Pucky's Grestest Hour Read online

  The order that had gone out to the Terran fleet expressly stated that space traffic between Mars and Venus was not to be interfered with but any attempt by a cylindrical ship to fly to Earth was to be blocked.

  Perry Rhodan was as confident of his spacefleet as he was of his Solar Defense and Mutant Corps. The mutants had not forgotten what they had been called in the debate in Parliament. Their feelings for the representatives were hardly pleasant ones but, even so, no mutant had attempted to take matters into his own hands and avenge the insult.

  After the Solar Defense had been put into motion by Solar Marshal Allan D. Mercant, the mutants were next to take part in the dangerous struggle for the little solar empire.

  The mutants’ mission was to learn what Cokaze was intending for the next few days and to ascertain to what degree Thomas Cardif was involved.

  Three mutants had been assigned by Rhodan to the special mission of seizing Thomas Cardif and bringing him to Earth.

  Pucky the mouse-beaver was also a member of the team detailed for the special mission. He was the only teleporter and telekin of the three: John Marshall’s abilities were in the area of telepathy, and Fellmer Lloyd was a first class tracker.

  Reginald Bell sat morosely in the corner and listened. He could not go along on the mission. The next day he, Perry Rhodan and their closest co-workers had to go before Parliament.

  “Perry,” Pucky said, interrupting the Administrator without any respect for his superior rank, “can’t I take Fatty along on the mission until tomorrow? I promise to bring him back in time for the chopping-block.”

  “For what chopping-block, Pucky?” asked Rhodan, lightly surprised for he had been thinking intensively about the instructions he had yet to give and had not listened attentively to the mouse-beaver’s words.

  “I don’t know either, boss. Fatty’s been thinking constantly about a chopping block and he’s been using such awful language in his mind. about it that it makes me blush just to listen in...”

  At that moment Bell came out of his chair and started to go for the small mouse-beaver but halfway there he suddenly stopped dead. It was as if he were welded to the floor, unable to even lift a foot.

  Pucky was playing with his telekinetic abilities and once again had chosen Bell for his victim.

  “Oh, Perry,” squeaked the mouse-beaver, now evidently stirred up over something, “now I understand what Fatty meant by a chopping block... he meant the parliamentary debate tomorrow and he’s afraid that it’s going to cost all of you your necks. Can it really be so bad as that?”

  Rhodan looked into Pucky’s loyal eyes. The little creature was not making one of his frequent jokes; he was in dead earnest; he was worried; he was unbelievably devoted to Rhodan just as much as he was to Bell. He would be ready to give up his life at any time for either. More than once he had proved how seriously he considered his devotion to them.

  “No, Pucky,” Rhodan answered, “you don’t give up a labor of more than 70 years just like that. Instead you fight to be able to continue doing your duty. Already we have stood together through a lot of battles and we’re going to stand together through this one in Parliament...”

  Then one of the many alarm connections ending in Rhodan’s office from various headquarters sounded.

  From the loudspeaker came the voice of Solar Marshal Allan D. Mercant. It trembled slightly. “Sir, similar reports are coming in from our agents in Berlin, Oslo, New York, Tokyo, Shanghai, Sidney, Calcutta and Capetown—there’s been a sudden rash of rumors, a whispering campaign in effect, that claims you sent your wife to Arkon despite what the doctors advised... and so on, sir!”

  Rhodan’s face turned grey. For one long second his eyes were closed. “Thank you, Mercant. It’s alright.”

  Suddenly Bell could move his feet once more. The mouse-beaver had released him from the grip of his telekinetic power.

  Bell slowly walked up to his friend. Rhodan was staring at the tabletop. Bell laid his hand on Rhodan’s shoulder. “Listen to me,” Bell said with emphatic slowness, his voice deliberately low and heavy. “We’re still able to defend ourselves, and defend ourselves we shall, Perry. Leave answering this indescribable baseness to me. You don’t need me for anything right now, do you? You can reach me at any time through Central. They’ll know where I am in the coming hours. And you, Pucky, do a good job! Bring Thomas here, but to me. You can read my thoughts...”

  Pucky interrupted the deeply shocked Bell. “If Cardif is really behind all this, Reggie, then I won’t be able to bring him to you—because the deserter’ll have to go to the hospital immediately after I get through with him...”

  At that Rhodan’s head came up. “Nobody’s doing anything to him! I’m canceling the mission for capturing Thomas Cardif! I’m not even going to do anything about the whispering campaign he started.”

  “But I will,” Bell retorted. “And on that point I’m not going to take any more orders from you, Perry. Up to now I’ve always tried to protect Thomas Cardif and I’ve always hoped and prayed he would change. Well, now, the same hand that tried to protect him is going to chase him where he belongs. And I’m going to make sure he gets there. Is that clear, Perry?”

  Rhodan, still the most powerful man in the Solar System, gave no answer.

  A father despaired.

  No one paid any attention to Pucky. In his large eyes was uncomprehending astonishment. He, who exceeded almost all humans in intelligence, felt with his instinct that there was more here than met the eye. He could not say what disturbed him but his disquiet was so intense that he made a desperate decision. With Reginald Bell, John Marshal and Fellmer Lloyd he left Rhodan’s workroom.

  In the next room, he teleported. No one was unduly surprised, for Pucky’s reluctance to walk was only too well known. But no one suspected that Pucky would rematerialize in the spaceport control tower.

  His unexpected appearance terrified everyone there. In any other situation the mouse-beaver would have cracked some jokes about it but now he thought of nothing in so unserious a vein.

  “When does the next ship leave for Venus?” he asked.

  “Mars and Venus are closed off to outgoing traffic,” came the reply. In 21st Century spaceport terminology, ‘outgoing’ was away from Terra, and ‘incoming’ was towards it.

  “Well, when does the next ship leave that’s going in the direction of Venus?” Pucky responded.

  “The Don-4, a freighter with a special medical shipment aboard, left eight minutes ago as the last ship in Venus’ direction...”

  “Where’s the Don-4 now?” Pucky interrupted the port official. “Quick, show me on the screen!”

  A tiny point became visible on the panorama screen and as the port official switched on the enlargement the point grew into a disc. The computer spewed out figures by second, measuring precisely the distance between the Don-4 and the

  Terranian spaceport.

  The Don-4 was just now climbing past the 15,000 kilometer limit.

  “Where did he go?” exclaimed the official supplying the information as he turned around to look at the mouse-beaver. But the shimmering of the air in which Pucky bad disappeared in a teleportation spring had also vanished.

  The mouse-beaver was suddenly standing in the control room of the Don-4, next to Capt. Eyk.

  “Er... yes?” The captain was able to say no more. He breathed deeply and wiped from his forehead the sweat suddenly shining in small beads there.

  “Where are you flying to, Captain?” Pucky was every inch a lieutenant in the secret Mutant Corps.

  “To the California, Lieutenant. Do you want to...”

  “How far away from Venus is the California?”

  “Just a moment; I can’t say for sure, Lieutenant... Brothers, put that question to the ship’s positronicon. The Lieutenant wants to know!”

  A very young officer programmed the question into the computer and at the same time held his hand by the printout slot. He had correctly estimated the time it would
take for an answer to come. “Here, sir,” he said with some pride in his voice, handing Pucky the results.

  It was a strange and peculiar scene: a meter-tall mouse-beaver in the uniform of the Solar Spacefleet standing in the control room of the Don-4 and reading with his charming large eyes a strip of computer paper.

  Pucky’s single, much too large incisor tooth slowly came out of hiding. “This is going to be something!” the three officers in the control room heard him squeak. “It’ll be a record” Then he looked up, shoved the print out in his pocket and asked: “When are we going into transition?”

  “What!” exclaimed Eyk. “For just these few kilometers? And to go into transition here? It’s forbidden this close in, Lieutenant!”

  At that moment Pucky very literally risked his career. He tried to make himself appear large. His beavertail, on which he supported himself, helped him in the attempt but even so his size did not increase by any considerable amount. “Special mission, captain! I’ve got to get to Venus as quickly as possible! Go into transition. That’s an order of a Lieutenant in the secret Mutant Corps. Do I have to prove to you who I am?”

  If there was anyone who did not need to do that, it was the mouse-beaver, who was one of a kind in more than a few ways.

  And what he had just done was indeed a one of a kind event in the history of the Solar Imperium.

  If he failed, not even his friendship with Rhodan and Bell would protect him from an immediate and dishonorable discharge from the Mutant Corps.

  “You have to go to Venus, Lieutenant?” said Capt. Eyk in amazement. “But we won’t be landing there, just approaching it...”

  Pucky interrupted him with a grandiose gesture. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll just teleport myself on down to the surface...”

  “But the distance is more than...”

  “So what? But can I sit down in this seat here, Captain? I’d like to take a little nap beforehand.”

  And a nap he took, Pucky even slept through the transition.

  The transition was recorded by all stations still in operation in the solar system.

  Authorities on Earth fumed. On Pluto, on the moon Ganymede and in half a hundred spaceships of the Solar Fleet the fuming was no less. Coarse and unpleasant expressions were used. Some of them were even communicated by hypercom. The hypercom unit aboard the Don-4 was in full operation.

  “I knew it!” groaned Capt. Eyk and woke the lightly snoring mouse-beaver rather roughly. “Hey, Lieutenant, just listen to the hypercom frequencies!”

  Pucky listened briefly, then assumed a look of importance and piped up: “Special mission. That’ll justify everything. Say, are you still cooking at the speed of light, Captain?” The last question’s peculiar form was a result of listening a little too often to Reginald Bell. Pucky made frequent use of Bell’s more colloquial expressions, especially in situations where they did not quite fit.

  Capt. Eyk was unable to appreciate the humor of it.

  He suspected complications were in the offing. What he heard on the hypercom made him fear the worst. “No, Lieutenant, we aren’t flying at speol any longer. At this time we’re braking sharply! But let me tell you this—if I get into trouble because of your order, you can go straight to the devil...”

  And Pucky did. At least the place where he had been standing was suddenly empty. He could no longer hear Capt. Eyk’s despairing groan.

  From the ship’s positronicon, Brothers asked: “The... the mouse-beaver—he isn’t on Venus already, is he?”

  “Ask him yourself!” snapped Eyk angrily, then turned to the com-officer. “Would you turn that damned hypercom set off? I can’t stand being screamed at from all sides. But tell me if Terrania should happen to call!”

  * * * *

  Pucky tried to get up but he succeeded only on the fourth attempt. Then he immediately let himself slide back to the ground, where he lay on all fours, moaning weakly: “I’m not going to try that again. It’ll be my first and last record spring in the Interplanetary Teleportation Matches.”

  But Pucky possessed an astounding hale and hearty constitution. While the night rain pattered down on him and soaked his uniform to the last thread, he felt the strength that he had expended for his dangerously long teleportation spring slowly returning.

  Half an hour after his arrival on Venus, be was back in the best of shape. He was not concerned about where he was at the moment: that was of secondary importance. He was trying by telepathic means to find Thomas Cardif, Perry Rhodan’s son!

  That was his special mission!

  But no matter how intensively he searched, he could not find him.

  “If only I had brought Harno with me,” Pucky said ruefully, wishing that Harno, a living sphere able to project television-like images on its outer surface, was with him. However, Harno was still on Earth and did not hear Pucky’s calls at that distance.

  The rain still came down. Pucky glanced at his chronometer, reading from it the Venus time. It would be another four hours before dawn.

  And when it slowly became light despite the streaming rain, Pucky was sitting under an expansive Glogaba tree whose broad meter-sized leaves offered him protection from the wet.

  The mouse-beaver was no longer one meter tall. Hunched up against the weather, he looked like a little ball of misery. “And I started out with such good intentions!”

  He was well on the way to sinking in a morass of self-pity when he half-consciously put his telepathic powers on the search for Thomas Cardif’s thoughts again. It was a completely undirected search.

  And then Pucky gave a start, whistling shrilly in surprise.

  “Fix on it!” he ordered himself and in the same second he became nothing more than a telepath. All his bodily functions and sensory perceptions were reduced to an absolute minimum. All his available strength was concentrated into his telepathic ability. He sensed that a gigantic distance separated him from Thomas Cardif and then he realized that he had not found him on Venus. Thomas Cardif must be somewhere in space high above the planet.

  To an uninvolved bystander, it looked like child’s play when a teleporter transmitted himself someplace else by means of his ability. Only a very few people knew what physical effort was required to teleport and what information the teleporter had to have to reach the desired destination and not to materialize in the wrong place.

  Thomas Cardif was in a spaceship! It did not interest Pucky whether the ship was moving quickly or slowly but he had to have a mental image of the room in which Rhodan’s son was in at the moment.

  The mouse-beaver was in luck for Thomas Cardif’s thoughts were just then occupied with the scarceness of his cabin’s furnishings and the fact the cabin did not even have any link to the ship’s communications equipment.

  And that was the second in which Pucky teleported himself to the cylindrical spaceship orbiting Venus.

  * * * *

  Allan D. Mercant, head of Solar Defense, was the first to learn of the Don-4’s short transition which, by taking place within the limits of the Solar System, had violated all regulations governing ship movement.

  Before the Don-4 had delivered the life-saving special medication for a sick crewman aboard the California, Capt. Eyk was called over the telecom.

  “You’ve perhaps drunk a little too much?” Mercant addressed the captain. “Surely there can’t be some other excuse for your negligent short-transition...”

  Capt. Eyk cringed. The complications he had feared had arrived. His anger at the mouse-beaver grew. “But sir,” he blustered, trying to save his skin, “Pucky, the lieutenant in the Mutant Corps...”

  An alarm went off in Allan D. Mercant’s mind when he heard the name Pucky. “Excuse me, Captain,” he interrupted in a much politer tone. “You mean to say that the mouse-beaver is on board your ship and was the one who...”

  “He was on board! He left the ship a long time ago... in that weird way of his, and if he did what he said he was going to, then he went to Venus...”

/>   “To Venus...?” gasped Mercant. “How long ago was it that he left the Don-4?”

  Capt. Eyk glanced at the chronometer in the ship’s control room and then answered the question.

  “Thank you!” said Solar Marshal Mercant and switched off.

  “Well, what the...?” Capt. Eyk mumbled in surprise, inwardly happy that with Mercant’s signoff the matter had been settled.

  * * * *

  With a single directive, Reginald Bell had interrupted the entire television schedule of the solar system, insofar as government stations were concerned. The powerful transmitters constituted almost 50% of the stations that supplied the Imperium day and night with news and entertaining and educational programs.

  In answer to the vile rumor that Perry Rhodan had sent his wife Thora on a dangerous mission to Arkon against the advice of all the doctors in order to get rid of her more quickly, Bell had ordered the broadcast of the films showing Thora’s internment in the mausoleum on the moon.

  Whoever remembered that touching hour had to realize that the contemptible rumor was spread only for purposes of character assassination.

  For Thomas Cardif, the rebroadcast every two hours of the funeral was a blow in the face, for the film showed in a gripping scene how Perry Rhodan, a man stricken with grief over the death of his wife, suddenly reached out his hand to his son standing next to him.

  And the camerawork had been exceptional then. The cameramen had instinctively sensed the meaning in that gesture of Rhodan’s and had zoomed in with their lenses as closely as possible.

  They had shown millions of people how Thomas Cardif, outwardly the image of his father, had refused to take the offered hand. The cameramen had also recorded how the temperamental Reginald Bell had pulled Thomas Cardif away from Perry Rhodan’s side to stand there next to his despairing friend himself. Meanwhile, Cardif, his expression defiant, had to stand one row deeper.