Secret Mission Moluk Read online

  When he had closed the viewpate of his helmet once more, Murgut came back. He waited for the Terrans to follow him into the house.

  "Poul," Everson said, "wait outside until I come get you. If I'm not back in three minutes, something will be wrong."

  He nodded to Morton and they followed the bird-creature. Weiss remained behind, a lost phantom in the midst of an alien world that had greeted its visitors with hostility and threatening mysteries.

  Everson and the doctor came into a room in which was so gloomy they could hardly see more than two meters ahead. Open lights, filled with a burning substance, hung in a row around the walls, throwing surreal reflections on the ground. Everson realized that he had no choice but to open his helmet again. A penetrating stench hit his nostrils full force. He coughed and forced himself to breathe more slowly. Now he saw that the room was filled with Greens. They crouched at the walls, their frozen faces staring at the men. The commander felt as though he were present at a seance.

  "I'd be ready to trade places with Lewellyn," Dr. Morton commented acidly. "The cause of this terrible smell would probably present a serious problem to his sensitivity for cleanliness." Then he was forced to cough.

  "My friends bid you welcome," Murgut said. "They regret the rocket attack and are ready to make up for it. The individuals assembled here make up the Reproduction Council of the city." Everson decided it would be best to remember that he was a guest before he turned his thoughts in earnest to the term 'Reproduction Council'. In any event, they were facing the ruling class of the Greens.

  "Call Poul in here," he told the doctor. Judging from the speed with which Dr. Morton proceeded to follow his order, the doctor must have been happy to be able to escape the stench for a few moments. When he came back with Weiss, there was a mischievous grin on his face that increased when the biologist opened his helmet. Weiss sniffed cautiously. Then, when Morton's smile faded, his face took on a radiant expression. "Aaah," be sighed. "What a lovely aroma!"

  "Do you really think so?" demanded the doctor. Weiss raised his arms defensively, as though his sense of smell was somehow threatened by Dr. Morton's rumbling voice. He extended his head far forward and sucked in the stifling air as though it were an elixir.

  Everson brought Weiss' theater to an end by turning to the assembled Greens. "We come from the..." He faltered, for the Green word for stars was unknown to him, assuming there was one at all. Murgut came to his aid with a long-winded explanation. "Our homeland is far away: so far away that you are hardly able to imagine such a distance. We have a mission and we are hoping for your help to accomplish it: we would like to put together an expedition to go out into the desert."

  An uncanny stillness descended on the room with his last words. Every movement of the Greens died. "Evil embodied," said Murgut after awhile. "You will never find anyone to accompany you." Another Green had stood up and come before Everson. He was older than Murgut, and the colone judged from the respectful whispering that accompanied his action that this must be a leader.

  The old Green looked questioningly at Everson. "There was once a time in which you could have found support," croaked the descendent of a race of birds, "But that was a long time ago. The land of sand is dangerous and brings death. Unholy things happen there. Anyone who goes very far from the village on the hunt will die." He stamped his horny foot to emphasize his word.

  "We have powerful weapons," said Everson. "There is no force that we can't turn back. You need have no fear. We promise that all who come with us will return to the village."

  "Evil embodied is not to be defeated," stated the Green categorically.

  A murmur of agreement arose from the assembled Greens. Everson felt a growing sense of bitterness. Without the lifeboats he was forced to go out into the desert on foot. For that he would urgently need the help of a native guide. He had seen for himself during the sandstorm that only Murgut had known which way to go. Besides, it was questionable whether the location devices would still function properly during a storm. He tried again. "We will make you gifts. We will bring you eternal light, and deadly thunder and lightning for the hunt."

  "Corpses can hunt no more," the old Green answered, his logic irrefutable, and withdrew. His answer had been final.

  "It's useless," Weiss said. "We'll never be able to convince them, sir. At least, not without force."

  "I have no intention whatsoever of using force here," the colonel assured him.

  "I know a Green who would perhaps go with you," said Murgut. He hesitated and looked uncertainly back at his fellows. "Will I get one of your presents if I bring him to you?"

  "Good," said Everson. "You will be rewarded if you help us."

  "Evil embodied will destroy you, Murgut, for this temptation," a warning voice came from out of the fumes.

  "We'd better hurry," urged Dr. Morton. "Otherwise these babblers will talk our friend out of it again."

  Murgut led them back out onto the street The storm had subsided. The prospect of receiving a gift seemed to spur the Green on, for his long legs took such wide steps that the space travelers could keep step with him only with difficulty. The sun, previously all but completely blocked by clouds of dust, now shone down with unmoderated effect on the land. Everson saw with a glance at his exterior thermometer that the temperature had already climbed to over 40°.

  At the edge of the village most distant from the Mexico, the men discovered for the first time long structures that in contrast to the houses and residential buildings looked modern. "Those are our factories and breeding halls," Murgut said, replying readily to the commander's question.

  Hissing, droning and stamping could be heard. Blue steam swelled from openings in the roofs. "We're experimenting with heated air," explained Murgut proudly. "In compressed form it can be used for many purposes."

  "They're in the process of inventing the steam engine," said Weiss, astonished. "Judging from the noises, their first models are by no means inferior to those of James Watt."

  An explosion rendered them silent.

  "Often," said Murgut resignedly, "there are setbacks."

  Everson pictured to himself a group of disappointed Greens now standing around the demolished result of long work. Nevertheless, they would try again, just as the human race had always tried again. The development of a race was dependent on the difficulties it had to struggle against, whether in the invention of a steam engine or in developing highly advanced space travel.

  Behind the factories stretched a sort of plantation. Several Greens were at work in the fields. Off to one side of the farming area stood a single, partially caved-in igloo. It did not shine with the radiant white of the other buildings.

  "There it is," said Murgut. "There lives Npln."

  "Napoleon!" Dr. Morton interrupted. "His name lives on even on the edge of the galactic center."

  Somewhere in the past there had been an ancestor of Dr. Morton's in whose veins flowed the blood of French kings. The doctor's passion for referring to that at every available opportunity stopped at nothing. He looked at the tumbledown hut with an inner rapture, as though it were the palace of Louis XIV.

  They ran along a narrow path past the fields. The Greens dropped their work and stared over at them. Murgut waved reassuringly.

  When they reached the home of 'Napoleon', Murgut had them wait outside. "Npln is a quarrelsome and cantankerous old fellow," he said apologetically. "He sleeps most of the time. When someone disturbs him, he becomes hostile. I'll prepare him for your visit."

  "Do you think that the old coot that allegedly lives here can help us, sir?" Weiss asked Everson irritably. "With all due respect to his high-sounding name"—a brief, ironic side glance went to Dr. Morton—"I'm instead of the opinion we'll hardly find any help here."

  Before the colonel could answer, Murgut was back. "He's in a bad mood," he said, depressed. "I had to promise him many gifts for him to receive you."

  Everson thought in amusement that Murgut could have survived and even p
rospered in an Arabian street-market.

  They entered the hut through a door whose frame was broken. A brief time went by before their eyes adjusted to the half-light in the interior. Everson noted thankfully that the stench was less here than in the other building.

  Npln crouched in a corner of the room.

  It is not easy for a member of an alien race. to estimate a native's age but the Green sitting on the ground in front of him was old. His green skin was wrinkled and shriveled. He was so thin that he reminded one of a wire figure wrapped in paper. His face was withered and sunken; his eyes, dark as coal, sparkled from deep caverns.

  Encountering beings of a sort he had never before seen nor heard of did not seem to impress him at all.

  "They're ugly," he said grumblingly to Murgut. "Fat and ugly creatures. Especially that one there." A thin arm pointed out Dr. Morton, who at that moment would have gladly exchanged his French royal blood with that of an Irish freedom fighter.

  "We are deeply sorry that our external appearance causes you displeasure, Napoleon," Everson said, "but bountiful gifts will compensate you for the strain of having to look at us."

  Napoleon gurgled—but whether satisfied or dissatisfied, who could say? Everson drew upon the oldest of all psychological tricks, one that was even now the most effective: he played up to the Green's vanity. "We have come to the bravest man in the village to beseech his help," he said. "Your experience is highly regarded everywhere."

  "They all hate me," croaked Napoleon bitterly. "I'm an inconvenience to them, a foolish old man who isn't good for anything any more!"

  "We're looking for a guide for an expedition into the desert," said Everson frankly. "No one has the courage, to accompany us. How about you, my friend?"

  The old native let out a shrill whistle. He looked at them craftily. "Evil embodied!" he whispered cunningly. "Only I dare go out. I know that land. Strange things happen there. Deep in the interior there's a tower in which demons and devils live."

  "A tower?" exclaimed Weiss excitedly. "What does it look like?" Napoleon traced the shape of a building with his hand. "Large and mighty: the strongest hurricane doesn't affect it at all," he said.

  "Can you take us there?" Everson asked slowly.

  "You'll have to carry me," said Napoleon. "I'm too weak to go long distances by myself. Then I'll guide you to every place in this hell."

  Everson felt someone tugging at the arm of his spacesuit. He turned to look in Murgut's fear-filled face. "Can I have the presents before this undertaking begins?" the Green inquired worriedly. It was not hard to understand that question. Murgut was convinced that Napoleon would lead the men into the desert. But not out again!

  4/ EVIL EMBODIED

  On all planets, endless deserts and vast seas have a dangerous similarity: any given place looks like another. There are no reference points at ground-level by which one can orient oneself.

  Even during the earlier period of their development, men had solved the problem in an obvious manner: caravans and sailing ships reckoned their position by day according to the position of the sun and by night the constellations served as reference points.

  Napoleon had never heard anything of such methods but he seemed to have some special conception of how to cross unknown regions.

  Bellinger had maintained that the Green could smell the direction but a closer observation of Napoleon's atrophied olfactory organs showed that this idea did not come especially near the truth.

  Col. Marcus Everson had selected 30 men, and just three hours before the party had started out under his command. Walt Scoobey was in authority on board the Mexico for the duration of Everson's absence. Taking into consideration all safety measures, the First Officer was to continue with the repair work as quickly as possible and have it completed by Everson's return. The expedition carried ample radio equipment along so that contact could be made with the spaceship at any time. All the spacemen were heavily armed and wore spacesuits.

  Two robots carried Napoleon on a litter especially prepared for this purpose. The peculiar troika formed the point of the group. The colonel had seen to it that a large supply of food concentrates, water capsules and vitamin tablets were carried along. Dr. Morton was a walking med-station.

  The weather was exceptionally calm by local standards. It was still early in the morning and the temperatures were still bearable.

  According to Napoleon's claims, they would require three Moluk days and nights to reach the mysterious tower. Different opinions had been aired concerning the matter. Before the party started out, Scoobey had remarked that the structure probably existed only in the old Green's fantasies.

  Everson had listened to all objections but he would not be swayed from carrying out his plans.

  They were now going along the ridge of a long dune which looked no different from the countless others that had preceded it. Everson walked with Weiss, Bellinger and Goldstein behind the robots and Napoleon. In the rear were Sternal, Landi and Dr. Morton.

  Goldstein came up to Everson's side. "Sir! The farther away we get from the Mexico, the better I can perceive mental impulses."

  "Remember, too, that we're getting farther away from the native village at the same time. The Greens' mental force is weakening with distance."

  "Strange," murmured the human thoughtfully. "Remember what Murgut did to me in this connection? Napoleon has no effect whatsoever on my powers."

  "Hmm," the colonel cleared his throat. "Perhaps he is too old and no longer has the same strength as the other Greens."

  A cry in their helmet loudspeakers broke off the conversation. They stopped. Pentsteven the astronomer came running towards them. Small cloudlets of dust whirled at his steps. The young man's face was pale and not even the viewing plate could hide the paleness.

  "Our greenhorn," murmured Weiss contemptuously. "No doubt he's got sand in his shoes and doesn't know how to get it out."

  Pentsteven stopped before Everson. He was gasping for breath and his words came in bursts. "The

  tracking beam receiver is gone!" The device served to pick up the guiding beam emitted from the Mexico. The impulses were registered and offered a good means of orientation. The astronomer's task had been to carry the apparatus.

  "What?" Everson exclaimed. "What are you saying?"

  "It disappeared!" Pentsteven babbled.

  "You mean you lost it!" said Everson sharply. "Think about it carefully, young man. Your negligence doesn't please me." With an unhappy expression the astronomer turned to Weiss but the biologist offered him no support.

  "Sir, I'm sure it was still there a few minutes ago. I was constantly checking the items hanging from my belt. Then I felt the weight of the device vanish. When I looked to see, it was gone."

  "Are you trying to make us believe in miracles?" asked the commander. "Nonsense is bad enough but when someone tries to excuse himself with lies, he is not worthy of the standard a spacefaring citizen of the Solar Imperium should live up to."

  "What happened?" Napoleon broke in. He had been given a loudspeaker and a microphone to hang around his neck so that the space travelers would not be continually required to open their helmets when they wanted to speak with the Green. Everson gave him a brief explanation.

  "The desert demons have stolen the device," the old one maintained. "The man is innocent."

  Everson was not inclined to lend any credence to Napoleon's foolish talk. "Go back to your place," he told Pentsteven. "I had a good mind to send you back to the ship altogether."

  "Yes sir," murmured Pentsteven almost inaudibly. "Let's go on," ordered the colonel. He believed neither Pentsteven nor the native—at least not until the matter of Edward Bellinger took place.

  • • •

  Edward Bellinger stood 1.97 meters tall and weighed 220 pounds. He moved his body with the grace of a mole whom unfortunate fate had led out onto a mirror-smooth sheet of ice. In the Phys-Ed classes at the Space Academy, Bellinger had played a leading role in boxing and weight-lif
ting but had always come out the bottom man in judo.

  A character study of Bellinger's face was doomed to failure in advance because he could tighten at will his fatty cushioning, or wrinkle it, let it hang and pull it in. Bellinger had developed his unusual talent to a genuine skill which had many imitators but never a serious rival. By the age of 36, the lieutenant was able to move his ears at a 30° angle.

  Within Bellinger's circle of acquaintances there were rumors that he was not training to form abstract figures with his artfully styled curly hair by the music of an Indian snake~charmer's flute. The only question was where he could get such an instrument on Moluk.

  Had the lieutenant learned of these suspicions, he would not have been marching through the sand so forth-rightly next to his commander, the telepath, and Weiss.

  The sun, standing high in the sky, reflected in the smooth, polished backs of the two robots, and only their filters prevented the men from being bothered by the light reflections. For Bellinger it was the same as an insult for a space traveler to go walking through the desert on foot. Why, he wondered, was there no Quad aboard the Mexico?

  Suddenly, as the blood seemed to freeze in his veins, Lt. Edward Bellinger watched as his companions all became considerably larger. His breath faltered and choking fear gripped at his throat.

  The process continued. The robots, the Green, Everson, Weiss and all the others began to grow and expand.

  Bellinger wanted to cry out but his choked throat would not permit him. He thought he was going crazy. His brain was a hammering mass of unclear thoughts that refused to accept the terrible thing that was happening to him.

  It became unconsciously clear to him that the noise he was hearing came from the shouts of the spacemen surrounding him. For the lieutenant they had become thundering giants, behemoths and colossi. Even the grains of sand were getting larger.

  Icy, paralyzing terror grew up in Bellinger. He heard himself sobbing like a child. He waited to fall over the brink into the abyss of madness at any moment; he even hoped that he would, for he saw in it his sole hope of salvation.