Menace of the Mutant Master Read online

  capable of this?" he murmured.

  "If we assume that the unknown does not master the Arkonide psychophysics and consequently does not possess any mechanical instruments that would enable him to influence other people in such a powerful manner—then he must indeed be a monster.

  "Can Manoli handle this situation?" wondered Khrest, suddenly very concerned about Tako's safety.

  "Don't worry about Manoli's skill!" Rhodan replied. "He knows his business—and also all the new tricks he needs. But it looks like we may have to let Tako take it very easy during the coming weeks."

  "Does he remember anything about the whole affair?"

  "Oh, yes! He knows everything—from the moment when he cornered the stranger till the second when he landed in Terrania again. But if anyone tries to tell him that he made an attempt on my life he tells them they're crazy. The moment he got rid of the hypno-block also meant the end of any memory of what his hypnotic orders had been."

  All were quiet for awhile, each lost in his own thoughts. Then Khrest broke the silence: "What next? What are your plans, if any?"

  "Right now my plans still seem to be very difficult to put into action... but I do have some."

  Khrest's reddish eyes showed interest. "We must learn to interpret and transpose Tako's tele-jump patterns into exploitable geographic data."

  Khrest sucked in his breath noisily. "To interpret and transpose! That's a big order! Do you have any idea whether such a thing is even possible?"

  Rhodan laughed. "No, not the faintest." He rose from his chair. "I'll make it my foremost duty to find out if there is any chance of success for us in this matter. If not then we'll have to try some other approach."

  Rhodan walked over to the door and as he was about to leave the room he turned around and said to Khrest: "There is one thing I am particularly happy about: the whole story about planning to kidnap you was nothing but a big bluff. Maybe the intruder actually felt a command to seize you. But in reality he came here merely to lure one of us to follow him to his home grounds."

  Khrest wrinkled his forehead. "Do you really believe that I wasn't the one they were after?"

  "I'm positive!" laughed Rhodan. "After all it would be sheer megalomania for anyone even to think about trying to abduct you right from the very center of the New Power's domain."

  Clifford Monterny had experienced his first major defeat in, so to speak, a direct line of transmission.

  He had maintained a one-sided, unnoticeable telepathic contact with the Japanese Tako Kakuta until Tako's hypno-block had been removed by a psycho-physical method. And before he could manage to re-establish the interrupted connection, Tako had been given a counterblock which even the mutant master himself was unable to pierce.

  The fact that gave Monterny the greatest cause for alarm was his inability to figure out how Rhodan had been able to outguess him. How could Rhodan have gotten any wind of the planned assassination attempt? Tako Kakuta had not given himself away with any word or gesture. During the medical checkup after his return, Dr. Manoli's first concern had been Tako's physical well-being. The mental tests had been so superficial and routine that even a far less skillfully placed hypno-block would have remained undetected.

  Nevertheless...

  Monterny assumed that Rhodan was not mutant—that is, he suspected this with almost complete certainty. Rhodan did not possess any clairvoyant, telepathic or any other talents with which he could have seen through the Japanese.

  Still he had known in advance what was going to happen. At exactly the right moment he hid behind a protective screen and had thus caused the intended assassin's shot to ricochet from the energy barrier while he watched with calm assurance. The pain Tako had experienced when he was hit by the electric shock had been so violent that even Monterny had felt it.

  Since Monterny was convinced that Rhodan was not a mutant, Monterny had to assume that Rhodan's behavior in face of an impending attempt on his life was the result of almost superhuman circumspection and an outstanding talent for combining the merest hints into workable hypotheses. This notion enraged Monterny to such an extent that he was incapable of forging a clear thought for several hours.

  For apart from his tremendous thirst for power, Monterny also was convinced that he as a mutant represented a human being of a higher order. There was nothing worse for him than being found out by a mere 'normal' person.

  The following morning Monterny had a longer discussion with McMurray, his closest associate.

  Of all the mutants in Monterny's service, McMurray was the only one ever to have seen him face to face. The first time it had happened in Sacramento and from then on they met again and again.

  McMurray was so firmly in the grip of Monterny's hypnotic influence that he had long since lost his own individual personality. However accompanying this loss of his true identity was a parallel increase of his parapsychic abilities. Tele-jumps across interplanetary distances had become in the meantime no longer anything unusual for the young man. During his leaps he could generate around himself such powerful and extensive transition fields that he could carry along large objects easily.

  Just because of this talent McMurray generally played a most important role in Monterny's plans.

  "It's going to be difficult but not impossible," was Rhodan's reply to Khrest.

  A series of diagrams with Tako Kakuta's pattern of teleportation jumps, recorded by a psycho-analyzer, were on the table before them.

  "What have you been able to ascertain so far?" asked Thora. "The approximate target within a radius of about 60 miles."

  "And where is that?"

  Rhodan picked up the diagrams and a map was revealed underneath. It was a map of the Japanese islands. "Here!" said Rhodan, pointing to a circle outlined in red. "Somewhere inside this circle."

  Thora regarded the map. A bit sarcastic she finally said, "That's a tall order! Within this circle are located three major cities along with 12 million inhabitants: Kobe, Osaka and Kyoto. To this you must add another five million people living in the surrounding countryside—When do you propose to get through with your search?"

  "I'm not looking for any of these 17 million inhabitants of this area," countered Rhodan with a smile, "but you've forgotten, there are not more than a thousand a basement built of reinforced concrete... in case cellars of this type in all of Japan!" He put the diagrams back on the table. "Besides, I hope to obtain still further data from Tako's tele-jump patterns. And finally I have noticed something else!"

  "Do you remember Homer G. Adams' suicidal maneuver at the stock market? He was fooled by an amateurishly written prospectus about some Peruvian gold mines. We succeeded in finding out where this prospectus was printed."

  "Yes, and where was that?"

  "In a Printshop in Osaka!"

  The man whom Rhodan sent to Osaka was Major Nyssen.

  Nyssen did not leave unprepared. He was given a report about all the events leading up to his current assignment and was asked to study it thoroughly for a day. In addition to that he underwent a rapid training course in the Japanese language through the Arkonide hypno-training instruments.

  Lastly he received a device, developed and perfected the previous day, which would protect him against any hypnotic influence. When he was shown the new device he started to laugh. The instrument was nothing but a glittering metal helmet which fitted over the entire skull and was capable of producing an anti-hypnotic field with the help of a tiny generator. "Am I supposed to run around with that contraption on my head?" He wanted to know.

  Rhodan nodded. "Yes, from the very moment that you have the impression that the unknown enemy has become aware of your presence. I'd strongly suggest you wear this helmet. You know only too well what happens to unprotected persons."

  Nyssen took the helmet.

  Major Nyssen had joined Rhodan's forces when he was rummaging through the wreck of the Arkonide research cruiser which originally had crash-landed on the Moon and had subsequently been destroyed
by atomic missiles of the Western Bloc. As a matter of fact Nyssen had been on this bombing mission just a few weeks earlier. As far as looks were concerned he could have been Reginald Bell's brother: short, not quite as hefty, the same crewcut, although his hair was thinning and dark blond rather than the shade of carrots. His voice always sounded as if he had just woken up from a terrific hangover.

  Nyssen flew to Shanghai with the daily clipper. He stayed one day in Shanghai trying to shake anyone trying to shadow him. That same evening he flew on to Tokyo. He repeated his maneuvers to get rid of any possible people on his trail and that same night took the Tokyo-Kobe express in order to get to Osaka.

  It was 1:30 in the morning when he reached his destination. He had changed his outer appearance a bit. Usually a very dapper man, he was now wearing a rather shabby suit, although it looked as if it had seen better days and had originally been made by an excellent tailor. His shirt was faded and had an outmoded collar. He chose a hotel which seemed to fit his own impoverished appearance.

  The disguise was very simple but effective. Anyone seeing him thought him to be one of those globe-trotters who came to the Far East with the sparse remnants of their fortune because either the police of their home country were after them or because they hoped perhaps to make an easy fortune here.

  Nyssen rented a room on the 30th floor of a shabby hotel high rise. He devoted the first day to recovering from the strain of the past days. He spent many hours in a deep, dreamless sleep.

  "You know your job!" Monterny said in a friendly tone. "Just bear in mind that a great deal depends on how you complete this task."

  McMurray, who lately had been made the mutant master's confidante, promised: "I'll certainly remember that."

  "And don't make the same mistakes as that fool Bradley! Allow yourself sufficient time! As far as I can see you won't run any risk this way."

  McMurray nodded obediently.

  "I'm expecting your reports right on the dot at the agreed time!" Monterny reminded him.

  McMurray nodded once more like an obedient automaton.

  Then he left.

  He went to his room—if one could indeed call the place a room: it had no windows, it was illuminated by a single neon tube along part of the ceiling, its walls were made of reinforced concrete. McMurray quickly packed the few belongings he would need for this enterprise. Above all his automatic pistol, the only weapon a teleporter could rely on when he suddenly made his appearance inside some strange territory after a tele-jump.

  The vessel filled a medium-size suitcase. McMurray held the suitcase under his arm and stood in the middle of his room as if he were just trying to remember whether he had forgotten something he still needed to take along.

  A few seconds later, however, the outlines of his figure began to grow blurred and shortly afterwards he vanished completely.

  McMurray was on his way to execute the most serious blow that his master had ever planned against the New Power.

  Nyssen had a pretty good idea what he could allow himself to do in Osaka and get away with it.

  Included in those things that carried too great a risk was, for instance, a visit to the printer's shop where the stock market prospectus had been printed. Rhodan himself had paid a visit a few days earlier to that shop. And if that printshop was connected in any way with the mysterious unknown enemy, which probably was the case, then Rhodan's visit had been carefully registered, even if he had not been recognized.

  Nyssen wanted to make sure to remain incognito as long as possible and acted accordingly. There was nothing easier in a city the size of Osaka than to find some people who would be willing to pull the chestnuts out of the fire for anyone ready to pay the right price.

  Nyssen scouted around for such a person. Osaka was a harbor city. He spent a whole morning strolling through the harbor area and he was not disappointed m his expectations.

  More than a dozen men accosted him and started a conversation which left no doubt in his mind that they were exactly what he was looking for. Nyssen noticed with satisfaction that evidently it must be written all over his face what he wanted to find.

  He was very choosy. Toward 10 o'clock he almost hired a young fellow who looked so desperate that one could not fail to wonder how he happened to have landed in such a neighborhood. But in the end, Nyssen let him go after all. The risk was too great that the young man would some day get moral scruples and then run to the police to unburden his guilty conscience. Finally at 11:30 he decided on a short fellow with cunning eyes who sidled up to him and declared in broken English: "Me... Michikai. Michikai do everything... You pay well... Michikai your man!"

  Nyssen grinned. Michikai appeared to be about 40-years-old and was a good half a head shorter than Nyssen. "Me... Jeremy... Jeremy pays well... You do everything!"

  He spoke these words in Japanese and tried to imitate Michikai's broken English. Michikai made a startled face. Then he laughed and when Nyssen joined him with a good-humored chuckle, that clinched the deal.

  They went together to a little restaurant where they took care of the details. Of course, Nyssen did not explain to his new collaborator what this deal was actually all about. He just hinted that he would like to get some information about the setup of this printshop and this job seemed so easy to Michikai that he was quite amazed when Nyssen gave him an advance of $30, promising him the same sum again if he got satisfactory results.

  Nyssen arranged with Michikai that from now on they would communicate with each other only by phone. This meant that Michikai would be at a certain restaurant at certain set hours where and when Nyssen would be able to reach him.

  Michikai, on the other hand, could not get in touch with Nyssen, neither by phone nor directly. Nyssen wanted to make sure the unknown foe would not be able to trace him through his middleman.

  Ted McMurray looked at the city with amazement. He had never laid eyes on it before. It appeared to

  him more beautiful than anything he had ever seen.

  He had made his instantaneous appearance on the northern shore of the Salt Lake. The glittering surface of the lake lay between him and Terrania.

  McMurray was lost in his admiration of the wonderful sight before him until he 'heard' from Monterny. Although the command was beamed with moderate energy, McMurray understood it very clearly. "I said you needn't rush! But this doesn't mean you stand around gawking! Get to work!"

  McMurray started to move. He knew what had bothered Monterny. It was not so much the fact that he had taken a good long look at the city. It was expected from an agent that he would thoroughly examine his future field of action.

  Monterny knew the thoughts of his people. He had sensed the admiration which McMurray had briefly felt for that city. And this was the cause for his irritation.

  McMurray made his way through the uninhabited green-belt which separated the city from the surrounding desert. After awhile he was able to distinguish details on the houses of the northern suburbs of Terrania. Then he teleported into the city.

  Monterny followed his progress attentively. He realized that this mission represented a certain personal risk for himself. Monterny had found very quickly how the first teleporter he had dispatched to Terrania had been spotted and then pursued by Tako Kakuta. He knew that Rhodan counted some powerful telepaths among the members of his mutant corps. Therefore Monterny might endanger not only McMurray but also this entire mission if he kept in constant touch with the young man.

  He kept him under observation by absorbing McMurray's radiations but he himself wanted to act as a sender only in extreme emergency.

  The matter was too important.

  Nyssen phoned the restaurant and asked to speak to Michikai. Michikai answered by identifying himself with his real name whereupon Nyssen inquired: "Have the peach trees started blooming already in the southern part of Kiushu?"

  Michikai cleared his throat and replied: "Not yet. But it's almost over in Hondo."

  "Fine," answered Nyssen. "What's ne
w?"

  "I've looked the printshop over."

  "Discretely and inconspicuously as we agreed, I hope."

  "Absolutely. I pretended I wanted to place a large order but couldn't come to terms with the owner. We haggled over the price. So I left. But in the meantime I had seen everything, except for..."

  "Except for what?"

  "There was one room which I couldn't enter. But I'd bet that it isn't any bigger than 50 square feet. It had only one door and I managed to catch a glimpse through it for a moment."

  "Didn't you at least try to get inside?" asked Nyssen.

  "Oh, yes. When I left I pretended to mistake that door for the exit. The owner of the shop didn't like this a bit. He became quite angry and caught me just as I had opened that door for a split second. He slammed the door and maneuvered me to the real exit."

  "Hm," grumbled Nyssen. "Did you see what was in that room?"

  "Yes. A videophone."

  "Anything else?"

  "No."

  "Listen, Michikai: go to the post office in the central railway station. You know where the private lockers

  are. Go to the man at that window and say the password 'Hokaido' number 7415. He'll then open that box for you. You'll find your $50 inside. I'll phone you again in a few days."

  "What, only $50!" squeaked Michikai, although he had only been promised another 30. But he was used to pretending to be outraged; sometimes it worked. But before he could add another word, he heard a click in the phone. Nyssen had put down the receiver on the hook.

  Nyssen had more important things to do now than to listen to Michikai. He was busy figuring out which time of the day would be most favorable for the new coup he was planning.

  He had used his time well to gather information what a typical day in the life of this city was like. There were peaks and lows in its activity but never a completely quiet time.

  Nyssen chose the hours between one and four in the morning. Three hours should be sufficient, he thought, to make a thorough search of the little printshop.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon sleeping, had a good dinner, then went to a show which let out shortly before midnight.