Spoor of the Antis Read online

  Another man came forward and touched Hunter's arm. "Come on, Godfrey," he said. While he tried to draw Hunter away he shouted angrily at Rhodan, "Sir, don't you know that the constitution of the Solar Imperium gives us certain rights?"

  Rhodan was silent. The man let go of Hunter to face him furiously, his face flushed as though from running. There were heavy pouches under his eyes. Rhodan's silence only seemed to pique him more.

  "Our democratic freedoms guarantee us the right to the liqueur!" he persisted in a high-pitched voice.

  "You are in no condition to discuss Democracy with me," retorted Rhodan. He pressed an intercom button on his desk. "Mr. Kenwood, would you please come in here and escort my visitors downstairs? Our conference is ended."

  Somebody in the group shouted maliciously: "He probably has his share of Liquitiv reserved for him!"

  They were all showing their resistance now. Their logical thinking processes were being distorted. They were becoming unreasonable and their self-restraint was beginning to crumble. Rhodan could understand their reactions but even for him it was difficult to take their abuses as though he hadn't heard them. He kept telling himself that they were ill. Their condition had to be considered.

  Kenwood came in, all neat, proper and disciplined, greeting the Chief in his usual stiff manner. Behind him came another man who was not quite as military in his attitude or appearance. It was Reginald Bell.

  "If you please!" said Kenwood, inviting the visitors to follow him.

  Hunter only nodded without a word but the other man with him still protested. "You can't just send us away!" he complained incredulously. "You have to do something for us!"

  Rhodan and Bell exchanged meaningful glances. The man's attitude was typical. It was always Rhodan who must do something. So far he had always done something. His name was too closely tied to the progress of humanity that his failure to do something was unthinkable.

  Rhodan felt a restriction in his throat. It was not due to any sense of fear but more to a feeling of deep depression. By no choice of his own had gotten himself into a very enviable position. Humanity identified itself with him. He had become an almost mystical figure in the thoughts of billions of humans Rhodan moved on a higher plane of existence where he could rule and command whatever he pleased.

  There was practically only one possibility of descending from this imaginary Mount Olympus and that was to die! He, the immortal, suddenly had the feeling of being lost in an abyss of solitude. He was withdrawing farther all the time from the thought levels of ordinary mortals, for whom he wished to do everything in his power. Death was the price of returning to them.

  "They've gone." It was Bell's voice, speaking to him quietly.

  Rhodan smiled. He was not quite alone on Olympus. There were still a few others up there with him.

  "I guess it was a mistake to invite them up here," said Bell. "Looks like all that came of it was a few insults."

  Rhodan checked his watch. "The briefing starts in one hour. Anyway, it's well that I had a chance to witness the mood of these addicts personally."

  It seemed as though Bell had lost his sense of humor somewhere in the dreary wastelands of Lepso. He had been among the few who had sought to convince Rhodan that Thomas Cardif was not an evil man, basically. The stocky man had reminded Perry often enough that Cardif had been raised without knowledge of his parents. Moreover, the half-Arkonide believed that Rhodan had killed his mother. He considered the rumor to be true after Rhodan had sent his wife on an ill-advised mission that had cost her her life.

  "There's a better way to let you see the mood these poor victims are in," said Bell grimly. He switched on the intercom. "Kenny, switch that Paris telecast into our channel here. The Chief wants to see it."

  "Yes sir," came Kenwood's quick response. Bell joined Rhodan behind his desk so that he could face the viewscreen. It was a global monitor on which any TV program in the world could be seen, once the assistant in the anteroom had given appropriate instructions to the Communications Center in Terrania.

  "The Center has been advised, sir," Kenwood announced. "The telecast is being channeled over to you."

  "Fine-thanks!" Bell answered, then turned to Rhodan. "The telecast has been on for a few minutes already so I'd better explain that the people of Paris have been without Liquitiv two days longer than the average number of addicts in other cities. And that, by the way, is just a fluke-it wasn't intended. They ran out just two days before we placed a ban on all sales. It seems there was a holdup in normal distribution and before supplies could be replenished, the lid came down."

  The viewscreen began to flicker. The tube brightened quickly and the picture came into clear focus. The first thing Rhodan saw was a great mass of people. The commentator had his camera trained on the surging mob from an elevation which might have been a balcony. Somehow it was a ghostly spectacle. The sound was not coming through yet. The two top leaders of the Solar Imperium were looking at a silent multitude. Their pale white faces contrasted sharply with their darker clothing. Some groups were waving placards and banners which clearly demanded an immediate lifting of the ban on Liquitiv.

  "Excuse me, sir," said Kenwood over the intercom. "We lost the sound there for a moment."

  Then Rhodan was also hearing the multitude in Paris. A steady grumbling undertone emerged from their ranks. It wouldn't have been so bad if they had roared and raged and screamed but this was worse. Involuntarily Rhodan had an impression of the low warning growl of a great beast of prey which had just come of age.

  The filtered voice of the commentator was also heard. "The police are closing in from all sides with heavy riot equipment."

  As the camera panned across the scene a number of special vehicles could be seen moving across an open space. Rhodan recognized fire trucks with hydraulic snorkel turrets.

  Bell muttered dejectedly. "Let's hope they don't have to use guns on victims of the elixir."

  "The crowd is getting more excited," said the commentator, his voice rising. "Protest groups are forming. Police officials have thrown a cordon around the front of the government building. These people can't understand why they have been denied the use of the liqueur, which always seems to be rejuvenating and invigorating. We know, however" -the commentator's voice took on a theatrical tone- "that even various members of the Government and of the Solar Fleet are not inclined to live longer than a normal life span. Our most fundamental axiom is: equal rights for all!"

  "Is that guy donk?" yelled Bell, suddenly enraged. "It's blunkers like that who dump us from the frying pan into the fire!"

  "It's also quite a normal human reaction," answered Rhodan. "It's even possible that the commentator is also addicted. But with the mood of present public opinion his attitude isn't very helpful at the moment."Bell slammed his fist down on the desk. "So if somebody's dropping a guillotine on your neck you're still going to wonder whether or not be might have a reason for it? Human reaction! That guy just wants to come off like a big bird, that's all!"

  "It's good to see that you're back to normal again," observed Rhodan unperturbed. "You know that sensationalism is a reporter's stock in trade and it's normal for him to take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself."

  "But those people are practically condemned to end their lives in madness," objected Bell. "It's unnatural cruelty to spread that over a telecast!"

  "There's often a thin dividing line between actual circumstances and the bitter taste of having to bring them in the open," said Rhodan. "Such circumstances can be many things, even the prospect of death."

  "Very realistic," grumbled Bell. "We still don't know how many addicts we have on the Earth alone. But in addition there are the colonial worlds. And Atlan is faced with the same difficulties so much so that we can hardly expect any help from him."

  It was plain to see that Bell was confused by Rhodan's attitude. Always before, in every situation the Administrator had been able to clear up everything with a few swift commands. But n
ow it seemed that Rhodan was holding back. Bell suspected the reason for it. His first counter-measures had to be taken against the human race itself-against innocent people who had been victimized by some very clever advertising.

  "Unfortunately," said Rhodan, "we've lost Cardif's trail. We have succeeded in putting the production centers on Lepso out of business but we're all agreed that that isn't the main source of this narcotic poison, not by any means. We opened fire on the Springer ship that was carrying the surviving Antis but it got away from the temple. And Cardif was with them. We couldn't even determine where the Springer ship emerged from its hypertransition."

  "I know," said Bell ruefully. "Those Antis could beef up the Springers' hyper-compensators with their mental zappers-made 'em so strong they absorbed the whole warp wave. Our sensors couldn't spot their jump at all."

  Rhodan shut off the viewscreen. He seemed to have arrived at a decision. "We have to avoid an eventual rebellion. Desperate people like that are capable of anything. At the briefing I'm going to give orders for a more intensive campaign of public information. The world must know about the devastating effects of Liquitiv. I want to use every medium of public information available-TV, press, radio-all of them have to get rid of this fantasy, once and for all, that the liqueur is an elixir of life."

  Bell was skeptical but his usual impulsiveness was held in check this time. He was weighing Rhodan's words very carefully. "The world won't understand and they won't believe," he said finally. "For them, you know, that 12-years and 4-months deadline hasn't arrived, so they could have been drinking the stuff for years already and all it's done is to make them feel terrific. They all only call attention to the tests that every consumer luxury item is subjected to before it's put on the market. Top scientists have endorsed that poison-they've qualified it as being completely harmless. That's the kind of professional opinion that's anchored in the head of every addict. The only thing they're going to want to believe is that they can prolong their lives with a nice-tasting snifter like Liquitiv."

  Rhodan made a gesture toward the TV tube. "And that's just what we're going to have to counteract by means of the public media. Certainly we probably won't be able to get it through the heads of those who are still healthy that someday this potion is going to make them mentally deranged but we can at least avoid an all-out revolution. When the victims get the idea that we're concerned about them, that should be half the battle. We have to get them to hang in there and go along with us."

  Bell brushed a hand through his thick red hair. Often enough in the past Rhodan had been alone in his opinions and yet had turned out to be correct. But this time, Bell thought gloomily, only a miracle could help the situation.

  The addicts' thirst for Liquitiv wasn't going to just turn off with words. Before they got to the dying stage there'd be hell to pay. The idea of trying to bring them to their senses was like standing guard over a spring of contaminated water and trying to hold off an army dying of thirst. Bell began to have a fuller perspective of the terrible consequences all this could lead to. When his eyes met Rhodan's he knew that the First Administrator was thinking the same thoughts.

  Their former encounters with the Antis had put them through some pretty rugged experiences but all that was insignificant by comparison with what was hanging over them now. The anti-mutants' spider web was drawing in on them. A spider could be anywhere in that web and where it would attack from next could not be foreseen. Also, once the victim was trapped, the spider could take its time. All it had to do was wait until its victim entangled itself to a point of helplessness.

  Rhodan and Bell both knew that every countermeasure they tried would only bring them closer to the ultimate disaster. The logical conclusion was that they must do something else. They must hold off-they must wait and give no sign of defense preparedness.

  Neither Rhodan nor his chief deputy expressed this thought but each man knew that they both had the same idea.

  3/ THE BIG AMEN!

  The police officer got out of his patrol car. His broad face revealed only the slow, rhythmic movement of his jaws as he calmly chewed the gum in his mouth. There was no sign of fear in his attitude-it was more like curiosity. He casually swung his electric shock-stick in his free hand. The other hand he had shoved in between two buttons of his uniform jacket. On both sides of his car was a banner which displayed the latest public slogan: You die soon enough. Why speed it up with Liquitiv?This and other similar catch phrases were now on all the buildings and public vehicles, such as: Liquitiv yen? The Big Amen!... If you want to live, stop Liquitiv!... and many others In red fluorescent letters they attempted to advise the addicted populace of what they were facing if they continued the habit. Everywhere police and medical authorities had received informative fliers and bulletins which described the results of using the elixir.

  John Clayton, patrolman, stared calmly at the raging mob ahead of him. Normally his partners Andy Smithers and Jonas DeWerth would have been with him on a call like this but they had been sent home. The two of them were also hooked on the liqueur. So Clayton was alone in the street, facing more than 50 angry men.

  In the frenzied crowd was Henry Mulvaney, who knew nothing about John Clayton. For him a policeman was an enemy. Each dark uniform only stood between him and that which he wanted. And behind Clayton was the objective: a small shop dealing in spirit beverages and liquors.

  The owner of the shop cowered in the entrance. His trembling hands held a small pistol. Next to the door was a small showcase from which the normal displays had been removed. All that was there now was a bright poster: Liquitiv. But instead of a glowing and rejuvenated young woman, as in the banned TV commercials, there was a grinning skull and crossbones. A second caption read: Why buy and die?

  The liquor dealer had gone over to the government's side and had adopted its slogans. The anger of the addicts was threatening to descend upon him. At the moment John Clayton was the only barrier that kept the mob from pushing into the shop and demolishing it.

  Two days had gone by since Mulvaney had made his unsuccessful raid on Albert Lansing. He stared with burning eyes at the liquor shop. Since he was now suffering repeated attacks of dizziness, his disposition was anything but friendly. He had reached the borderline where he was on the brink of collapse.

  His fuzzy thoughts and tangled fantasies dangled false visions before him. There in the shop he was sure that a Paradise of liqueur supplies was waiting for him. The poster in the window was just a scam to deceive former customers.

  He had quickly found many supporters who were in the same condition as he. They were all only too ready to believe him. Such exhausted and desperate men were willing to grasp at straws.

  The policeman suddenly stopped chewing his gum. In a calm, firm voice he told them: "Everybody clear out now-go on back home!"At the shop entrance the owner waved his ridiculous little gun threateningly as though to give weight to his protector's words. John Clayton had formerly been assigned to such routine duty as handling traffic violators yet he slowly approached the crowd like a veteran.

  In a moment of clarity Mulvaney perceived that the officer's hand inside his jacket could be holding a gun, which was a greater threat by far than the shock-stick. "Get out of our way!" he shouted.

  "That storekeeper's got some Liquitiv stashed away in there-and that's what we've come for!"

  A howl of agreement followed these words. More than half the men present were already convinced that they would find the liqueur they were craving. If this were not so, why should the police show up?

  "I have hidden absolutely nothing in here!" retorted the shopkeeper in a shrill voice. A sign on the store indicated his name: Gary P. Mocaaro.

  "Alright, you heard him," said Clayton, trying to appease them. "He doesn't have anything for you."

  Mulvaney was so sick he thought he was going to have to throw up. He began to see several images of the dark uniform before his eyes. His vision was blurring.

  "We'd rather see for
ourselves," sneered a man next to him.

  Mulvaney moaned softly. He staggered forward a step or two toward the policeman. Never in his life had he felt so terrible.

  "That's far enough!" Clayton ordered sharply. The shock-stick wasn't swinging anymore. It was more like an extension of his arm now. The gum chewing had stopped. Mulvaney was thinking this might be a sign that the officer was afraid. He took another step forward.

  "Look out, officer!" croaked Mocaaro. "They're planning something!"

  Mocaaro's concern was neither for the policeman or his prowl car, however. It was of a much more personal nature: the merchant feared for his life and his establishment. He knew instinctively that Clayton was the only means of preserving both. It suddenly convinced him that he would have to help the officer. He raised his 'pop-gun' of a pistol and sought to aim it as he fired uncertainly.

  The echo of the shot had scarcely died away before Mocaaro realized that he had made a mistake. Clayton blurted out a cussword and lifted his stick. As though in response to a secret signal the addicted gang moved in a body. Clayton waited for them determinedly.

  With tears streaming down his face, Mulvaney also joined them. He was aware that they were threatening to outrun him and he was horrified at the thought that they would get the Liquitiv supplies ahead of him. He was already too weak to keep pace with the mob. A blind hate seized him. He wanted to have his share. It was he who had led them here in the first place. But that wouldn't stop them from grabbing up all the Liquitiv that they could get their hands on. Nobody would raise any question about Henry Mulvaney.