Atlan in Danger Read online

  "Incorrigible..." Rhodan said aloud to himself and grinned. For it was Bell who, time and time again in his inimitable fashion, provided a better mood at moments of depression. That in reality Bell was also loaded with problems no one knew better than Rhodan.

  Meanwhile Bell had seen to it that the data on the Rusuma System was brought to the boss. He took the glider to Research Tract 18.

  In section 065-propulsion he encountered something he called a mixed double, although this double consisted of almost 30 specialists, partly theoreticians and partly technicians.

  No one took notice of his arrival, a custom which had become habitual throughout Terrania. Bell scanned the team, divided into several groups. His interest was caught by a young Indian who was employing his arms and legs to aid his speech.

  "Bradley who is that?" Bell asked the professor in charge of 065propulsion.

  "Oh... Rabintorge, a new man. I can't cope with him. That Hindu is literally made up of contradictions!" Prof. Bradley declared, obviously irritated.

  Bell loved anything that was contradictory. He thanked the professor for the information and unobtrusively approached the group where Rabintorge, gesticulating wildly, was attempting to convince the others of his opinion.

  The argument put forth by one of his colleagues: "Where could you have gained all that knowledge? You haven't even had time to get a complete picture and what you are contending is and remains nonsense!" The Indian with the brown eyes and dark skin crossed his hands on his chest and bowed to the colleague who had attacked him so vehemently.

  "There you have it!" the colleague said with a sarcastic smile. The Hindu interrupted him, however. "You are mistaken. My contention is no nonsense. The space-time structure is shattered by linear hyper-propulsion on one constant as soon as the spacecraft propelled by it reaches the speed of light. Contrary to the hyperjump, in which upon leaving normal space and reentry the structure of the Universe is ruptured on all constants at these points, triggering off the structure shocks in turn, the linear hyper-propulsion pushes one constant out of its natural bedding upon exceeding the speed of light. The propulsion continues to do this as long as the spacecraft is faster than light! Where else could these indication errors originate that remain constant when measuring the space tension?"

  Bell had no idea what was to be understood by natural bedding of a constant in the space-time structure. Neither was his ambition to discover it very great but he could not escape the impression that this very young Indian was able in a few short words to conceptualize a very difficult matter in physics.

  Three colleagues began to argue with the Indian simultaneously but he remained unruffled. Bell heard something about computation results from Hades station; he heard the Hindu mention Ernst Ellert's name and refer to Ellert's data.

  Bell waited long enough to hear Rabintorge, launch into his proof. Suddenly he rushed out of Section 065Propulsion.

  Perry Rhodan looked up in astonishment as Bell stormed into his office. "What's up? Something new?" he asked. "I have three conferences within the next hour and..."

  "Let them wait!" Bell cried. "Just listen to me and then tell me what you think..."

  The stocky man forced himself to report calmly, not forgetting the most minute detail. He concluded with the observation: "Couldn't this Indian Rabintorge be a disguised Arkonide or Galactic Trader?"

  "I asked Mercant that same question a few days ago. Mercant's answer was no."

  "Then put Pucky on Rabintorge!" Bell suggested.

  Rhodan waved this aside. "Pucky isn't infallible. Think of that Arkonide dachshund spy we all fell for, including the mouse-beaver."

  "But that Indian is no Indian, Perry! That guy is totally confusing Section 065Propulsion with his contradictions. Even Prof. Bradley doesn't get along with him. Huh, who are you calling now, Perry?" He had noticed that Rhodan had depressed a button but could not see which one.

  "Never mind, Reggie. You just mentioned Bradley. If the reports on him are correct we'll stick him in the sanitarium for the next six months. The professor has exhausted himself in the attempt to develop a tracking device for linear hyper-structure shocks."

  The door to Rhodan's office opened as John Marshall, head of the Mutant Corps and one of the best telepaths, entered. "Sir, I was supposed to..."

  Rhodan motioned him to stop. "Marshall, have a seat. In a few minutes Mr. Bell and I will be finished." He turned back to Bell. "This young Indian who only passed his exam one week ago must be a mutant in the mathematical-physics realm. Rabintorge is the same man whose bluff..."

  At that moment Bell abruptly turned to Marshall. Something suddenly seemed weird to him. He saw Marshall stand up and heard him say: "Yes, boss!"

  A moment later Perry was communicating with his Defense Chief. "Rhodan here!... Mercant, you get 4 or 5 of your best people over to Section 065Propulsion on the double. There's a strong suggestor in 065! Your men will find the mutant Kitai Ishibashi there. Ishibashi is leading the project. That's all!"

  Perplexed, Bell stared at his friend. He simply did not believe what his mind was telling him and what he gathered from Perry's words. "Perry, that couldn't mean that I... that I...?"

  Rhodan nodded and John Marshall, who had stepped alongside him, nodded. "Yes sir," he said, "you are under such a strong suggestive influence that I can't even get through to you."

  "Marshall, say that again..." Bell protested, his voice sounding weary. When John Marshall made an assertion like that, it was accurate. "But where did this happen to me? In 065Propulsion? Then that Indian is an agent from the other side! Didn't I say that...?"

  The intercom interrupted. Mercant was at the other end. "Sir, the project is in progress!"

  "Thank you!" Rhodan replied and a clicking sound revealed that the connection to Defense Central had been interrupted.

  "That Hindu..." Bell growled and clenched his fists. He then turned to Marshall again to inquire: "Am I still subject to suggestion, my will still being influenced?"

  "No sir. The block that was given you is strong enough. As I said, I can't even get through to you."

  "Where aren't you getting through? Will you finally tell me where...?"

  John Marshall's thin face remained controlled. "Sir, I am not in the position to read your thoughts when you are talking about the Indian Rabintorge or..."

  "That guy with the doe eyes!" Bell exclaimed and fell back in his chair. "But how do I get rid of the block? Perry, did it occur to you that I had been tampered with?"

  "I did notice a small item, Reggie. You almost always sympathize with the person who is staunchly defending a new theory. But you hardly left one good hair on Rabintorge's head. That was more apparent in your voice than in your words. You were full of hatred towards the young man from Lahore and that doesn't really fit you. That made me suspicious, which is why I summoned John telepathically. He was to test you."

  "When I get hold of the guy that took such liberties with me..."

  "I am much more interested in who is behind the suggestor planted among us," Rhodan said, taking the edge off Bell's anger. "And this incident had to come up today, just when I have a thousand other matters to attend to. Time is flying. Soon the eight-hour deadline will arrive and Atlan will call in again."

  "What have I been saying since New Year's Eve about this year 2044?" Bell blustered, extending his right thumb.

  Ever since the New Year's Eve party celebrating the advent of 2044, Reginald Bell's right thumb tip had become a nightmare to his closest associates. At the party he had accidentally knocked an 'unbreakable' glass decanter off the table. The glass shattered. And—if it weren't contradictory enough that unbreakable glass could shatter at all—while gathering up the fragments, Bell cut his right thumb tip.

  From that moment on Bell turned into a superstitious pessimist and, paying no regard to whether one wanted to hear it or not, he proclaimed that the year 2044 would be a catastrophic year for the Solar Empire. Until now he had unfortunately been right! />
  And now he demonstratively extended his thumb towards Perry, whose grey eyes were flashing angrily. "May I again request that you abandon that insinuation at last, Reggie. It bores me!"

  "OK, you're the boss, Perry, but I'm still right. Now Atlan is up to his neck in water and we are supposed to help him! We with our handful of spacecraft! And we must not forget that there are still about 3,000 Druuf battleships cruising in our Universe! Heaven help us if they should one day appear above Earth, as once happened. Then no Arkon robot ships or Springer clan will come to blast us clear. Now why does everything unpleasant have to storm in on us from all sides at once?"

  Perry Rhodan let Bell talk. He knew him better than anyone else. It was the cheapest, simplest and most effective method to simply let him ramble on. Finally he would calm down of his own accord.

  Atlan's emergency call was weighing on Perry Rhodan's mind like a nightmare. And the disturbing incident in Section 065Propulsion had clearly demonstrated that the Solar Empire was also vulnerable from within and that the best security measures could be undermined time and time again.

  Bell glanced from one to the other, hearing no response to his remarks. "The action at 065Propulsion is sure taking a long time."

  "Even in the Solar Empire miracles take awhile!" Rhodan sharply replied, silencing Bell.

  The long wait had begun. Rhodan had issued instructions that he was not to be disturbed under any conditions. The exception was, of course, alert signals.

  Forty-five minutes after the alert Mercant reported in on intercom. "Sir, the mutant Ishibashi has detected that the technician, Elvis Artun, is a hypno. Elvis Artun came to us from the GHC Company shortly after the Springer invasion."

  Rhodan was immediately struck by the discrepancy between Marshall's information and Mercant's report. "A counter-question, Mercant: just what is this Artun... hypnotist or suggestor? That must be determined at once, because if Artun is positively a hypno, we have not yet discovered the suggestor in 065Propulsion! Mercant, you put some pressure on Kitai Ishibashi. He can find out which faculty Artun possesses. Mercant, I have very little time!"

  Bell didn't dare say a word. He could see that Rhodan was concentrating on the telepath, Marshall. Their thought impulses were moving back and forth in a silent dialogue.

  "OK, sir! I reached Pucky; the mouse-beaver is already on the way to 065Propulsion!" Marshall now spoke aloud in order to inform Bell as well. Almost simultaneously Rhodan's microcom to his left became activated. It was the mouse-beaver. "Perry, I just spotted two guys. If they could, they would eat me up. But they can't. They are stuck to the ceiling. Can they hang up there until Mercant's people take them in custody?"

  The mouse-beaver addressed everyone in a familiar tone and the Administrator of the Solar Empire was no exception. However, it did not seem like Pucky at all to ask Rhodan for permission to allow the two foreign agents he had discovered to hang from the ceiling by virtue of his telekinetic power.

  "Pucky, you are not up to mischief, are you?" Perry sternly inquired."

  "Boss," the mouse-beaver squeaked through the microphone, "have I ever been?"

  Rhodan didn't wish to become involved in that discussion. Pucky's pranks were well known throughout the entire Solar System. "Lieutenant, who are they? The names, please!"

  It was an official inquiry. The mouse-beaver understood that well. When Rhodan addressed him by rank he had to refrain from joking.

  Pucky responded in kind: "First Administrator, the two suggestors are called Tom Sharkey and Pierre Rochard. At the moment they are cursing me but in between they curse the GHC Company in Capetown and in particular the Third Director, Horace Edwards... but... but..."

  It occurred very rarely that the mouse-beaver stammered in astonishment; now he even fell silent. The microphone only picked up his excited breathing.

  "Pucky, what's going on in 065Propulsion?" Rhodan refrained from addressing him as lieutenant again.

  "Hey, Perry..." Pucky's squeaky voice whispered, "Sharkey and Rochard are by no means real suggestors. Something is unkosh about their brainwave patterns... Perry, later... not now..."

  "Well, well," Rhodan wondered, letting his left arm sink to his side. "Pucky switched off. How did his voice sound towards the end in your opinion, Marshall?"

  He had not only listened over microcom, Marshall had been in telepathic communication with the mouse-beaver and thus knew more. But what he had to report did not sound reassuring. "Pucky had to utilize his last reserves to protect himself against the suggestive influence of the two agents."

  At that moment the air glimmered and the mouse-beaver entered. He had come to Rhodan's office from 065Propulsion by teleportation jump. "I gave it to them, Perry!" he reported, proud but exhausted. Then he stared at Bell. "Fatso, what have they done to you?"

  Rhodan sharply interceded. "Leave Reggie out of this, Pucky. He's under a strong suggestive influence. What did you find out?"

  Pucky bared his single incisor, suggesting laughter. "Plenty, boss! At least as much as Sharkey and Rochard know themselves. That suffices to turn the entire GHC Company upside down and he searched for a Springer hypercom apparatus! I've already sent a security man to Rochard's apartment."

  "Why?" Rhodan asked.

  "Because there are three ampoules of Ara toxin to be found there. I don't know any more about it. Rochard thought of them once briefly. He was afraid that we might find them."

  Rhodan leaned forward. "Ara toxin. That's what you said, isn't it, Pucky?"

  "GHC Company, Springer hypercom, Ara toxin; and Sharkey and Rochard are no real suggestors but just doped! And I am willing to bet that Elvis Artun is no real hypno, because wave patterns of the sort those two agents emanate, Perry, are not normal. But Marshall will understand me better..." He turned to John Marshall and asked: "John, have you ever seen a brainwave pattern in which the suggestor strand is barely developed but the person to whom the pattern belongs has command of incredible suggestive powers?"

  Pucky's words were partially drawn from a special language. Only telepaths could understand what a brainwave pattern and a suggestor strand was supposed to be. That Marshall had understood the mouse-beaver was evident in his face, which displayed undisguised disbelief.

  Pucky was satisfied. "I must have looked just as dumb as you do now back there in 065Propulsion when I suddenly made that discovery. And then the guys wanted to sandwich me in suggestively..." He turned back to Rhodan and assumed a modesty that did not suit him at all. "Perry, I had to... I had no choice... If you call Mercant right away, tell him that the doctors don't have to bother about Rochard and Sharkey for three hours. They certainly won't awaken from my hypnosis any sooner than that."

  "Lt. Puck..." Rhodan began, with no special intent behind his form of address. He flinched slightly when the mouse-beaver broke in, attempting to give his squeaky voice a military ring: "Yes, First Administrator of the Solar Empire...?"

  Rhodan's serious face brightened and the boss regarded the mouse-beaver with a grin. "Thank you, Pucky. You paid me back well. But I still have one more chore for you: you teleport over to Rochard's apartment. Try to find the Ara toxin and bring it here!"

  "OK, boss!" and the mouse-beaver disappeared from Rhodan's room.

  Bell was breathing heavily. "Marshall, does the suggestive block influence my other mental processes?"

  "No sir! Only your experience at 065Propulsion has been falsified."

  "Small consolation. Perry, I want to look up Frank Lemmon, the Section Head of F-1. I have a few questions for him."

  "And when do you want to submit to treatment so that the suggestive block can be lifted, Reggie?" Rhodan asked in surprise.

  "When we have time for that. I just have to avoid that Indian, Rabintorge. Otherwise that young man might think I'm awfully dumb."

  The door closed behind him. Rhodan and Marshall were alone, waiting for Pucky's return. Meanwhile Rhodan briefed his Security Chief. Mercant's face on the screen exhibited neither astonishment n
or surprise. He, who had grown up in Security, had been faced with even more improbable facts in his long life.

  "All necessary steps will be taken on my part, sir! That was all Allan D. Mercant had to say on the subject.

  "The Mutant Corps will be present when the administration building of the GHC Company in Capetown is searched, Mercant. Prepare the mission for that."

  "Yes!"

  The screen went grey again. Rhodan glanced at the clock. In three hours Atlan would call again and he had barely found the time to apply himself to the situation confronting the Admiral in his empire.

  "Marshall..."

  John Marshall looked at his boss. The telepathic communication between them was broken. Perry Rhodan was gazing beyond the Solar System—somewhere.

  "Marshall, can you understand my son?"

  "Boss..." The moment had come when he had to answer Rhodan's personal question. "Yes sir. I can understand Thomas Cardif. But I cannot condone what he did..."

  "I didn't want to know the rest, John. But now you have got to explain why you can understand his action. If you want to, that is."

  Before responding, Marshall seated himself more comfortably, crossing one leg. Finally he began to speak. "Your son didn't have any parents. When he learned who his parents were he was totally unprepared, stricken by the effects of the risk that Perry Rhodan and the Arkonide, Thora, incurred with their marriage. You don't mind my talking like this, boss?"

  Rhodan nodded somberly.

  "Thomas Cardif felt only affection for your wife—his mother, that is. But when he did experience motherly love in small doses, his work prevented him from being with his mother. For Thomas Cardif the word duty must have become a curse word, for be is neither Terran nor Arkonide. I tried never to forget that when evaluating him. When he did experience what maternal love was, his mother died and from that moment on Thomas Cardif was alone. Hate and love—aren't the two related? Standing beside the grave of your wife and his mother, you offered him your hand. I wouldn't have taken it either if I were Thomas Cardif and..."