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  "Or at least I assumed as much. I reached the little village, of course, but there I discovered that Muzzel was nowhere to be found. The dog had disappeared without a trace. What else could I do but to go in search of him? Someone had seen him running toward the north."

  "In the north there was nothing but mountains, deserts and high tablelands. What would take Muzzel there? I put the pirates of Swatran out of my mind and undertook a long hike which finally ended in a plain. And there I found Muzzel. He lay on a flat stone asleep and seemed to be baking himself in the sun. As I stood before him, he woke up, trustingly blinked his eyes at me and acted exactly as if there were nothing more normal and reasonable than to be lying there sleeping in the desert."

  "That was when it happened. A blinding flash came down out of a clear sky and struck the ground not more than 50 feet away where the rocks began to glow and melt. Then this small ship landed, hardly more than 30 feet in length and cylindrical in shape. Five men jumped out and ran towards me. I could see by their threatening pistols and old-fashioned knives that they weren't out to have a Sunday picnic."

  "The whole incident is inexplicable to me because prior to the episode in Swatran I had never seen these thugs before in my life-yet they acted as if they had an old account to settle with me. With a great roaring and shouting they jumped on me. And then, gentlemen, was when Muzzel went into action."

  Kulman made a slight pause and looked about him with an air of triumph. He noted that his audience had become engrossed. To his surprise he recognized in the eyes of the mouse-beaver an undisguised sympathy for him, for they seemed to glisten happily. Pucky's ears were standing straight up and his incisor tooth had come into prominence as a demonstration of his inner satisfaction over the account so far.

  Kulman continued: "Muzzel charged all five of the fellows and set an example for me because I have to admit frankly that I was pretty seared. He bit the first attacker and made him drop his pistol and then bit his leg until he fell to the ground yelling."

  "The second Springer didn't fare much better. He came at me in a flying tackle that would have brought him right on top of me. I dodged to one side and was about to bat him one when Muzzel was there ahead of me and bit him in the back of the neck."

  "I took care of the third one with my bare fists, while Muzzel took on the fourth. The fifth man dropped his gun and sprinted out of there like crazy. In view of the ship and all, Muzzel and I decided to take our leave. From a distance I observed that the wounded men made it to safety. Then the small ship took off and soon disappeared in the sky. I still don't know what those characters wanted from me. Probably we'll never know. Anyway there's one thing for sure: they were not anything I would have sent out a three-alarm alert for nor would they have been a reason for my wanting to be relieved at my station on Swoofon."

  "Nobody is saying they were," said Rhodan. "Besides, it would be technically impossible. You say that the ambush occurred several hours before the Gazelle landed. However, Terrania received the three-alarm yesterday. Where were you yesterday, Kulman?" The question was straight and to the point.

  "I spent yesterday in my cabin, about 120 miles from Swatran. It was more like a shed. The Swoon built it for me and in their eyes maybe it was a warehouse. Inside the hut I could just barely stand up straight."

  "And you didn't activate your hyper-transmitter?"

  "No. I'd certainly have to know whether or not I did that!"

  "Perhaps you'd have to know," corrected Rhodan. He glanced at Marshall again and received confirmation that Kulman was speaking the truth. Then he cursed inwardly to himself. What could it be that just failed to fit together in the whole crazy story? Certainly Kulman couldn't be telling the truth at the same time he was lying.

  Or could he?

  This question started Rhodan on the right track but for the time being he kept the thought to himself.

  Kulman appeared to be confused. He ran a hand nervously through his hair. "That's just about all I know, sir. After the attack by the pirates I came back to the village. Muzzel had a slight injury from the fight and could hardly walk. I carried him under my arm and bandaged him up later. After all, the dog had saved my life. You can understand now maybe why I don't want to leave him behind." Without waiting for a comment he added: "Then about four or five hours ago my receiver started buzzing. A strange voice told me that the Chief was waiting for me and that I was to be picked up. Naturally I was surprised but I kept assuming that there were some tactical reasons why I was to be removed from Swoofon. Then what I get hit with is that I was supposed to have sent a message myself, asking to be relieved at my post. Now maybe you can understand why I'm all mixed up."

  "We understand completely, Kulman," Rhodan assured him. "And we'll also cut off the questioning for now. The Drusus is going back to Earth. There we will have your full report tested and analyzed. I don't believe you will have any more difficulties. It's clear that somebody-I repeat, somebody-has used your transmitter in order to put in a request for you to be picked up. And now just tell me one thing more: for whom do the Swoon work? I mean their factories. Who are their principal customers?"

  Kulman prepared to satisfy this inquiry but at that moment the intercom buzzed. Rhodan switched it on and the small videoscreen above the pilot's seat brightened, showing the face of a communications officer.

  "Please excuse the interruption, sir," said the officer, "but I have something that may be important. We're picking up signals on a little used hypercom frequency. I mean the signal is straight carrier wave, sir, without any modulation. It sounds as though the sender is trying to have us track him."

  "And where do these signals come from?" Rhodan asked.

  "We couldn't determine that with certainty, sir. The transmission only lasted a few seconds so we could only try to get bearings on it with two closely aligned receivers. The best we can determine is that the transmitter can't be more than six miles from the ship."

  "Six miles!" gasped Rhodan.

  He was caught by surprise but only remained confused for about a second. When the communications man answered, "Yes, sir," a faint smile touched his lips as though the strange incident were more of a joke than a matter of concern.

  He turned to his officers. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said calmly. "Naturally we'll have to shelve Mr. Kulman's detailed report until later, under the circumstances. You've all heard what just happened. It should be clear to you that we have to be exceptionally careful now."

  The obvious inference was that the unknown signaler would be heard from a second time and they had to prepare for it. So it was that communications men with portable signal tracers were posted in various places and were told to keep their receivers open.

  Rhodan placed the command of the ship provisionally in the hands of Reginald Bell and transferred himself to the Com Central in order to take a look at the registered carrier wave on an oscilloscope.

  The communications officer set up the signal raster for him on the scope. What was presented on the screen was an almost mathematically perfect sine wave which did reveal that it was modulated by an equally perfect sine-wave of lower frequency.

  This was of course a cross-sectional representation of a single signal. There was a separate oscillogram strip which laid out the entire wave-series of the signal on a smaller scale. Rhodan was able to see that the signal train was not in an evenly spaced series. Rather the variations of intervals were more or less randomly distributed. Also in duration the signals were different between the intervals.

  "What do you make of it?" Rhodan asked the officer. "Do you think it's possible that this may be due to natural causes?"

  The officer shook his head. "No, sir. If I read you right you're thinking about occasional occurrences of hypercom types of signals that are caused when cosmic particles or sometimes larger quanta of natural energy strike the defense screen of the ship."

  "Quite correct."

  "Such a natural phenomenon would look differently, sir," the officer main
tained. "In no case would it have this kind of regularity. What we're dealing with here are two mathematically perfect wave-forms which in all probability have been generated by a properly functioning hypercom transmitter."

  "In all probability? Not in all certainty?"

  The communications man smiled. "No, naturally not with absolute certainty, sir. In cases like this there can't be complete certainty. The probability of such a series of wave patterns being generated by natural causes is extremely minute but nevertheless not excluded."

  Rhodan nodded and stared thoughtfully into space. "The irregular intervals between every two signal peaks," he said after awhile. "Wouldn't you regard that as an indication of natural occurrence?"

  "I haven't given that any thought, sir," admitted the officer. "But I think that any owner of a hypercom transmitter may choose what intervals he wishes to have between signals. He can make them regular or irregular, as he pleases."

  "You say owner," interposed Rhodan. "It could also be that an automatic transmitter is involved. It would be unusually strange if an automatic device were to send signals with irregular intervals, don't you think?"

  "Unusually strange, yes," admitted the officer, "but not impossible."

  Rhodan smiled. "I can see now," he said, "that I'm not going to corner you into giving me any peace of mind. One more question: at the time you received the signals did you notice anything suspicious moving about in the vicinity of the ship?"

  "No, sir. Absolutely nothing."

  Rhodan turned to go. "Good," he said. "Keep on the lookout and report to me immediately if you hear something new."

  • • •

  Upon leaving the Com Central, Rhodan met Atlan the Arkonide.

  "Aha! I see I've come too late," laughed Atlan. "You have taken a look at the oscillograms?"

  Rhodan nodded, "You don't have to go in there because I can tell you. They showed two perfect wave patterns. According to the communications man, they could only be produced by a transmitter."

  Atlan appeared to be suspicious of this. "And according to you...?" he asked.

  Rhodan shrugged. "I don't have any opinion in this case. My communications officer understands more about radio engineering than I do, so why should I try to be smarter than he is?"

  "I see," said Atlan, nodding thoughtfully. "You are in the painful position of a man who has to be careful while he hurries. You have to find the right speed that will take care of both progress and caution, wouldn't you say? Strange..."

  They had stepped onto the conveyer strip and now glided along together through the corridor.

  "What's strange?" Rhodan asked.

  "Nothing important. I was just thinking that it would be easily solved if there were a specific mathematical formula. The most favorable solution could then be found through a differentiation of equations in which a balance point would be found between the extremes."

  Rhodan looked at him in amazement. "Atlan, you're a philosopher," he chided him. "But I don't need a philosopher as much as I do a criminologist..."

  "Oh? You consider the case that grave?"

  Rhodan answered with a counter-question: "Well, how serious do you think it is?"

  Atlan pursed his lips and then smirked slightly. "First I'd prefer to hear your own version."

  "Alright. The way I see it, we could have a slight chance of finding that the signals were caused by natural phenomena. Around large vessels equipped with defense screens there are always hyper-electromagnetic sources that produce some kind of radiation. During space battles when the screens have to absorb one shot after another, these phenomena become so strong that they sometimes disable telecom voice traffic. Of course such interference signals are not uniform in nature. So the probability that we can relax in this case is fairly small.

  "Secondly: it was not possible for Communications to obtain any precise bearings. With two receivers fairly close to each other, my com man was only able to determine that the signal source was within about six miles of the ship-and, I noted, from the direction of the sun Swaft. Those are results that I would call a bit vague. It could well be that the signals have reached us from a much greater distance, such as from Swoofon itself, and that they have nothing at all to do with us. That presupposes, of course, that my operator made a wide error."

  Atlan interrupted. "But you don't like to admit your crewmen are capable of wide errors, right?"

  Rhodan ignored the friendly barb. "Thirdly," he continued, the possibility naturally exists that somebody has planted a spy in our vicinity, whose assignment may be to inform his principals concerning the position of the Drusus. That of course is dangerous and we have to take precautions against it." He looked at the Arkonide. "So that's my thought on the subject. And now I wish you'd bring your own idea out into the open."

  Atlan appeared to be very pleased. "I knew I'd save a speech by letting you say your piece first," he said. "I'm quite in agreement with you: small probability of it being a harmless coincidence and a heavy probability of our having a spy in the neighborhood. But I'm wondering about the fact that our tracking equipment seems unable to detect anything in the vicinity of the ship."

  Rhodan returned a grim laugh. "I can answer that one for you. If we're actually dealing with a spy, he isn't lurking about in near proximity to the ship but inside the ship itself!"

  In the meantime he had decided to wait five hours in the same spot. If by that time they failed to pick up any further sign of the signaler, the Drusus would then make a transition of about 200 light-years toward the center of the galaxy.

  If they failed to detect the phantom transmitter again at the new location, then they might consider themselves to have been victims of a self-deception. At which time no one would have any further objections to a return to Earth. Because the prime objective of anyone sending out location signals-if indeed there were such a person-would have to be a transmission of data precisely at the termination of each hyper-transit, so that the receiver would be able to get a picture of the overall course-pattern of the ship.

  Rhodan recalled that on a previous occasion he had fled from Arkonide forces in the direction of the galactic center. In case the Robot Regent of Arkon was the authority behind the present spy, whom Rhodan suspected of being on board, then for the second time in 60 years he would receive information that a spaceship from Earth was moving toward the middle of the galaxy. The machine possessed an extraordinarily logical thinking capacity. It would consider the fact that Rhodan would never betray the slightest hint of the location of his home planet when he felt threatened or observed and flew a retreat. Rhodan was amused by the thought that this second flight to the center of the galaxy might nevertheless persuade the Robot Regent that perhaps Terra might lie in this sector

  • • •

  Bell watched while Baldur Sikermann fed the transit coordinates into the nav computer. "We still have time, I presume?"

  "Several hours, sir. For the moment the risk of a transit jump is too great. If there is a transmitter on board the Drusus who could signal our position..."

  "I chalk all that up to a natural coincidence," said Bell with emphasis and he sat down next to Sikermann. "Don't you think so?"

  Before Sikermann could answer he was cut off by a shrill voice. Pucky had slipped off the couch and waddled to the door, which he opened psychokinetically. He was fond of employing his mutant faculty for his own convenience.

  "I'm just going to have a look at this Muzzel," he announced, and walked out into the corridor. "To hear Kulman talk, he must be a model of virtue and obedience."

  "What's on your mind, Pucky?" asked Bell. Naturally he suspected shenanigans. "Leave that dachshund alone!"

  "He's been disinfected, so I won't catch any fleas-if that's what you mean," Pucky reassured him. There was a merry twinkle in his brown eyes. "Maybe he can scratch my back!"

  Having spoken, he disappeared. The door closed by itself.

  Bell stared at the door. I hope he doesn't start any nonsense," he
muttered.

  For the present, however, Pucky was not plotting mischief. He teleported himself to the disinfection department near the main entrance lock and arrived in time to encounter some chemists. He asked them where they had put Muzzel. His second jump brought him into the cabin that was assigned to Kulman.

  The agent was still in the mess room but could return at any moment. Rolled into a little ball under the table was the remarkable animal that Kulman had praised so highly. Pucky materialized himself within about six feet of the dog and sat down to observe it. He regarded the animal attentively and noted that it was apparently sleeping.

  Cautiously he probed with his thoughts and sought to penetrate softly into the brain of the creature, which represented a strange form of life to him. Kulman had maintained that Muzzel was not intelligent enough to make himself understood. And of course the dachshund couldn't speak. But if he had even a minimum of intelligence he should be able to think.

  And Muzzel was thinking. At first Pucky was surprised that a dachshund, which after all was only a country dog, should be dreaming of water and plankton, but then he recalled that even more intelligent creatures, as for example man, often dreamed of the oddest things. The consciousness of sleep usually had no relation to the waking state.

  Now why shouldn't Muzzel be dreaming of plankton?

  The thoughts were blurred and indefinite but they were thoughts nevertheless. Somewhat reassured that at least there was a starting point with Muzzel, Pucky turned his attention to his outward appearance. Indeed, Kulman's companion truly looked like a dachshund. The comical, sloppy ears were not the only feature that reminded one of its loyal quadruped counterpart on Earth, which in more technical circles was known as a badger hound. Pucky wasn't any expert in these matters. For him a dachshund was a dachshund, whether its legs were crooked or straight.

  As though the dog had sensed Pucky's arrival in his sleep, he opened his eyes at this moment. Pucky saw that the beautiful golden brown eyes contrasted remarkably with his silver-grey pelt.