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  "...by the time they took these two 'gentlemen' off my hands, I had gotten them into a very willing state of confession. I scrabbled through their brain convolutions and picked out the names of their co-conspirators."

  "What did you do to them to make them confess?" asked Rhodan sharply.

  Still not disturbing his luxurious repose in the chair, Pucky replied with a sublime expression on his impish face: "Now Perry, you're the Administrator of the Solar Empire. You should leave such trifling matters to us. No sweat. But when is Operation Tweezers going to get under way?"

  "What the devil is that supposed to mean?!" Rhodan flared up, obviously irritated this time.

  "Don't you get it, Perry?" asked the mouse-beaver in wide-eyed innocence. "You know the heavy-caliber tweezers the dentist uses? I thought we were going to go and de-fang all those Topide lizards so they can never nip us again—huh, Perry?"

  "Out! Get out of here, you double-talking—little—!"

  The air surrounding the mouse-beaver’s chair shimmered lightly. In the same instant, Pucky disappeared. The little scamp had perceived that weather conditions in Rhodan's office had suddenly deteriorated for him and so he had elected to depart without undue ceremony.

  • • •

  Allan D. Mercant's Solar Intelligence organization operated with the precision of a positronicon. Pucky had not been gone five minutes before a more extensive report came in over the intercom, a report which also revealed the motivation behind the conspiracy.

  During the past three years, all 18 of these men had been guilty of some infraction of discipline. They had all been given warnings and in some cases had even been punished. However, not one of the cases had involved any complaint against their work performance. In fact, Ulbers had the reputation of being one of the best hypercom specialists, as shown by his three promotions in Hyper Communications' top ranks.

  This group's opposition to Rhodan's policies and politics had in the course of time built up in them a hate complex, which had resulted in their attempt to betray to Arkon the galactic position of the Earth. This they had sought to accomplish by means of a continuous hypercom transmitter device, which was to have been sent out on board the confiscated space probe.

  "Bad luck usually comes in pairs," observed Rhodan darkly, after reading the report. "But what am I going to do with Pucky? I can't lower the boom on the little devil when he's just saved us from the ultimate catastrophe but I have to figure some way to box those floppy ears of his. Otherwise he'll get out of hand even more frequently than he always has in the past."

  "Sir," suggested Marshall, resignedly, "he'll probably get the better of us, no matter what we do. Would he be Pucky otherwise?"

  4/ THE HUMAN FACTOR

  Perry Rhodan had assigned 3,000 Swoons and as many humans to a single task. As soon as possible he wanted them to develop equipment which would enable his technicians to generate giant ionization fields in hyperspace and keep them stable there.

  Bell had also developed this part of the plan and now once more he proved that he could get along very well with men as well as even the little Swoons—also known as the 'cucumber' people.

  At first they had only stared at him in startled amazement. Wherever he went with his plans concerning the giant ionization fields, he was only met with uncomprehending expressions. He let them have their fun and he refrained from making any scornful insinuations but two or three hours later he returned to the scientific experts again and once more discussed the problem with them.

  "I need hyper-interference fields of astronomical proportions. And I mean super ECM-ionization clouds that won't break down after one hour, 100 hours or even 1,000 hours. What I'm talking about is colossal jamming fields in hyperspace that'll knock out the entire hypercom traffic of a whole planet. Now if I don't get this equipment within a reasonable time, it's just possible that you'll be looking for another boss. Theoretically I don't see anything that stands in the way of building such generators, so in about 3 days I'd like to have an operating model to try out."

  Even the Swoons, top micro-mechanics of the galaxy and practically geniuses in their technical specialization, were apparently stumped. They rejected Bell's demand as unfeasible. But then he demonstrated his reputation for stubbornness.

  "Friends," he said in softly congenial tones, "you know I don't happen to be a lousy amateur at this stuff and so I realize that what I'm asking is almost impossible. Almost... and that is a little word, gentlemen, that should spur you on to making the almost impossible possible.

  "Now if we consider that the constant hy usually throws an asymptotic curve on a hyperscope graph..."

  And Bell proceeded to force the experts to simply start talking shop. Of course he didn't have their technical knowledge in depth but he was able to find his way around in the conversation. But he did not spend more than half an hour on the subject because he knew only too well the precious value of time at the moment.

  At any hour, doom could strike in the form of countless Arkonide fighter squadrons.

  To the casual observer, Terrania might have seemed to be no more than a very busy metropolis but it had actually become a veritable witch's cauldron, bubbling and bursting with feverish preparations. There were unforeseeable breakdowns and interruptions everywhere, planning details had to be revised and orders were canceled by counter-orders. What had been top priority items in one moment were removed from production lines in the next.

  A small army of robots was made to look like Arkonides. Their total programming had to be revised so that their logic gating could reflect two Arkonide characteristics: arrogance and pride.

  Without exception, the 2,000-man crew of the Kublai Khan was subjected to intensive hypno-training. Once on the planet Topid they not only had to give the outward appearance of Arkonides, in their walk and mannerisms and very nature they had to be recognized as such.

  The Kublai Khan had been camouflaged to represent an Arkonide super battleship, bearing the name of On-Tharu—after the spelling error had been corrected. But this was not the only ship assigned to the mission: eight spherical spaceships of the State class were to accompany the larger ship. These vessels were 300 feet in diameter and carried 150-man crews. In addition, there were also two heavy cruisers in the formation. All ship hulls carried lettered and numerical insignia of Arkonide derivation, even though it was not expected that the escort fleet would itself land on Topid. However, should they encounter a spaceship of the Greater Imperium, Perry Rhodan did not wish to risk extermination because of some ridiculously small oversight.

  Bell had allowed four days for preparation and Rhodan was in agreement with the basic stipulations of the plan. However, by the end of the second day it was starting to look as though a takeoff for Topid in Orion would not be taking place even in a week. One delay after another was encountered. And meanwhile the battle reports from the discharge zone were becoming more alarming.

  By this time the robot Brain on Arkon had mobilized all allied and subordinate races of the Greater Imperium, forcing them to consign their best space captains and officers to the fighting front. And now fully 19 squadrons had been manned by Topides!

  Bell had just gotten a breather, having unraveled a Gordian knot of schedule slippages after a three-hour struggle—but his relief was short-lived when Rhodan advised him of the latest news.

  "You don't say! Nineteen fighter squadrons, all manned by Topide officers! Are you alone, Perry?"

  "Yes," came the reply over video intercom.

  "Then do me a favor and don't tell me any more! This thing is getting to me, I don't mind telling you. There's a steamroller building up here, something that's going to get out of hand. Good Lord, Perry, do you think maybe there's still a wild card we've overlooked or forgotten somewhere?"

  Rhodan was reminded of Atlan's question as to whether he thought Bell was a crystal gazer or a realist with all his dark premonitions. But to see Bell in this frame of mind was a strange experience. It was hard for Rhodan t
o recognize his old friend when he was in such a state. True, Perry didn't deny the incident on Honur where Bell had also played the role of an unheeded doomsayer but the intensity of his premonitions then had not been of this magnitude.

  "We have neither overlooked nor forgotten anything in regard to the Topide special task force," he finally answered, firmness in his voice. "And it might interest you to know that the positronic brain on Venus has completed an evaluation of all important items of the mission. Its readouts show a success probability curve ranging from 85 to 97.5 % and..."

  "There we go again—always a mechanical brain!" interrupted Bell hotly. "My view of those Frankenstein monsters is growing dimmer by the hour. They may be a big fat crutch when it comes to fast figures but they sure weren't designed for fortune cookies! Perry, you can take those brains and—well, they can go to the devil, that's all! On this mission I've promised myself I'm going to follow my instincts and not get all polluted with empty statistics from an adding machine...!"

  Rhodan shot back at him over the video connection: "You won't be in a position to put your crystal ball into action, Bell. One detail in your plan has been changed—to the effect that neither you, Atlan or I are going to officially lead the Topide expedition. The mutants will run the show, backed up by the technical specialists."

  Bell let out a low whistle. His deeply pensive scowl disappeared, to be replaced by a barely perceptible nod of agreement. "So what will be left for us to do, Perry?"

  "The fine polish, Chubby—all the little arabesques and filigree. We'll have the almost impossible task of covering every loophole necessary for out-foxing the robot Regent of Arkon. Have you ever thought what it means to get camouflaged data past that giant positronicon? Now, just to get your self-confidence up off the ground again, I'm going to read you what the Venus brain has to say about our intentions. Atlan came back to Earth pretty dejected about this statement, and I quote:

  "It is impossible to counterfeit or imitate a traditional pattern which has been the total experience of a race. The pertinent probability equations project a series of variables ranging between 78 and 98.47%, thereby negating a positive guarantee of success."

  "So the tightrope we're using in our Topide action has a few weak spots here and there—thin enough, in fact, to represent only 1.53% of its average tensile strength. Compared with the 98.47 high figure..."

  "Perry!" Bell broke in impatiently. "What is all this? Overall probability curve, 85 to 97.5—specific projection 78 to 98.47. Gwash! (Hogwash.) Have you ever wondered why in all these years the Solar Empire hasn't once taken a real nosedive? Oh, we've earned ourselves a good pratfall more than once. Don't give me the eyebrow, Perry, you know it as well as I do! But in spite of it, what do we do before every mission? We go to our great tin goddess, the modern Pythia, and let her spill out her oracles in dead numbers and decimal fractions! Before you know it we'll be half Arkonide! We just stand there in front of a robot brain designed along Arkonide mental patterns and we swallow it all without contradiction—forgetting in the meanwhile that we are human beings!

  "Don't hand me that gwash about the possible dire consequences of this Topide move—I mean, as a reason for having to go to the Brain on Venus. Everything we do has consequences. If we can ever quit branding ourselves as slaves to positronic logic, if we ever once put our own free wills into action, we'll out-figure those math monsters any time. And even on Topid we're going to have a chancel

  "Thanks to their automated think-tanks, the Arkonides became mentally lazy and half-degenerated. Do you want our grandchildren and great-grandchildren to become such molasses heads? That's why I couldn't care less what that overgrown Venus trap has to say about what we're going to do or not going to do! Dammit, Perry... if we're not going to turn into a bunch of Arkonides then we'd better start acting like men!"

  Without saying a word, Perry picked up the, computer report and held it in view of the intercom camera. On Bell's viewscreen he saw Rhodan's handwriting, with an arrow pointing to the figure of 98.47%. His note said: False! Human factor not considered. Rh.

  Bell's broad face slowly brightened. "If that's what you think," he grumbled even as he chuckled, "why did you let me keep running the tape? You could have—"

  "Because it was a shot in the arm to hear you talk, buddy. Good for morale after all that crepe-hanging you did. My friend, I think we should mutually remind ourselves of such truths now and then. But incidentally, what's the latest on the development of the ion-field generators?"

  "I can't count on having the first results before tomorrow night. The trouble is in holding the reflection layers stable in hyperspace. It works off and on. All of us know too little about hyperspace. And we've just uncovered another headache, too, the hyper-interference fields act like fugitives that you can't pin down, once they're generated in hyperspace. They're disc-shaped and start spinning, then suddenly for no reason they fall off our directional beams and disappear without a trace. Perry, am I really the only one who came up with this idea for hyperspace ionization fields?"

  "Of course—it's your show, Chubby, and that's why I'm only indirectly concerned with the internal problems. When does the production of the interference assemblies start running, tomorrow night?"

  "Yes, if we pick up a couple of miracles by then. Otherwise..."

  Perry Rhodan demonstrated that in spite of his closeness to his heavyset friend Reginald Bell, he was cut out of another timber. With ice-cold relentlessness he demanded: "By tomorrow night I want to see that production line going, Bell. I'm depending entirely on you. That is all!"

  • • •

  Khrest, the old Arkonide master scientist, had come into Rhodan's office. Like Thora he had been denied the life-preserving biological cell shower on the artificial planet Wanderer. The time had come for Khrest in which the inroads of senility were visibly heralding the end of his days. Nevertheless, today his mental acumen seemed to be as sharp and agile as: in his prime.

  He sat down near Perry in the same calm and collected manner that Rhodan and Bell had come to know since they had first met this Arkonide on the Moon decades ago.

  "Rhodan," he began, "I've rechecked the list of mutants who are to go on this mission. Wouldn't it be wise to only commit half of these irreplaceable men to the Topide action? Atlan doesn't see it that way—I've just come from him—but John Marshall and I seem to be in agreement. We see too great a risk in this mass assignment of his total corps."

  Rhodan took a deep breath. "Khrest, we've got to play it that way. We've got to get in and get out on Topid as fast as possible. Don't forget that we haven't any choice—this move is forced upon us. We're making a defensive thrust, which is always the most unfavorable point of departure. Just a minute—something is coming in over hypercom."

  Again, reports were coming in from the war front, where Arkonide space armadas were blockading the overlap zone and were constantly engaged in battle with the Druufs, who were still emerging from their alien universe.

  More than three dozen dispatches were on hand. This deluge of reports was due to the new spy probes which had by now demonstrated a much higher longevity rate than the previous models because they could not be tracked and shot down so easily. Credit was given to the improved magnetic optics, whose operation was strikingly similar to the long since outmoded flexible plastic lenses. Their observational performance had improved 1,000%.

  The commanding officer in charge of Terrania's hypercom station spoke to Rhodan with a touch of pride in his voice. "Sir, we now have in our hands a complete summary of the Arkonide fleet disposition at the front. Including all auxiliary and reserve replacement units, Arkon has 83,000 fighting ships in action. More than 50,000 of them are under humanoid direction. Every hour, thousands of robot commanders are being exchanged for humanoid intelligences. By the end of today the change of command will have been completed for all classes of Arkonide battleships.

  "Two hours ago, a contingent of 6,000 reptile people from the Topide system arri
ved. That was the third transport reported in a period of 10 hours. Sir, we haven't made a complete evaluation yet but I can already be certain of this statement: everywhere on the front where the reptiles are commanding the warships, Arkon has suffered the least losses in material and equipment. On the other hand, in these areas the Druufs are being pushed back with unprecedented vigor."

  "If you please, sir, here are the detailed reports as backup..."

  "Thank you," Rhodan interrupted. He had heard enough. The summary alone was sufficient to guide him now. He cut the connection, aware that Khrest had heard it all.

  "Well," he said to the elderly Arkonide, "that doesn't look very encouraging, does it? Now the base on Hades as well as Ellert will have to get into it. We can't let the robot Brain have a moment's respite or tomorrow or day after tomorrow there'll be Arkonide spacers descending on the Earth..."

  "So what do you intend to do, Rhodan?" asked Khrest. He had always silently admired this Terranian from the first hour of his acquaintance with him.

  "Our base inside the Druuf universe will receive an order through one of our space probes to use everything they've got, and especially Ellert's influence with the Druufs, so that they will mount stiffer attacks against the blockade front. Don't you think we should throw the Druufs some bait and tell them that in the next few days the enemy is bringing fleet units to the front with super powerful defense screens that are practically indestructible? That ought to flush out their maximum reserves! Khrest, how long will it take to create the numerical data for such a decoy?"

  "Three, maybe five hours at the most, Rhodan, but..."

  "Forgive me, Khrest—there can be no 'buts' about it. So I'll expect the data in five hours. Anything else?"

  Khrest departed.

  Rhodan startled Bell with a call. The latter wag again struggling to overcome his delays without a schedule slippage.