The Emperor and the Monster Read online

  He would show the men that he still knew how to command a fleet. He finally groaned and rolled out of the rumpled bed. He ran his hands testingly over the sweater he was wearing. The loose pullover seemed to be filling out. Was it becoming too tight already?

  He changed his trousers and put his hair in order. Disdainfully he threw the dark goggles aside. Why should he, the Administrator, have to hide his face? Let the officers see the eyes of the man who would lead them to victory over the Antis. Cardif giggled softly in anticipation. The time of waiting was over. He had permitted Bell's admonishments to hold him back much too long. Later when he had consolidated his power, Bell would be one of the first to be liquidated.

  Cardif double-checked his appearance. He did not wish to acknowledge his inner desperation and panic. He was preparing once more to act the part of Administrator of the Solar Imperium, a role that suited him less and less.

  His appearance in the Control Central was met with various reactions. The comportment of the false Rhodan had placed the officers of the Ironduke under a very unusual strain. As Cardif stopped just inside the entrance hatchway and stood there looking searchingly at the men, his arms akimbo, he sensed their instinctive rejection of him. He drew himself to his full height and noticed that his hair brushed the upper frame of the doorway. It meant he had grown that much more in the meantime.

  Then he stepped forward into the room and barked a command at Jefe Claudrin. "General orders to all ships, Colonel. We will begin the attack against Saos."

  Claudrin heaved his ponderous bulk around and moved through the Control Central like a human tank. Over regular spacecom he established contact with the task force commanders. "Maybe it would be better, sir, if you spoke to them yourself," he suggested quietly. "That would give them a boost for the forthcoming battle."

  Thomas Cardif's grin of derision revealed again that he was losing his father's touch. In fact his voice was almost corrosive in its mockery. "For a conquest of this ridiculous little base, Colonel, your voice will be more than sufficient!"

  "Very well, sir." Without further comment, the Epsalian-born commander carried out his instructions.

  Cardif looked at the ship's chronometer. "In precisely one hour, Terra time," he said, "the first ships of our fleet will land on Saos."

  "I can't help it, Perry," said Bell from his flight seat, "but I have an uneasy feeling about this show. The Antis are suspiciously quiet."

  Cardif broke out into a shrill laugh as his bloated features twisted in a grimace of defiance. Most of the officers lowered their gaze or looked away to avoid the wild expression in the Administrator's eyes. But it was also clear to the last man on board the Ironduke that Rhodan would never abandon his purpose.

  In monotonous tones, Jefe Claudrin communicated with the other ships. The commanders received their instructions calmly. Not one of them voiced any objections. Now as before, their confidence in the Rhodan personality was still unshakable.

  "No one can stop us!" shouted Cardif. "We will smoke out this rat's nest!"

  He still did not know how badly he had deceived himself.

  • • •

  From whatever angle Kutlos regarded his conversation with Gonozal VIII he could not see that the results were very satisfactory. The Imperator had not shown anywhere near the amount of reaction that Kutlos had hoped for. The high priest realized that he had made a mistake in having irritated the immortal unnecessarily. It had only served to increase the Imperator's antipathy toward the Antis. It was now highly questionable whether or not at least a portion of the Arkon Fleet would fight for Saos.

  He sat in the chair that was designated for his lofty station and was lost in thought while shreds of conversation from the other Antis filtered through his consciousness. Nowhere was there a trace of optimism to be detected. Everyone knew that in case of an attack by the Terran ships there could be no hope of rescue. The defeat on Okul had proved that the priests' individual defense screens were no longer effective against the men of Earth.

  A cry of alarm rang out: "The Terran ships are changing their positions!"

  It startled Kutlos out of his thoughts and it took him a second or two to become reoriented. The priests were crowding in front of the mass-energy detection consoles.

  "Let me through," he demanded. His lean figure moved among them, shoving them roughly out of the way.

  The glowing green tracking blips were in motion. Their deployment positions were forming an unmistakable pattern. Kutlos didn't have to be clairvoyant to know what this change signified. His face darkened. The invasion was about to begin.

  Tasnor blurted out a bitter accusation: "Your plan has failed, Kutlos! They are attacking before Gonozal VIII can help us. I still doubt that he will even show up here with his ships."

  The high priest realized that the younger man's harsh criticism was merely an outward expression of his fear of death. It would have been senseless to argue with him.

  Meanwhile Hepna-Kaloot had climbed onto one of the chairs and was waving his arms for attention. Kutlos regarded this as an infringement upon his own authority but he did not protest. The stubby little priest's action would help to distract the others from Tasnor's panicky rebellion.

  "Now there is no doubt that all of us must die!" declared Hepna-Kaloot. There was something in his little beady eyes that aroused more curiosity in Kutlos than anger so he continued to maintain his silence. "Should we wait for the Terrans to kill us one after the other?" continued the chubby one. As he paused for effect, Kutlos began to have a presentiment of what he was leading up to.

  But that would be absurd, he thought. He can't possibly mean that! Could he be mistaken or was Hepna-Kaloot eyeing him scornfully? There was something about the little man now that momentarily blocked his resolve. Somehow he couldn't pull himself together to warn the priest and forbid him to speak.

  "Only animals wait for death!" shouted Hepna-Kaloot. His chin shot forward and Kutlos began to see in him the signs of a deeply rooted brutality. It startled him more than the awareness of the impending invasion by the Solar Fleet. "Until the end comes, let's use the time like men! Let two fighters draw lots for the game of Paloot!"

  Kutlos closed his eyes momentarily but the shouts of approval from the other priests stunned him out of his paralysis. Hepna-Kaloot climbed down from the chair and moved among the excited men. The high priest was aware of cold sweat on his brow. Tasnor, standing to one side, looked forlorn. His attack against his superior had been without effect. It was Hepna-Kaloot who dominated the situation.

  "Stop!" shouted Kutlos.

  The group of men in their wide capes separated to reveal the fat little priest who was already preparing the lots.

  "The game is forbidden!" the high priest warned them but he was aware of striving to make his voice sound convincing.

  Hepna-Kaloot threw the first lot to him. "Who will call us to account when we're dead?" he challenged.

  Kutlos caught the lot and broke it in his hands. "It is forbidden!" he insisted stubbornly. He wished he could offer further reasons against it but couldn't think of any.

  "The High Priest withdraws from the game!" said Hepna-Kaloot scornfully. "That means only one fighter is to be chosen-and I volunteer myself!"

  Kutlos had once believed that nothing could make him lose his temper but at the moment he couldn't help himself. He fumed inwardly with rage as he regarded the stocky little priest warily. In Hepna-Kaloot's eyes he could see a silent question.

  Kutlos heard himself speak although his hands were trembling: "No contenders need to be chosen. I will go against Hepna-Kaloot"

  Hepna-Kaloot seemed to have expected nothing else. Unhesitatingly he began to remove his outer garments.

  "Wait!" said the high priest. "I am not familiar with the rules!"

  The stocky priest smiled. "When we fight to the limit of Taloosei, nothing is barred!"

  "Then we might as well begin," said Kutlos. "Let's choose the referee. I nominate Egtoor."

&nb
sp; It was agreeable to Hepna-Kaloot. Egtoor looked doubtfully at the high priest.

  "Who will begin with the choice of weapons?" he asked uncertainly.

  The first to choose had a disadvantage because the opponent could then select weapons more suitable for his defense. Of course the second to choose could not select a weapon already named.

  "I'm in favor of each contender choosing three weapons," suggested Hepna-Kaloot. "If the high priest agrees, I will begin." It was an offer that advertised Hepna-Kaloot's low estimation of Kutlos' fighting capabilities. "I will take a monitor-spy, a Sostoos knife and a water can."

  To the high priest the monitor-spy was a shrewd selection but what Hepna-Kaloot expected to do with the water can was beyond him. Nor was the knife an unusually dangerous weapon. But at least he knew that he himself could not avail himself of a monitor-spy.

  "I'll take an energy gun, a Lagoo rope... Kutlos hesitated. "And Tasnor as my runner."

  A runner was the only means of counteracting the advantage of the remote spy device. Tasnor accepted his choice as 'weapon #3' in silence. Hate flamed in his eyes but he could not refuse to be the runner. Although Tasnor could not himself attack, he would be in continuous danger. Hepna-Kaloot would be free to use any and all weapons against him. It would only be a question of how dangerous he might consider Tasnor to be as a runner against him. Kutlos was hoping that his second-in-command would give Hepna-Kaloot enough trouble to ease his own burden in the battle. But of course there was also the possibility that the belligerent little priest would disregard the runner entirely and come directly against Kutlos himself.

  "The contest promises to be interesting," said Hepna-Kaloot "Too bad it will be a short one. The high priest does not have my experience."

  This was an open confession that he had taken part before in the forbidden game of Paloot.

  "I've gone as far as the Taloosei seven times already," he said proudly. "How often I've played the tamer versions I can't even say. Too often for you, Kutlos!"

  The cutting challenge served to steady the high priest's mind, bringing back his cool calculation. He only turned his gaze from his opponent to Tasnor, his runner. The latter's face was pale but he removed his outer garments. Agtlos went with Egtoor to get the weapons.

  As first chooser, Hepna-Kaloot started out. He carried the water can in his right hand. The heavy dagger protruded from the belt of his skin-tight trousers. Above his head floated the monitor eye. The receiver and transmitting gear hung over one shoulder. In the little viewscreen provided, it would be possible for him to follow Kutlos' movements unless the latter succeeded in destroying the 'spy' part of the equipment.

  "Luck to you, Hepna-Kaloot, " said Egtoor, according to the tradition of the game.

  "Follow him! " Kutlos ordered his unhappy runner. "I want continuous reports on his position. I also have to find out what he intends to do with that water!"

  He holstered the energy gun and draped the Lagoo rope over his shoulder. Now he was prepared.

  "Why do you not remove your cape, Kutlos?" asked Egtoor.

  "It is the cape of a high priest," Kutlos replied with dignity. "I've worn it too long now to remove it merely for this."

  He could see in the priests' faces what they were thinking. He had lived his life in this cape and he would fight his battles in it-even should Hepna-Kaloot force him into the deadly phase of Taloosei.

  Taloosei had no equivalent in translation although it came close to what Japanese had once called kamikaze-except that this was suicide out of desperation. So it was that in its deadliest form the game of Paloot must end with the death of one of the contenders.

  Tasnor went soundlessly out of the temple's Control Central. And now it was time for Kutlos to be on his way as well. He drew himself up gravely and headed for the exit but before he reached it the hypersensors set up a shrill sound of alarm. Transition shockwaves! Kutlos came to a stop abruptly. It couldn't be true, he thought-he couldn't be so lucky!

  "Kutlos!" cried an excited voice.

  He turned about and returned to his companions. The tracking blips representing the Terran ships had come to rest. The reason for it became clearly apparent immediately. At least 10,000 ships had emerged from hyperspace and were hurtling into the Saos System. These were not Solar Imperium forces. Kutlos had to support himself on the console with both hands in order not to stagger in the transport of relief he felt.

  "They are coming!" he shouted, beside himself. "The Imperator is coming to our aid!"

  A jubilant cheer drowned him out. The sensor equipment shook physically under the impact of the heavy shocks it was registering. In fact the building itself was trembling slightly. This meant that the mass formation had emerged from transition dangerously close to the planet. The colossal discharges of warp energy were enough to send seismic shockwaves through the shell of Saos itself.

  Kutlos was filled with an incomparable sense of triumph. His strategy had won a new victory. The greatest of them all! Now it was only a question of time before the two great fleets would be in conflict with one another.

  From the entrance of the chamber came a rasping sound. Kutlos looked up. He stared incredulously at the thing that was hovering there halfway between floor and ceiling. It was Hepna-Kaloot's spy monitor.

  Either the other priest had not been informed of the turn of events or he was desperately determined to keep his game alive. Just for a moment Kutlos had deviated from his fixed policy of following High Council strategy and the result was this senseless fight with Hepna-Kaloot. Kutlos long-awaited battle of Titans in outer space was to have its tiny counterpart here on Saos.

  The hovering electronic eye left no doubt that Hepna-Kaloot had made the first move.

  Kutlos reached unobtrusively for his beamer. The monitor seemed to weave back and forth above the entrance like an insect blinded by the light. Somewhere Hepna-Kaloot lay in ambush, waiting for his antagonist. On his micro-screen he could follow every movement the high priest made.

  Kutlos whipped out his weapon and fired just as the apparatus ducked beneath his aim. The searing beam bored a black hole in the wall. The spy-eye swept out of the room and was gone. The tracking sensors were making an undulating racket in response to the swift approach of the Arkonide fleet. Now the spherical ships of the Terrans were showing activity again. The blockade ring opened up its tight formation. For a moment Kutlos thought the Solar Fleet was going to make a run for it but it soon became apparent that the various units were merely changing position.

  Tasnor came in. His hair was dangling in his face. He looked at Kutlos and through him as though still envisioning his recent ordeal. "Hepna-Kaloot is in Energy Station 3," he reported tonelessly. "The sham attack of the Springers has practically destroyed the place. He is hiding in the ruins." His eyes suddenly widened. "He came after me with the knife!"

  Kutlos nodded grimly. His thin, sunken features hardened. He would have to pay for his triumph here. He took one last look at the viewscreens. The master plan was unfolding.

  "Keep him under surveillance!" he ordered.

  The deputy high priest went away to carry out his macabre task. Kutlos felt no compassion for the youngster. He was too busy thinking of the triumph of the plan-and of Hepna-Kaloot on the other hand, who waited to engage him in the death play of Taloosei.

  When he left the Control Central of the temple he went resignedly to pay the price he knew he must pay-for having deserted the strategy of Great Baalol for even a single moment. Tall, lean, with stiff and measured tread, he exited the main observation center while clutching his energy weapon so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  4/ DOOMSDAY SHUFFLE

  When Gen. Alter Toseff finally recovered from the pains of transition he saw that the Imperator was already standing in front of the tracking and sensor consoles of the flagship. As he shook himself and got up from his convertible flight seat, Atlan turned to look at him.

  "The priest was not lying. At least 4,000 ships have been dep
loyed around Saos. By their present positions I'd say they are up to their ears in preparations for an invasion."

  The mass-sensor instruments were showing a maximum registration. Thousands of tracking blips swarmed across the sweep-screens like fireflies and the energy-scopes were going wild with peak gyrations while on the viewscreen the crescent outline of Saos stood out in a firmament of ships-not stars. The planet's gravitational tendrils were plucking now at the Arkonide ships but the super-powerful impulse engines went into a braking mode which handled the pull with ease.

  Atlan knew that at the moment it would be senseless to take command of the 10,000 robotships which were presently under control of their separate positronicons. Over translight data links, each was in contact with the robot Brain of Arkon. All inputs were handled simultaneously, processed within seconds for total strategic evaluation, and the giant Brain piloted them all accordingly. Even on the flagship itself Atlan had left the navigation to the autopilot system.

  The ancient but ever-youthful Admiral did not intend to attack without warning. He was certain the Brain was placing the ships into attack positions but once that was accomplished it would automatically interrogate him. Without his specific direction, not one Arkonide shot would be fired. The robot fleet was an ultimate threat and Rhodan would understand it as such. Atlan was still hoping to work out something with his friend on the basis of reason.

  Toseff was watching the screens closely. "Your Eminence, they don't seem to have landed on the planet as yet," he advised.

  "They are holding up the landing manoeuvre," replied Atlan. "They spotted us immediately. Now let them scratch their heads a little, to see how they can manage to handle 10,000 ships at their backs while they're facing the ground defenses of the Saos stronghold."

  The Arkonide from Saratan pondered this statement. "Let's hope they don't think of one of their famous tricks that you give them so much credit for."