was happily human again, a woman with feelings, a female scientist humbled by lack of specific knowledge. Her thin figure appeared to be bowed under the weight of her grey mane of hair. As though in a trance, she stared into the wardroom of madness before her.

  The Titan's Medical Chief, surgical genius Prof. Kaerner, considered for one brief moment the thought of brain surgery, then hastily rejected it. Operations were out.

  Kaerner could not help; no one could help!

  Rhodan thought: there were his best men, dancing, raving and howling because after landing on the planet Honur they had allowed themselves to be deceived, because they had merely taken into their arms those enchanting and fascinating little animals, just to take pleasure in their funny chatter. Who would not have taken to their hearts these small creatures, less than a foot long, who had the outward appearance of dainty little bears? No one had been immune to the temptation to scratch the soft fur of the curious little Nonues, otherwise known as Hono bears.

  When the little fellows would stretch out their pink paws or wrinkle their comical noses, the coldest heart of the toughest noncom would melt like butter. But the Nonues had turned out to be a bit too precious. They couldn't help it, of course, that their delicate pelts exuded a microscopic secretion: no living creature is responsible for the attributes given to it by Nature.

  The 700 men of the super battleship Titan had simply had a piece of tough luck, that's all. In a factual sense they were guilty themselves for their own poisoning or infection, because on strange worlds one shouldn't touch or for that matter consume things unless very carefully examined beforehand.

  On the other hand, these considerations had forced Perry Rhodan into a self-analysis. He accused himself bitterly. He, who held the chief responsibility, had even recommended to his men that they should acquire some of the lovable bears from the natives of Honur, more or less as good luck mascots. It went without saying that a little diversion could be used on board a super-battleship that measured close to a mile in diameter and mounted ordnance consisting of the most frightful weapons of annihilation in the galaxy.

  Instead of diversion, however, the advent of the small mascots had an opposite effect. The wholly blameless little bears had been put to evil use by unknown forces. Somebody had gone to very special pains in order to eliminate the Titan's crew by very extraordinary means. The basic principle of destruction was Man's love of animals; the harmless creatures had been converted into weapons.

  Rhodan had landed on this remote planet in Star Cluster M13 merely to wait safely out of the main spaceship routes for the arrival of the fighter ship Ganymede, whose commander had received the order to bring a fresh crew of men and ship's armament and equipment from Earth, 34000 light-years away. The situation in the Greater Empire, whose rule by Arkonides had recently been taken over by a giant robot brain, had in itself permitted no further delay in providing the super-giant Titan with adequate manpower.

  So Rhodan had waited until the silent, primitive natives had appeared with their enchanting house pets. Only later did they discover, after a heavy battle on Honur, that these animals were being bred by unknown intelligences. The poison produced by them had been chemically converted into one of the most frightful drugs in the galaxy. This had been the first clue of the existence of intelligences that Khrest had called Aras. The only thing known about them previously was that this strange people had acquired a still stranger monopoly: the Aras called themselves the Medical Masters of the Galaxy. Only a few beings from this race had been found and they revealed no more than their claim to galaxy-wide medical supremacy.

  Once more, Rhodan mentally reviewed the most recent events.

  After Col. Freyt had delivered 800 men to the Titan, at least the ship was again flight- and battle-worthy, although the minimum coverage still wouldn't account for manning the 40 lifeboats of the giant spacer. Then, too, even Rhodan's most valuable co-workers had fallen ill. And even the men and women of the Mutant Corps had not been aware of just how dangerous the little animals could be.

  Only Rhodan, the Arkonide Khrest, the furry creature named Pucky, the mutant Wuriu Sengu and Lt. Tifflor had escaped the calamity, because at the time of the general poisoning they had been out of the ship on a patrol flight. For this reason they were the last healthy members left of the original crew.

  Other men who were experienced from the Vega Sector campaign, came on board. Although all had been processed through the Arkonid
e hypno-schooling, it had been considered necessary to acquaint them with the equipment and organization of the super-battleship. The Titan had been and still was the ultimate development of the Empire's spaceship technology.

  Suddenly, in the large Officers' Mess, a heavy cabinet was torn out of its deck fastenings. The rugged wardrobe piece reeled up into the air, only to come down shortly afterward in a thundering crash. One man emitted a resounding yell. He had been wounded in the foot.

  "That's the end!" blurted out Prof. Kaerner, deeply disturbed. "In the name of Heaven, sir, if the mutants bring their strengths to play, the greatest calamity can occur! That was Tama Yokida, the telekineticist. I saw him concentrating on that! You must give the order!"

  Rhodan's face drew tight in anguish. In recent days his tall figure had taken on a slight slump. What the ship's scientists had recognized as a necessity twisted the depths of his being.

  "Is it absolutely necessary?" he whispered. "Professor, I can't just subject them all—"

  Tina Sarbowna broke in with her rough, deep voice. "You can and you must!" It was a voice that commanded respect because it belonged to a woman who had achieved her position through hard work and great knowledge. "I maintain now as before that we are dealing with a poison. Which nerve centers are the most sensitive to it, we don't know, or at least not yet. The fact is obvious, however, that they reject both food and drink. I believe that physical consumption and possible atrophy are beginning. Do you want your friends to die of starvation?"

  Rhodan removed his sweat-dampened hands from the transparent partition. Two slowly fading impressions remained on the plastic surface.

  "Stiller!"

  The engineer on the viewscreen lifted his head.

  "You may begin! But not too much—take it easy!"

  The snap of a closing switch broke the stillness. From the ventilators of the large mess hall, whitish puffs of vapor emerged. In scattering and drifting shreds they were borne along on the fresh air streams until the first suffocating clouds enshrouded the trembling heads and shrieking mouths. The completely harmless but fast-working anesthetic gas remained suspended in the room. The exhaust vents of the automatically activated ventilation security system were closed off by Stiller.

  The ecstatic yowling and shouting tapered off. In increasing numbers the sick men fell into a beneficial sleep. Reginald Bell, Rhodan's second in command, appeared to have a moment of clarity just before sinking down. It was almost as though an unfailing instinct of danger had brought the confused man to a point of angry protest. He staggered to the transparent partition, his lips parted, then sank to the deck with a look of bewilderment in his blue eyes.

  Silence reigned in the mess hall of the Titan. It was the same in other departments and sections where the infected ones had been quarantined. The women of the crew lay in Thora's spacious cabin. There, too, the lunatic laughter had been stilled. The exhaust vents turned on again. In a few moments the anesthetic vapors were drawn away and fresh oxygen streamed in.

  Rhodan turned away with slumped shoulders. Beyond him, technicians opened the locked security hatches. The first Med Robots scurried into the room. Men of the newly arrived crew hurried in with inflatable emergency beds. The large ship's sick bay wasn't extensive enough to accommodate all the patients.

  The bleak and desolate landscape of the planet Honur shimmered on the monitor viewscreens. A section of the small red sun was to be seen on the upper edge of the screen. Outside, all was quiet. The great laboratory of the unknown intelligences had long since been conquered. The liberated Nonues, or Hono bears, had scattered to the four winds. Of the indigents, who had reverted to a primitive state, there was also nothing more to be seen. It was as though Honur had never harbored life.

  "And now?" asked Perry Rhodan tonelessly. "You've had your way—so what happens now?"

  The Arkonide Khrest moved himself into the foreground. His old yet strangely young face was furrowed. His white hair shimmered in the diffused lighting. "Perry, make a return jump into the Arkon System," he recommended calmly. "If there is any help to be had, it will be there. It would be senseless to fly to the Earth. Your scientists already have the medical knowledge of my race. They can't help. So the only hope left is that Arkon will have made new discoveries in the meantime."

  Rhodan's face revealed his inner contempt. "Arkon!" he retorted tensely. "My friend, you're dreaming! That unfit, degenerate race of yours will have done anything else but search for new medical remedies! They lack the will to action, don't you understand?"

  Khrest's reply was expressionless. "Nevertheless, try it."

  "In other words," said Rhodan, "we go there so that the robot brain can retake the Titan that we've struggled so hard to win? I still have my deal with that automated Regent but—! You might say the super-battleship we took from Arkon III belongs to us because we've finally done something to earn it. But what do you suppose will happen if we venture smack dab into the center of his sphere of power? Can you vouch for the actions of a machine? Are you capable of making a studied prognosis? I believe not!"

  "Don't be bitter," answered Khrest. "The Titan belongs to you. I have requested some statistics about our current situation."

  "Great! Probably how hard a man had to cough to generate a thrust of—say—one three-thousandth of a gram?"

  The assembled scientists exchanged silent glances. The Chief was obviously at the end of his nerves.

  Suddenly Rhodan became quite calm. "So what will you do now?" he asked.

  Kaerner breathed a sigh of relief and replied, "We will start intravenous feeding immediately and through a series of injections we'll make sure the patients remain in deep sleep. This will block any acutely dangerous developments. Meanwhile we will do all in our power to identify the symptoms more closely. The chemical and biological analyzes are proceeding. We are seeking to determine whether we are dealing with a normal toxicant or a poisonous metabolic product of unknown bacteria. When we know that, we may proceed more intelligently. Above all, however, we should be thankful that we've gotten them to sleep."

  Rhodan only nodded, because at this stage nothing else could be said. He looked once more into the mess hall. The crew and the robots were busy setting up the emergency beds.

  "Sir!" rasped a voice on the loudspeaker. "Dr. Certch wishes to speak with you urgently!"

  Rhodan looked up. The viewscreen revealed the thin, exhausted features of a young man. Only a few months ago, Lt. Julian Tifflor would not have dreamed of belonging so soon to the administrative staff of a super-battleship. In him, youth's innocence of eye had disappeared. The load of responsibility had converted a 20 year-old shave-tail into a reliable and duty-conscious officer.

  "Certch?" inquired Rhodan distractedly.

  "Our new robot psychologist, sir," said Tiff. "More specifically, it has to do with mathematical logistics."

  "Ah! I'll be right up. Tell him to wait in Command Central."

  The medical scientists had disappeared. With a sense of having been abandoned, Rhodan took one last look at his unconscious companions in the mess hall. There was probably no better way, he thought, to protect them from harm.

  Wearily, he went to the nearest antigrav lift. When he left the mess, he felt suddenly alone. In this giant spaceship, 800 men were hardly noticeable. In this mile-wide sphere with its countless rooms, they could very easily get lost.

  2/ ENTER: THE ULTERMAN PRINCIPLE

  Everson's giant, heavily built body did not harmonize very well with the austerely constructed pilot's seat. In the first place, it had been designed for an Arkonide, and as a result the contours were not in particular agreement with Capt. Everson's Herculean physique.

  He looked first at his watch, then glanced routinely at the activated magniscreens in the circular gallery of monitoring devices around him—and finally at the brand new insignia of rank on his uniform.

  The former Lt. Everson had only been promoted to captain several hours before, which was fair reason for an opport
une and carefully inconspicuous downward glance at his badge of authority. With a slight clearing of his throat, he cast a supervisory eye over the bustling scene in the Command Central before him. The Titan was clear for takeoff. Far below decks could be heard the muffled rumbling of the power plant's heavy-duty converters, in standby idling mode. Only the propulsion engines were silent.

  "I can't just sit here like this," Everson murmured to himself.

  Lt. Tanner, of slight build, dark complexion, endowed with a lively demeanor and farcical sense of humor, permitted himself a fleeting grin. Marcus Everson was a phlegmatic monster of a man. The crew maintained seriously that the only way one could get a rise out of the Captain would perhaps be to take away his food ration.

  During the latest battle, however, 'Tiny' Everson had proved this to be far from the fact. As Perry Rhodan's newly appointed First Officer, the galactonaut could, under proper circumstances, transform himself, by contrast, into a roaring tidal wave; but that was another story.

  "Atten-n-n-n- shun!" Somebody shouted the command with harsh, long-drawn emphasis.

  Men whirled around and came to a stop. Everson closed his eyes painfully and made a show of plugging his ears with his thick index fingers, while he favored the announcer with a reproachful scowl. And then the world shook. Everson's own response came with the thundering crescendo of a rocket blastoff.

  Perry Rhodan, who had just entered the Command Center, glanced at his new First Officer. "Thank you," he said. "At ease and carry on."

  Catching his breath again, Everson dropped back into his seat. "Sonny, that was class!" he praised himself in low tones.

  Tanner retorted, "The Old Man's still dusting his ears out after that one!" Then he added, "Well, I've fed in the program. Now we'll see how this overgrown hulk can get off the ground. It's hard to imagine that anything like this can actually fly!"

  "I can imagine it," said Everson with modest calm. "I can at least give it a try."