The Plasma Monster Read online

  Fitzgerald was tall and strikingly lean in figure and was endowed with a crop of straw-blond hair. He was startled out of his reverie by a drum-like rattling sound. The hypersensor equipment had set off an alarm as it detected the transition of an unannounced spaceship.

  The Solar Fleet maintained a continuous surveillance of all areas of space which had been declared commercial territory for Terra. Any approach flight by alien ships had to be announced beforehand. The relay stations formed an overlapping, interlocked ring of surveillance posts which were designed for policing Rhodan's policies and making sure that all Galactic Trader elements observed it. If there were any violations, Rhodan's space squadrons would make a lightning-swift appearance and demand that the unannounced ship identify itself in a hurry.

  Lt. Fitzgerald quickly glanced at his oscillographs and saw that the spacewarp had been generated by a normal hypertransition. "That's another Springer, for sure!" he said.

  All he had to do was press a button. Instantly a datalink signal was transmitted to the two Solar ships that were cruising at picket stations in his sector. The automatic data hookup provided the patrol ships with all information necessary for them to reach the point of emergence of the unknown spacer—that is, if in the next moment the stranger did not disappear in a new transition jump.

  The Nile was a ship of the Terra class, measuring 200 meters in diameter and carrying a 400-man crew. It had been alerted by Fitzgerald's data-link signal. The Nile's big positronic computer processed the coordinates and started programming the transition manoeuvre. The powerful impulse engines opened up with a full-power propulsion blast. The power stations and inertial generators started to howl and the converters built up swiftly to maximum output. 400 crewmen quickly donned their spacesuits and scrambled to their stations. The ship's weapons control central announced its battle readiness. The loudspeakers began to make the transition countdown.

  In the ship's Control Central the operation was routine. The alert had been no cause for undue excitement. These men were veterans of far more serious missions than merely flagging a ship that had failed to announce its approach.

  "Normal hyperjump?" asked the commander. Communications had just completed evaluating the pulse-coded input from Ori-12-1818, so he was double-checking to make sure.

  "Sir, it's a normal jump.

  3 minutes later the Nile made a hypertransition and emerged back into the normal void some 28 light-years away, traveling at a velocity of 0.4 light-speed. Even in the moment of rematerialization its tracking instruments spotted the alien vessel and fed the data into the positronicon. While the crew was still recovering from the transition shock the Nile was already on an automatic course toward the unidentified spaceship. The instruments indicated that the stranger's speed was 0.1% greater than that of the Nile.

  "Sir," remarked Corp. Penter without looking up from his tracking console, "we should have been equipped by now with the new 3-D sensors like the relay station."

  "Are you thinking of Rhodan's latest alert orders, Penter?" returned the Nile's commander.

  "Yessir. Because we might be facing one of those Akon ships. What's to prevent those pre-Arkonides from still being able to use 'Stone-Age' equipment like ours and bumble through hyperspace like we do?"

  In the course of test-flying the research ship Fantasy, Rhodan and his companions had penetrated the center of the galaxy and there had discovered the Blue System which was the home of the Akons, an incredibly advanced race that was evidently the true ancestors of the Arkonides. Since that time, Rhodan and the Solar Fleet had been expecting a visit from the Akons. But no one was certain as to how they would come—whether in a spaceship or by means of a technology which was so advanced that most men hadn't dreamed of it as yet.

  Rhodan's alert order to the Fleet and to all relay stations read as follows: In the case of unannounced penetrations of our zone of interest, should any alien ship give any indication of an unusual form of propulsion, Terrania Headquarters shall be alerted immediately.

  The commander of the patrol cruiser did not answer Penter's question. He merely sat before his flight console and accelerated the spherical spacer slightly beyond its safety limits. "Alright," he said, speaking through the intercom to Communications, "you can hail the alien ship!"

  The antenna beamed the standard identification challenge to the stranger. Communications had automatically connected Control Central with the ship's receiving channel and now the crewmen began to experience a certain amount of tension. In a surprising burst of acceleration the intruder attempted to get away.

  "Fire Control: three warning shots!"

  From the Nile's polar gun turret a heavy impulse cannon fired a barrel-sized beam in the direction of the fleeing ship. The deadly ray of energy intercepted the stranger's course within 100 kms. Speed and acceleration had been accounted for and although the 'bow shot' held its intensity for three seconds the starship did not

  make contact with it.

  "Hold fire!"

  The commander called the order into his mike just as the bogey ship's reply

  was heard on the speakers.

  It was a Springer!

  5 minutes later the Nile braked its velocity to match that of its quarry and drifted in close alongside the cylindrically shaped vessel. A prize crew was sent over while the cruiser's guns held steadily on the 200-meter hull of the alien craft.

  "We have intercepted a Springer ship from the Gelsla System," began the Nile's report to Relay Station Ori-12-1818 and to the Fleet base on Betelgeuse 3. "A

  prize crew has been sent across. Stand by—we have a message from the boarding detail... Glord! Hello, Ori-12-1818—send us a medi-cruiser at once! Springer ship UG DVI has been hit by an epidemic or plague of some kind. More than half the crew is dead. There are only eight Traders who can still be considered intact. We are informed by Sgt. Hopkins that this Trader clan may be afflicted with what spacemen refer to as the 'stone-belly' sickness. This estimate, however, is provisional. OK, Fitzgerald, so when do we get the hospital ship?"

  Lt. Fitzgerald called back from Ori-12-1818 with a counter-question: "Have you quarantined the boarding crew and ordered them to stay with the UG DVI?"

  "No, but I'll take care of that. Have you alerted the medi-ship? What sector is it in now?"

  The Solar System maintained three ships of this class. In spite of their relatively small 100-meter hulls they were effective flying clinics equipped with the most modern facilities that Earthly medical science and Ara skills had so far developed. The first ship of this class had just been commissioned only two years before but within its first four months of service it had been able to chalk up its first major success. After a 10-day marathon of Herculean efforts on the planet Sulf the medicos had managed to isolate an unknown bacterial agent. It had caused the Terran settlers there to break out into a continuous state of perspiration so that they were dying due to dehydration. Five days later a serum was produced in sufficient quantity to inoculate 120,000 otherwise helpless settlers, thereby saving their lives.

  Now the lives of the 12-man boarding crew were at stake, as well as the lives of the remaining Springer survivors.

  One medi-cruiser lay in a docking berth in Terrania, ship two was on a mercy mission in the Vega Sector. Flying clinic three was on picket post at a distance of some 8,590 light-years. This latter vessel was contacted by Fitzgerald and it announced its ETA within six hours.

  While the medi-ship left its station and struck a course toward its first transition, the chief medical officer got into communication with the patrol cruiser's commander. Also, through relay hookup he was in contact with Sgt. Hopkins, leader of the boarding crew on board the plague-ridden UG DVI.

  "Describe the symptoms, Sergeant," the chief medico requested.

  Hopkins had no doubt taken various medical-service type courses at the Space Academy but he was no physician. He hesitated to describe the nature of the malady.

  But the chief medico appeared to be in a hu
rry. "Come off it, Sergeant! Get hold of one of those Springers and start feeling his abdominal area. It doesn't matter any more if you're handling the sick ones—you're all infected by now. Alright now, do you feel a stony hardness in the abdominal area clear up to the rib cage or are there still some pliable spots and if so, where?"

  Sgt. Hopkins' groan of protest was heard 8500 light-years over the hypercom channel. He felt that he was over his head and being asked for more than he could deliver. But he hesitantly reported what he could. The chief medico only broke in here and there with a yes or no but listened patiently to all of it.

  "I'm at the rib area now, doctor," said Hopkins, still unsure of himself. "Are you able to make anything out of all this?"

  "Thank you, Sergeant. You've done very well and I'm sorry to say that your original suspicions concerning enteric occlusion may be valid. You'd better prepare your men to expect their first intestinal cramps within two or three hours. I'll get everything started here that is necessary. That is all!"

  "Hello? Hey, Doc...!" yelled Hopkins into his microphone but then he clamped his jaws together in discouragement. The hypercom operator on the medi-ship had already cut off. All he knew was that this type of intestinal plague had the highest rate of mortality.

  While monitoring this conversation, Lt. Harold Fitzgerald had shaken his head once or twice. He had heard a technical name for the malady before. Enteric infarction had the reverse effect of cholera. Instead of dysentery the result was a total dysfunction of the abdominal-intestinal tract and a general hardening of the whole area, followed by a rapid rise in blood poisoning. In recent years the occurrence of this affliction had been so frequent in this section of the galaxy that it had taken a frightening toll of lives. Even the Galactic Medical Masters, the Aras, had declared themselves willing to work with Earthmen in order to combat this sinister epidemic. Meanwhile their joint efforts in this direction had probably developed a good prophylaxis for the ailment but as yet their search for the specific cause of the 'stone-belly' plague had been without success.

  Fitzgerald called into his Com Station. "Give me Headquarters in Terrania," he ordered.

  The hypercom connection was quickly established. The lieutenant started to report the situation but was interrupted before he had spoken a dozen words. Medi-ship 3 had already advised them of the plague condition.

  "Anything else, Lieutenant?" asked Maj. Dugan from Terrania.

  "Nothing else, Major."

  "I'd like to have soft job like yours for about four weeks," commented the major enviously as he cut off the communication with Relay Station Ori-12-1818.

  "Soft job...!" grumbled Lt. Fitzgerald. "It's the boredom that drives you up the bulkheads. But if I had a nice desk in Terrania..."

  • • •

  His car was stopped and the impersonal metallic voice of a steel monster demanded his I.D. papers.

  Walt Ballin was familiar with robots but he had never had any direct dealings with them before. But now this towering mechanical creature led the way for him to Perry Rhodan, whom he only knew from all his appearances on television. He was not aware that he had passed through four half-dozen invisible control points on the way but at a time like this he wouldn't have noticed them even if they had been plainly conspicuous.

  Ballin was in a cold sweat of tension. When he thought of his blatant nerve in calling Rhodan from Paris he almost felt sick to his stomach.

  The robot went ahead of him and opened one more door. He quickly announced: "Sir, Mr. Walt Ballin!"

  The newsman came within an inch of having a stroke. He stood rooted to the spot while he stared into the large, brilliantly lighted room and at the desk, behind which was sitting the man who had built up the Solar Imperium from a world torn

  by internal politics.

  "Please come in, Mr. Ballin!"

  He heard Rhodan's friendly voice and saw the First Administrator of the Solar Imperium stand up behind his desk.

  Ballin pulled himself together. But all the formal words of greeting he had rehearsed during his flight to Terrania were forgotten in his excitement. He hesitantly entered the room and sat down. He was now in the presence of the man whose face one could never forget, once he had looked into his cool grey eyes.

  Rhodan came to the point at once. "Mr. Ballin, I have read your feature article in the Europa News. It made such an impression on me that I'd like very much to hear more about it. You have accused the Administration of not keeping Terrans sufficiently informed concerning galactic developments. We have been reproached for this a number of times before. In fact it became a serious issue before the Parliament. Now it seems that the World Press has brought it to their attention again through your article.

  "Now tell me, Mr. Ballin, what was really on your mind when you wrote that June I feature for your paper?"

  Rhodan had scheduled a half-hour interview with Walt Ballin because his appointment calendar was very crowded. However, an hour and a half went by and the journalist was still talking to him while Rhodan continued to listen with increasing interest. His original judgment of the man had not changed. Ballin belonged in Terrania, not among the tens of thousands of backup assistants who took care of the routine operations but among his closest collaborators.

  He was about to make this suggestion to Ballin when the phone came on simultaneously with the red alert signal. Rhodan jumped up and went to his desk. On the viewscreen was the obviously agitated face of the chief of operations for Terrania's main hypercom station.

  "Sir..." The man's voice was so husky that he had to swallow before he could go on.

  But Perry Rhodan could guess what was about to be reported to him. Intuitively he thought: the Blue System.

  By interstellar standard time for the Sol System, the hour was 18:59.

  2/ THE OMINOUS VISITOR

  On board Relay Station Ori-12-1818 the standard time chronometer registered

  18:50. Lt. Harold Fitzgerald was in the midst of a luxurious yawn. For an hour now, medi-cruiser 3 had been moored alongside Springer ship UG DVI. A staff of medicos had transferred on board the stricken vessel in order to take up their fight against the insidious pestilence. For a long time Fitzgerald had been in the Com Room listening to all the interconnected voice traffic that was going on. Help had been too late for the majority of the crewmembers on the cylindrical Trader ship. According to the medicos it was questionable whether or not some 20 remaining Springers would be able to recover. It was a characteristic of this type of enteric petrifaction to not only cause death rapidly but also to paralyze and harden the intestines even in the early stages of the illness. This hardening process could be arrested by a medication that also served to reverse the process but where the final stages of the disease had been reached there was nothing more that medical skills could do. During this hour Fitzgerald had learned so much about the malicious malady that it had caused him to feel of his own abdominal section a number of times in order to make sure it was still pliable and normal. He figured it was a foolish thing to do and several times had an inclination to disconnect from the voice-com channels but he did so finally only because the doctors all began to speak in

  highly technical terms.

  And now he was at loose ends and bored.

  The chronometer clicked to 18:51.

  The lean, straw-blond Scotsman rose to his feet, thinking that he might as well go have a chat with the Com Room operators but just then he happened to glance at the hypersensor's tracking oscillograph. And instantly he was in no mood for idle conversation. He took one jump and was standing before the instrument, staring at it intently.

  On the green-glowing oscilloscope screen he saw an unusual series of low, flat curves. They indicated a transition, all right, but no Terran or Arkonide spaceship was able to show movement through hyperspace with this kind of waveform and amplitude. The very distortion of these curves from the norm gave emphasis to the fact that the unknown vessel's emergence into the normal continuum had been unusually gentle
.

  The alarms rang out. The ship's positronicon had once more detected an unannounced ship. It was not necessary for Fitzgerald to shake the Control Central's 5-man crew out of their lethargy from hours of boring duty. The alarm had done it for him.

  Since the discovery of linear space-drive the special 3-D hypersensor indicator had been developed. This versatile instrument had already connected itself to the computer in response to the alarm. It was inputting all of the coordinate data. The positronicon only required a few seconds to determine the galactic position of the alien ship.

  Alain Berliez and Roger Dempsey had been assigned to Ori-12-1818 as shavetail lieutenants only six months before but they were especially trained in regard to the new 3-D sensor. Now the main burden of responsibility was on their shoulders.

  This was a case that applied to Perry Rhodan's alert bulletin. However, before the alarm signal could be beamed to Headquarters, certain details had to be determined. In a few moments they had the contour echoes of the target object showing in relief on the sensor screen.

  "It's a spherical spacer!" Berliez; suddenly blurted out in surprise. "We came within an ace of disgracing ourselves for all time!"

  "Are you sure—a ball-shaped hull?" Fitzgerald was perplexed by the flat configuration of the oscillograph curves. He could not believe that this abnormal type of spacewarp had been generated by an Arkonide class of ship.

  "No doubt about it!" Berliez confirmed in a steady tone of conviction.

  "Something's haywire!" Dempsey interjected. "Don't you see it, Berliez? That spacer's got definite flat spots at the poles. Blast! Are we getting a distortion or something?"

  Lt. Fitzgerald hurried over to the sensor console and his two under-officers made room for him. He examined the 3D picture on the screen instantly. There was some distortion going on but not enough to hide the obvious flattening of the