Secret Mission Moluk Read online

  "If there are in fact technically advanced creatures here," Scoobey said, "then there must be some indications that would point to it."

  "There's nothing else for us to do but examine that planet down there one more time," Everson told bis men, "and this time from the ground up."

  Locating and measuring devices were put into full operation.

  Moluk offered space travelers a warm layover if they were ever to land there. It was a world with large deserts, water-poor and covered only by natural, narrow strips of vegetation. The astronomers spoke of an average temperature of almost 42° Celsius on the day side.

  "And that's in the shade," Pentsteven told a moaning Weiss.

  Even so, the air was breathable. Its oxygen content was not as high as on the Earth. Measurements and analyzes showed large amounts of noble gases.

  Sandstorms, dust hurricanes and dry thunderstorms followed on one another's heels.

  Goldstein, the mutant, picked up vibrations from primitive life forms but not even he found any sign of the paranormal superbeings.

  In another 48 hours all possible means of observing the planet had been tried. At length Everson gave the order for the Mexico to land on the night side of Moluk.

  His face impassive, Marcus Everson looked at the viewing screen in front of him. Supported by the gravity-blocking screen of the antigrav field, the cruiser floated slowly towards the surface of the planet. Everson had decided against a landing with roaring engines. The bright glare of the retro-beams would have been visible from a considerable distance in the night.

  The altimeter showed 142 meters.

  To Everson's left sat Carmene, the navigator. His scarred face and black eyes were an odd contrast to the control panel.

  It happened 34 meters above the ground.

  All of a sudden the fist of a giant seemed to clutch for Everson. His stomach became a wrung-out mass, causing nausea and dizziness. Although it happened within a space of a few seconds, he had time to think:

  The anti grav field has broken down!

  The impact came in the same moment. Its force was enough to throw the colonel out of his seat. He felt himself lifted into the air. He raised his arms instinctively to protect himself. Even while he was still sailing across the control room, the lights went out. Someone cried out in the darkness.

  Everson struck the ship's computer. A stabbing pain bored into his right shoulder.

  One of the vidscreens broke with a violent crash. Glass clattered to the floor. Somewhere metal was cracking. Men's moaning came from out of the darkness. One of the spacemen crawled out from under the navigation table. Everson could hear his body rustling the maps hanging down from the tabletop.

  He pushed himself a little farther along so that he could take hold of the projecting edge of the positronicon. Once he had done that, he pulled himself to his feet.

  "Is anyone close to the emergency lights?" Everson asked in the gloom.

  "I'm lying right under them," announced a voice. It was Scoobey who had spoken. "That big moose Bellinger is lying comfortably on my gut and keeping me from standing up," he added.

  In spite of his pain, Everson had to grin. He could just imagine how the massive Bellinger would be crushing the small officer.

  "I think I can get the lights on," called another voice.

  Everson waited. Someone began to curse the antigrav field, softly by pointedly.

  Then the lights came on again.

  The control room was a scene of devastation. It looked as though a giant with an oversized whirlwind at his disposal had been at work creating disorder. Directly in front of Everson several men who had been flung together were occupied with disentangling themselves. Poul Weiss came out from under the map table. His forehead was marked by two symmetrical bruises. He threw Everson a disclaiming glance and pointed with his thumb behind him. The commander saw Pentsteven, who with a slight twinkle in his eye was emerging from under a pile of maps.

  Finally, Carmene was still sitting at his place. His legs were crossed and he was tapping excitedly with the upper one. His eyebrows were lifted high.

  "Would somebody get this clown off me?" Scoobey called.

  Sternal and Landi fell on Bellinger and pulled him away from the first officer. Several men were still unconscious.

  Everson picked up a microphone and spoke into it. "This is the commander speaking," he said calmly. He hoped that his voice could be heard everywhere in the ship. And he wished that each and every crew member could be able to understand him.

  "Shortly before the final landing, the Mexico’s antigrav field went out on us. The reasons for this failure are still unknown. Everyone knows what has to be done in such cases. We must determine at once the extent of the damage. Moreover, I'm calling the crew to a state of increased alarm readiness."

  He stopped to motion reassuringly to Dr. Morton, who was just then storming in. The doctor turned his attention to the unconscious and hurt men.

  "The impact was not so strong that we need fear any fatalities," Everson continued. "Dr. Morton and Dr. Lewellyn will look over the injured. The serious cases will be brought to Dr. Lewellyn in the med-station while Dr. Morton will go around in the ship. All uninjured technicians are to begin at once with determining the damage suffered by the Mexico during its fall. I'll be awaiting reports of any serious damage."

  He watched as Scoobey stood up and slowly came over to him. Bellinger was still unconscious. Pentsteven was sorting through the star maps.

  Everson cleared his throat, then continued. "I must remind you that we find ourselves on an alien planet. Our current situation demands utmost caution. No one is to leave the ship without an explicit order to that effect. We are on the edge of an extended desert area. Night will be over in seven hours. We can begin with our examination of the outer world to the extent that our instruments are still in order. However, keep in mind that. we have no means of taking flight. Further announcements will follow. Over and out."

  Scoobey, standing next to him, rubbed himself on the chest. "We should concern ourselves first with the air conditioning," he suggested. "We don't have to tax our own air supply system if we can make use of Moluk's air.

  "That isone problem," said the colonel.

  "And the other?" Walt Scoobey wanted to know. Everson's fingers closed around the microphone. "It's less a problem as such and more an important question. Why did the antigrav system suddenly give out? There isn't any reason for it. The only explanation I can think of would be outside influence."

  "That sounds rather fantastic," Scoobey put in. "Perhaps the technicians will find the cause of the breakdown."

  A loudspeaker crackled and interrupted their discussion.

  "Technician Ferranion here, sir," an excited voice sounded. Everson raised the microphone to his mouth. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Bad news, sir. The lifeboat hangar was almost completely smashed in the crash. Extended repairs are necessary to make it usable again. Two of the boats are undamaged but we don't have any way of launching them."

  "Thanks," said Everson.

  "Now we're stuck here," Carmene commented drily. "You're certainly perceptive," Scoobey said sarcastically. He turned to Everson and added: "Maybe we can dismantle the two lifeboats and take the pieces out thin the airlock. Outside, we could put them back together."

  "How long would that take?" Everson asked. Scoobey shrugged. "About three weeks," he said. "Or longer."

  A groan interrupted them. Edward Bellinger was coming to. Dr. Morton lifted him up.

  Bellinger held his head. "What happened?" he whispered.

  While Pentsteven briefly filled him in, Everson thought over the suggestion of his first officer. "I think we could spare ourselves the labor with the lifeboats," he finally decided. "We'll confine ourselves to the repair work. That can't take up much more time."

  The stabilization indicators of the Mexico were no longer working. However, Everson suspected that all the landing legs were broken. Judging from the angle
of the floor in the control room, the spacesphere was tilting more than 20° forward.

  After four hours Everson had been informed of the scale of the accident.

  More than 50 men were injured and could not resume their normal duties. Everson had about 100 crewmen available for use when he needed them.

  The technicians figured on four weeks of work before they could make the Mexico ready for takeoff again. Two of the landing legs had split like matches and were completely unusable. One had been torn away and the others were more or less bent. The worst damage was to the sensitive electronic equipment. Valuable measuring devices had been hopelessly destroyed. Only one of the tracking devices had survived the crash. The matter sensor was totally wrecked. Almost all the oscillographs, vidscreens and fluorescent screens were broken. The small ship's observatory, located next to the lifeboat hangar, had been completely demolished by a spaceboat that had come loose.

  The hangar itself offered a bleak scene. Three boats had been torn out of their anchoring and caused considerable damage wherever they had struck.

  The launching bay was now only a deformed hole. The ultrafast cruiser of the State Class was a wreck. Unable to move, it lay in the desert of an alien planet.

  Everson stepped into the opened airlock and sniffed the air testingly. It was now broad daylight The green sun had not yet reached its zenith but already the heated air shimmered over the desert. To the right of the Mexico extended a flat hill grown over with thin, leaf-poor planets. Behind the rise in the ground began one of Moluk's narrow vegetation belts.

  "Give me the field glasses," said Everson to Weiss, who was standing next to him.

  "What do you hope to find?" asked Goldstein, also standing in the airlock. The telepath carried his left arm in a sling. He had sprained it in the crash. Everson took the binoculars and raised them to his eyes, adjusting the focus.

  "We can hardly make anything out from here," he said after awhile. "That hill is blocking our view of the area that might be inhabited." He shook his head and lowered the field glasses.

  "What should we do?" Weiss wanted to know. "We'll send out an expedition. It'll go over to that small mountain and find out what's on the other side. For the moment, that'll be all."

  He motioned to Weiss. "That's be your department, Poul. Go get Dr. Morton. He'll go with you and Goldstein. It'd probably be better if you all put on spacesuits. Have Mr. Scoobey fit you out with weapons."

  Weiss disappeared with a satisfied smile. Goldstein remained, waiting expectantly. "Can you do it even with your sprained arm?" asked the colonel.

  "Of course, sir!" Everson noticed the young mutant's hesitation. Something made him uncertain.

  Everson rested his hand on the telepath's shoulder. "It there anything else you'd like to tell me?"

  "Yes," Goldstein burst out, "ever since we've landed, my telepathic abilities have been weakening."

  "What?" demanded the commander of the Mexico. "Are you trying to tell me that you can't read the minds of other living creatures anymore?"

  "I believe that's about the case," Goldstein admitted. "I'm having great difficulties, sir. It's not only that my paranormal power of perception has suffered but I'm also sensing a mental pressure from outside."

  Everson looked at him with an increasing sense of disquiet. "Explain that," he told Goldstein.

  "Your thoughts, sir, are coming through to me only in a very blurred manner." He blushed. "Excuse me, sir. Please don't think I was trying to spy on your thoughts. It was only an unconscious test."

  "Very well," said Everson. "Please continue." Goldstein wiped his face. Small beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. He seemed to be extremely wrought up.

  "It's hard to explain, sir. Imagine trying to read some writing in a dim light. It would take you a long time before you'd done it."

  "I understand," said the colonel. "Do these symptoms remind you in any way of Mataal and his special abilities?"

  "Not at all, sir," answered the mutant. Everson looked thoughtfully out into the desert. A gentle wind stirred the half-dried out plant growth in the dunes.

  "Do you want to go with Weiss to the hill?" Everson asked.

  "Naturally," said Goldstein determinedly.

  • • •

  Three figures made their way through the sand. They left deep tracks behind them.

  Poul Weiss stopped. He looked back at the Mexico. They had left the questionable safety of the spacer. Weiss knew that the ship's gunposts and torpedo tubes on the side facing them were in full readiness. Behind every raybeamer, behind every neutrino cannon, there was now a weapons specialist waiting to answer any attack on the three men in a fitting manner.

  Nevertheless, Weiss did not feel especially comfortable.

  "What's wrong?" asked Dr. Morton impatiently. His unruly red beard was visible even through the helmet viewing plate. His blue eyes flashed quarrelsomely at Weiss.

  "I just turned around once, that's all," Weiss told him. The doctor grumbled unpleasantly and went on.

  Goldstein had taken hold of his wounded arm.

  When they reached the first of the plants, Weiss stopped once again. He rubbed one of the leaves between thumb and forefinger. It crumbled away. Weiss opened his helmet and blew the remnants from his hand. "Dried out," he said tersely.

  "It would be better if you were to close your helmet," Dr. Morton said.

  Weiss broke off a branch and put it in his carrying bag. "I'd like to know where these thin things store their moisture," he murmured. "The stem is hollow."

  "Come on," Morton pressed him. "We want to go on."

  They climbed onwards up the gentle rise. They remained in constant communication over their helmet telecoms. In the same way they could make contact with the Mexico.

  The higher they went, the thicker became the plant growth. Small bushes and shrubs appeared.

  Finally they were high enough that they could see the other side. The area was thickly overgrown in spots. Lizard-like creatures scuttled across the sand that was here more darkly colored.

  "Look, Poul!" Goldstein called excitedly. "Over there!" Dr. Morton put his hand over his viewplate to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight shining down. "What's that?" he asked with excessive loudness.

  "A city," said Weiss simply.

  3/ THE MYSTERIOUS TOWER

  It was in fact a city, although by Terran standards the word village might have been more appropriate. It lay, surrounded by strange-appearing woods, in the deepest part of the valley that stretched out before the three spacemen. The buildings were basket-like configurations, none of them more than four meters high. They had been built quite close to one another and painted over with some stark white substance. Narrow, tall openings, evidently doors, and round windows could be made out At first the Terrans would not have estimated the number of buildings as being very high but a closer look showed that the buildings had been built in such tangled confusion that there might be more than a thousand of them.

  Dr. Morton was the first to speak. "Looks rather primitive. The buildings remind me of beehives. If the beings that live in them are as productive but less capable of defense than our Terran bees, then we can be thoroughly satisfied."

  "Goldstein," said Weiss, turning to the telepath, "what do you sense?"

  "Nothing," answered Goldstein with a cracking voice.

  "Nothing? What do you mean by that?"

  "I can't pick up. any mental radiations," said Goldstein, near desperation. "My abilities have now been completely extinguished."

  "That can't be," the doctor broke in. "You can't all of a sudden find yourself having only a normal brain."

  "But that's the way it is."

  Weiss looked at the city. Was something there that could affect Goldstein's paranormal properties? Gould they have already detected a sign of the mysterious molecular deformers?

  No, Weiss thought, a technically advanced race would not live in such buildings. There must be another explanation for Goldstein's bla
nk-out.

  "It looks as though the city is uninhabited," Dr. Morton said, interrupting his thoughts. "I can't see any sign of life."

  "Let's go take a look," Weiss suggested.

  "Stop!" called a sharp voice in their helmet loud-speakers.

  It was Everson. Involuntarily they glanced back at the Mexico, although of course they could not see their commander from there.

  "Don't do anything stupid, Poul," Everson warned. "You don't know what might be waiting for you there. We'll have to observe the settlement very carefully first."

  Irritated, Weiss zipped up his carrying bag. "It looks completely safe, sir," he remarked. "We're armed and we're in contact with the ship."

  At that moment, Dr. Morton spoke. "It won't be necessary for us to go looking for the natives-they're already coming to us!"

  He nodded deliberately in the direction of the woods. Weiss stumbled as he quickly turned around. His eyes widened. He felt his heart beginning to beat faster. He heard Goldstein's loud breathing-sounding as though the young mutant was lacking for air.

  A group of strange creatures had stepped out from between the trees and were slowly approaching the three space travelers. They walked upright and that alone was enough to justify the suspicion that they were intelligent.

  Even before mankind had conquered space, important scientists had been convinced that only upright-walking beings could develop a civilization in the human sense. The theory had by and large been borne out.

  The natives were somewhat taller than a man. They had two legs and two arms. Weiss noticed that they had long, gourd-shaped heads. Their trunks were unusually short but they also had long, powerful legs. As they came nearer, the men saw that the skin of the beings was almost a dark green and that their mouths resembled duckbills.

  Weiss was the one who put into words what the others were thinking. "They look like storks!"

  "I can't sense them," said Goldstein slowly. "But they must surely radiate mental impulses."

  "They're dragging something along with them," murmured Dr. Morton, his eyes narrowed. "Can you make out what it is, Poul?"