A World Gone Mad Page 6

  Harnahan stood at the chasm for a few minutes, taking in the view which would have given an eerie feeling on Earth. Then he decided to make his old dream come true. He took a running start, jumped off the edge, spreading his arms and soaring like a bird into the void. Slowly he began to fall. The mountain wall was gliding up behind him while he gently floated in a wide curve down to the floor of the valley.

  It took a long, long time before his feet touched the ground again. He did it with a grace which would have delighted an observer. Harnahan had already improved his skill to such a degree that he was able to change his position as he desired during his nearly weightless fall.

  He landed somewhere near the center of the basin but a little closer to the adjacent mountain. A nearby peak attracted his attention. It was a very regular cone of modest height with a blunt apex resembling the nose of an oversize spaceship. The rock was smooth without extrusions. Somehow it gave the impression that the surface had been shaped artificially, which was of course utter nonsense. There was not a living soul in this forsaken place who would undertake the work of forming such a rock. After staring for the longest time at the cone Harnahan recognized a rectangular outline which looked like a door. A door leading inside the rock?

  Harnahan thought he was making a fool of himself but took a tentative 100-foot jump in its direction. The door was still there! However it really looked less like a door and more like a metal plate fitted into the smooth wall of stone. He leaped again and came within 300 feet of the implausible door. Harnahan took a deep breath. He remembered hazily that he carried provisions for no more than three hours–and took a final jump. He landed exactly in front of the metal plate. Three steps led from the plate down into the mountain and ended before the door. On the threshold of the door rested a sphere glowing all colors of the spectrum. Welcome, Harnahan!something sounded in his brain. I've had to wait a long time for you.

  4/ GOSZULS GO CRAZY

  As a precautionary measure Topthor ceased all radio communications with 11 of his ships. He only maintained contact with Rangol's ship accompanying him. The videophone had a limited range and there was no danger of anyone listening in.

  "In half an hour we'll reduce our speed," Topthor said to Rangol, whose face appeared on the pictoscreen. "We'll head straight for the spaceport on Goszul's Planet and land there. It'll depend on the circumstances what we do next."

  "Why don't we go first to the assembly plant? We know where it is."

  "The ship isn't ready yet and it won't get away from us. The supervisor of the project is a man called Borator. He's supposed to be trustworthy, whatever that means under the circumstances."

  There was a long pause. Both were busy with their own thoughts, which were at variance from each other. Unity was only essential when the danger became acute.

  Goszul's Planet grew bigger as the velocity of the ships diminished. Meanwhile the 11 tubular cruisers had complied with Topthor's orders and patrolled the system, making certain that nobody left or entered.

  After a few minutes the West Coast of the continent which was called Land of Gods by the natives moved out of the shadow of the night into the glaring sunlight. A new day began there.

  "We're arriving at the right time, Rangol. Although I don't have the faintest idea what the natives are doing on the planet whose government has broken down, it'll be best to proceed with caution. If the pestilence has spread farther we'll have to deal with a bunch of crazed people; if not, perhaps with rebels. Either way we'll have to carry out our mission."

  "What if we catch the affliction?"

  "Don't worry about it. We'll first send out our robots to salvage the equipment and sequester them together with the material in special loading hatches. Then we'll put them in a vacuum where not even the most resistant bacteria can survive."

  "A good idea," Rangol lauded him. "I can't imagine a better disinfectant than empty space."

  "Right," Topthor agreed. "Look out now, we're going to land soon. As far as I can tell, the spaceport is completely deserted. Not a soul in sight."

  The two ships descended to the abandoned spaceport and finally touched down. Topthor had the feeling that all life had ceased on Goszul's Planet. He studied the wide expanse with suspicious eyes. The administration buildings at the border of the field also seemed vacant.

  The sun rose over the hills in the east and painted the last shadows with brilliant light.

  The weighty colossus at the controls of the TOP I chased away his deep-seated misgivings with a wave of the hand. "We'll let out 50 work robots and an equal number of battle-robots," he advised Rangol, switching on the intercom that connected him with his staff officers. "Perhaps the Goszuls have retreated into the mountains. It's strange that none of the guard robots is present."

  The officers on duty reported. Topthor didn't take his eyes off the distant buildings as he ordered: "Disembark 50 work robots and 50 fighting machines for their protection! Use prepared hatch! Rangol, take over the remote control of the work force. I'll handle the fighter contingent."

  Ten minutes later 100 heavy robots rumbled over the extended ramps and stepped on the contaminated planet which seemed to be devoid of all life. They formed two battalions and marched toward the administration buildings and the control center of the robots stationed on Goszul's Planet.

  The Mounder sat like a huge clod on his unwieldy chair and supervised the action. Using an impulse transmitter he exercised direct control over his fighting unit as he preferred not to leave the necessary decisions to the positronic brains.

  At first nothing at all happened. Rhodan kept his surprise waiting for the fullest effect.

  The remote-controlled army had gone half the distance when suddenly something began to move between the sparse trees in front of the building. Topthor noticed it at once. They were obviously Goszuls, the native inhabitants of this world, as Topthor recognized. He had consulted a reference book to obtain the pertinent information for his job before he embarked on the expedition.

  By magnifying the scene on his picture screen he made closer observations. Masses of people poured forth from the wide open doors of the building and stormed against the approaching robots as if they wanted to overrun them.

  For a moment Topthor was baffled. Then he saw something which sent shudders down his spine: the faces of the Goszuls exhibited the unmistakable signs of the dread pestilence. Their foreheads, cheeks and necks were covered with red and blue splotches. Some of the natives wore no shirts and their exposed chests resembled a palette.

  Topthor's hand trembled on the remote control for his robots. He was an unscrupulous character afraid of nothing but he didn't relish deploying robots against unarmed primitives. Besides the laws of his clan forbade such actions. Then the next act unfolded with a real shocker for him.

  A phalanx of fighter robots that had been left behind by the occupation force of the Springers advanced at the rear of the Goszuls. At first glance it looked as if the robots were driving the Goszuls before them with their energy-beamers pointed at their back and ready to shoot The Goszuls lunged at Topthor's formations but bypassed them and ran toward his ships. They reached them in a few minutes and began to dance around them with wild howling.

  Topthor was shaken. So this was what happened to halfway intelligent beings when they lost their memory! They no longer recognized spaceships and were totally unaware of the danger they could present.

  His left hand, already touching the firing control button for the ship's ray cannons, quivered and pulled back. No, Topthor didn't shoot at defenseless people. He was willing to take on any opponent on more than equal terms—but not defenseless and sick people!

  Rhodan sighed with relief as he was lying in wait. Whoever Topthor was, he had now attained a favorable judgment in his eyes. He was an adversary and Rhodan had to settle his account with him but he was no ogre who spilled blood for pleasure.

  Topthor didn't know it but he had just saved his life.

  Topthor turned his at
tention again to the odd robots and wondered what had happened to them after they had been abandoned: They couldn't have been afflicted by the disease. Yet this was exactly the impression they gave. How else was their peculiar behavior to be explained? Topthor was in no position to know that all robots on Goszul's Planet were reprogrammed in the meantime to serve as faithful tools of Rhodan.

  He didn't even know who his foe was. He assumed Rhodan to be 1012 light-years away on Earth where he planned to avenge himself some day for his defeat. Here he believed he was up against the Plague of Oblivion only.

  But now their own robots challenged him. And they did it with amazing precision. Their first energy salvo came so surprisingly that Topthor failed to react quickly enough. Before he could direct his fighting machines to activate their protective screens, half of them melted away under the steady fire of the attacking units. The others fought desperately under his command but were unable to prevail against the superior forces.

  It took no more than five minutes till his fighting detachment was completely annihilated. Yet the work robots remained unscathed.

  And here was a contradiction which puzzled Topthor: if it was really a fact that the infected robot units on Goszul's Planet had lost their positronic memory and therefore didn't know what they were doing, why did they destroy only the battle-robots? Why not the workers too? They must have retained their memory regardless!

  Or did somebody else direct them? But who?

  He passed the order to the work robots to return to the ship. Obediently the 50 mechanical men turned around and marched toward the vessel but they didn't get very far. The battle-robots were quicker and blocked their retreat. Then they drove them with their heavier bodies toward the edge of the spaceport.

  Topthor watched helplessly as his work crew was taken prisoner. It was a sight he would never forget.

  Rangol stared wide-eyed from the videoscreen. His brown face had turned ashen grey and the tip of his beard trembled. "What's going on, Topthor? How is it possible...?"

  "I don't know!" Topthor cut him short, staring at the howling Goszuls who were still frolicking around the ships with waving arms as if they wanted to greet the Gods descending from heaven. "I really don't know. The robots must have become crazy too. I wonder what the conditions are at the hangar?"

  "Does it make sense to salvage crazy machines?" Rangol asked.

  Topthor gave no answer. He kept gazing at the demented mob between the ships and looked at the administration buildings where the last robots disappeared behind the trees.

  Then he switched on the intercom. "Both ships ready to start. We've got to save the new cruiser in the mountains. It never must be allowed to fall into enemy hands. You'll be given the co-ordinates of its location. Start in 30 seconds by antigrav in order to avoid injuries to the natives."

  Silently as they had arrived, the two ships took off again.

  Down below on the spaceport 5000 Goszuls kept yelling madly and wildly flailing their arms. They were indeed acting like a bunch of crazy people but at this moment Ralv's people were not play-acting.

  They were genuinely happy.

  • • •

  Rhodan was surprised by the sudden retreat.

  "I find it hard to believe that the elite troops of the Springers can be routed so quickly," Rhodan wondered, trying to understand the reasons for his opponents' action. "They must have a terrible fear of the disease–particularly because it affects the robots."

  "It's perfect nonsense that a positronic brain..." Bell began to lecture, pausing abruptly, He looked none too bright when he stared at Rhodan. "You mean to say that the Springers actually believe this?"

  "Looks like it, doesn't it?"

  Bell became pensive while Rhodan operated his tiny transmitter. "Hello, Marshall! You can expect the Springers any moment now. Probably only two ships. From the conversation we've intercepted we've learned that it's our old friend Topthor again and a Mounder named Rangol. They didn't harm the natives but will brook no interference from the robots to gain possession of the cruiser. It's more valuable to them than all the robots together on Goszul's Planet."

  "We're ready for them," the telepath replied. "The battle-robots at this location have been reprogrammed according to your instructions. They're now under our control. In the meantime Borator has returned and he plays his role excellently."

  "He's not playing a role," Rhodan countered. "Kitai has treated the Springer in such a fashion that he has become our convinced ally. Borator believes he's acting of his own free will. Furthermore, you all must act as if you were working under orders from the Springers. You've lost your memory but are finishing the construction of the vessel. The insane logic of the whole affair ought to confuse Topthor thoroughly."

  "Let's hope so, sir!"

  "You can bet your life!" Rhodan assured him and clicked off. After a short reflection he called the Stardust. "Hello, Fisher! Is everything under control? How are your finned friends doing?"

  "They're continually swimming around the window hatches as if they wanted to come in. Unfortunately we don't have permission to take a walk on the ocean floor, but..."

  "This restriction is still in force, sorry! Any messages from Harnahan?"

  "He hasn't called yet, sir!"

  "I don't understand it. Maybe the column of water is too high and we have used radio waves too weak to penetrate to your depth. There must be some explanation for the silence of the space fighter."

  Harnahan is very reliable and..."

  "Report to me at once if you hear from him," Rhodan interrupted, ending the Conversation. His set would automatically switch on again when Fisher called him.

  Rhodan turned to Maj. Deringhouse. "What kind of a person is Sgt. Harnahan, Deringhouse?"

  The major's eyes popped. "What do you mean by that?"

  "Well, is he really dependable? Is he cool and sober or a dreamer? Is he a realist or does he speculate?

  How does he react under duress?"

  Deringhouse narrowed his eyes. "I don't know how to answer that, sir. All I know is that Sgt. Harnahan is an excellent pilot and a responsible man. Why should he behave differently alone in space than traveling in our company

  "It's just a question I asked, Major. Forget it!"

  Nobody knew better than Deringhouse that Rhodan didn't ask unnecessary questions. Suddenly it didn't seem so strange to him to inquire about the attitude of the pilot because of the long overdue report. A man was liable to get the craziest ideas roaming in a tiny rocket through the infinity of space.

  "Maybe Harnahan is a romantic character," Deringhouse broke the silence.

  Rhodan barely looked up. "The thought has occurred to me. Well, we'll see how Harnahan is going to explain his long silence."

  Reginald Bell had remained quiet throughout the conversation. He preferred not to reveal his own opinion.

  5/ PEACEFUL PERSUASION

  At first Harnahan was convinced he had lost his mind and that he saw and heard hallucinations. As far as hearing was concerned it was much easier to assume it was an illusion—but seeing was believing. The iridescent sphere remained before his eyes, waiting motionlessly at his feet, its size about twice as big as a basketball. It seemed to consist of metal but if Harnahan had been told it was made of plaster, he would have believed it too.

  He suddenly felt as if something was happening to his brain. He sensed that it was nothing evil. There was no threat in the cautious probing of his conscious and unconscious thoughts. And there was the soundless voice which he believed he had heard before: No, Harnahan, you're completely sane. What you're seeing and perceiving is real. I've already received your thoughts when you were approaching this world. I didn't want to frighten you and so I waited until you discovered me.

  Harnahan had the impression that the colored reflexes on the smoothly polished surface of the sphere underwent a change. It gradually became black as the universe. The distant stars were mirrored as in the quiet water of an unfathomable mountain lake.
And then, as Harnahan looked closer, he noticed that the stars were getting bigger and closer.

  Don't be incredulous, Harnahan, but I can also show my thoughts optically. What would you like to see? Your ship in which you came? The planet from which you've left? Oh, I see it's not your home world.

  Harnahan watched as the stars on the black mirror face shifted and the gleaming canopy of his rocket ship came into view as if he hovered 50 feet above the mountain peak.

  "It's incredible!" he gasped. "How is this possible? A technology which can achieve this feat must..."

  Nature holds much richer treasures than any technology!

  The sentence burned like a light in his brain. The strange being must have thought it. Slowly it dawned on Harnahan that the sphere was not a technical marvel of an unknown race—it was a member of a race itself!

  The sphere was alive!

  Of course, I have life, Harnahan, but I'm alone. There are no other members of my race unless they were created by accident like myself. On your chronological scale I'm about 5,000,000 years old.

  "I must be delirious!" Harnahan thought desperately but the sphere remained right there at his feet and reflected the stars on its curved surface. And the sphere emitted thoughts which he could understand. It was not only intelligent but also telepathic. If he expressed thoughts in his mind it was capable of perceiving them too.

  Yes, I understand you and furthermore I know the reasons for your being here. I'm willing to help you and Perry Rhodan against the Galactic traders.

  Harnahan was startled to the utmost. "What do you know about Perry Rhodan?" he asked in his helmet. Suddenly he got the weird idea that the ball at his feet could be a miniature spaceship harboring unimaginably small intelligent beings inside.

  I know all there is to know about Rhodan, Harnahan. But don't let this worry you. Your secrets are safe with me.