The Plasma Monster Read online

  "I've had the report on the enteric paralysis presented to me from the epidemic section of Terrania, Professor. In it the disappearance of the paralysis virus has been noted with obvious irony. The plasma seems to have absorbed the poisonous stuff only to use it for self-expansion. I'm not that well-trained in medical science, so can you understand why I'm asking this question?"

  "Yes." Then came a pause after which Prof. Degen shook his head in resignation. He stared at his disfigured hands and then continued. "On board the UG DVI the enteric paralysis has subsided abruptly. It was an inexplicable mystery to me and my colleagues—until now. The plasma infection converted the paralysis virus by giving it its own colloidal structure. Mercant, it may be due to the debilitating effects of my illness but at the moment I can't see my way clear in the present situation. By some malicious chance we finally found a cure for the enteric paralysis but the price tag is that within three months the infected victims will be converted into formless protein by this plasma."

  Mercant suddenly tensed and his marked face drew taut. "What did you say would become of the plasma victims, Professor? Formless protein, like so much albumin? Did I understand you correctly?"

  "Not only that, Mercant—each of us in turn will become a plasma monster! All of us will become what our attacking agent already is!"

  "Professor, when we've been transformed, are you saying that we'll turn on healthy humans and devour them?"

  "You could express it that way, yes."

  Mercant shut off the connection. By means of the biological cell-shower treatment on the planet Wanderer he had not aged in many years but now he refrained from looking at his deformed hands. He shoved aside the report that he had received from Terrania's epidemic-control section and he yawned. The doctors had predicted this unnatural state of fatigue. Such symptoms were the warning signs of the second stage of the illness which after about two or three weeks would result in minor paralysis phenomena. Whereupon the third and final stages would begin. What the victim could expect then was still unknown.

  "Yessir, the Akons really sent us a present! What an accursed race!" Mercant heard himself muttering.

  But the veteran Intelligence expert still possessed sufficient reserves of energy to be able to shake off such morbid thoughts and return once more to his work.

  Shortly thereafter he alerted his specialists. Only one of these eight highly qualified doctors was not yet infected by the plasma.

  "Boyd, you take this matter in hand. But gentlemen if in this case you don't get any results then the plasma will have won the race against you. Because as I have

  just been informed, the plasma monster is fond of eating up enteric paralysis cultures, which it then uses for propagating itself. However I'd much prefer that you pick up the trail of this inhuman clique who tried to use enteric paralysis virus in order to further some kind of dirty business. Here, take this data with you. They give conclusive evidence that the paralysis culture was grown here on Earth, and there's no doubt that the broken ampoule is of Earthly origin. It's an unprecedented case. Do the best you can so that we can put these Terran monsters out of business for good!"

  Wherewith he dismissed them, yawning even as they left him. Finally he reported to Rhodan concerning his conversation with Prof. Degen.

  • • •

  The complex pattern of lines on Rhodan's hypercom screen announced an incoming transmission from the giant Brain on Arkon 3. Before the metallic voice rang through on the speaker, Rhodan had already made a cross-connection with the Research Center of Terrania's main clinic. Without any loss of time he wanted the medical researchers to be informed of the positronicon's findings.

  "Ye gods! If that mammoth think-bucket lets us down...!" It was all Bell could say before the giant Brain's voice resounded in the speaker.

  "Answer to question 973/3, His Majesty, Imperator Gonozal VIII, to the First Administrator of the Solar Imperium, Perry Rhodan. In the second year of the reign of His Highness Fufulgon IX the inhabitants of three Arkon colonial worlds were decimated by a plasma infection. In order to prevent the spread of the infection, the Imperator ordered the three plague-ridden planets to be destroyed. They exist no more. The destruction of these three planets clearly indicates that there was no cure to be found for the plasma infection.

  "Research at that time did not succeed in making a complete analysis of the plasma. They did not determine whether the plasma infection had been deliberately distributed by someone or if it had merely occurred by chance.

  "The following is an evaluation of your own analysis data, in addition to what was known at that time..."

  Perry Rhodan, John Marshall and Reginald Bell listened tensely to the incoming information from the giant Brain on Arkon 3. Even though they couldn't understand a single one of the medical terms being employed, at least the volume of the data led them to hope that the scientists of Terra would be able to make good use of the information and go swiftly to work.

  "It's been going on for eight minutes already..." Rhodan whispered this to Bell, whose face had been affected worst of all by the infection.

  After eight minutes and 11 seconds the transmission of data from the robot Brain came to an end. The dizzying swirl of lines appeared as its closing signature and then the hypercom channel with Arkon 3 was disconnected.

  But the channel to the Research Center was still open.

  However, no comment seemed to be forthcoming from the clinic concerning the flood of information from Arkon 3 and Rhodan asked no questions over the intercom. He who had always restricted anyone from disturbing his critical deliberations now granted the same right to the men who held the fate of Earth in their hands.

  With a glance he prevented his temperamental friend Bell from making one of his typical remarks. Marshall, normally very much composed, now stared transfixed at the viewscreen which revealed a conference of doctors in the background. There was no way of comprehending the muffled confusion of voices coming over the speaker.

  But now they finally saw Dr. Kontu emerge from the group and approach the intercom. He had not previously been especially distinguished from his colleagues but at present he appeared to be in his moment of destiny. "Sir," he said excitedly, "barring any unforeseen errors I believe we can tell you that the Arkon analysis has provided an excellent reference basis. According to the data received we seem to be dealing with a denatured type of protein compound—the kind that is produced out of the natural processes of heat and acidic reactions and fermentation. But the unprecedented characteristic here is that it takes on an optically neutral albumin state which is neither polarized in one direction or the other. But for the moment I can't tell you anything else, sir."

  • • •

  Millions of humans on Earth were yawning, yawning and yawning.

  All who had been stricken with the new sleeping sickness were also those who had become the most seriously disfigured by the plasma plague. So far there was no medication capable of removing or even reducing the spread of the spongy, fungus-like swellings on their skin. The afflicted areas of their bodies seemed to deaden the skin sensitivity but unafflicted peripheral areas became taut and painfully supersensitive.

  Three days had passed since the outbreak of the epidemic. For three days and three nights the television networks had been hammering the thought home to people on the Earth and on the Moon that they must not lose their composure. No one attempted to pacify them with empty promises. They were frankly informed that Perry Rhodan and his closest staff of working associates were also afflicted just like millions of others.

  While such announcements were coming over the news, journalist Walt Ballin happened to be in Rhodan's main office.

  "Ballin," said Rhodan, "now's about the time for you to speak to the men of Terra and I want you to speak to them with the same note of challenge that you used in your feature article. Set up your airtime, whatever way it suits you, but make arrangements for me to have 10 minutes out of the slot you schedule. When you're t
hrough I want to talk to the world!"

  When Ballin left the room, Bell expressed his apprehensions. "Why didn't you fix it so that you spoke first? Without a word first from you he's liable to stir up a panic again! Have you heard the latest police reports from Terrania, Perry? In our own capital the mobs are creeping up out of their holes and there's a dangerous fermentation rising everywhere. Revolution and doomsday panic is in the air. So at a time like this you place your bets on Ballin?"

  "Yes, Reg, I think..."

  He got no further. The telecom flashed an alarm. The broadcast chief of the Terrania TV station was on the screen, apparently at his wit's end. "Sir!" he exclaimed helplessly. "A Mr. Walt Ballin has just used your authority to interrupt our broadcast and he's tied in 28 other network outlets to address the entire northern hemisphere!"

  "Channel his speech in here—quickly!" Rhodan interrupted and his grey eyes were gleaming strangely.

  "Good God!" groaned Bell. "Your news hack is talking off the cuff—strictly extemporaneous! This is going to be something!"

  In fact, it turned out to be tremendous.

  Walt Ballin's speech to his fellow Terrans owed its outstanding impact to the fact that it was simple and based on an honest conviction. What he said simply had to be believed. And this was the way he sounded on the loudspeaker:

  "I am still young... 27 years old. I still have my life before me. Yet you can see on your viewscreens the way I look today. If there's to be no salvation then I'm supposed to have only about three months to live—but I am hoping to be saved somehow during that three-month period and I don't intend to grab a rope and hang myself.

  "Anybody who lets despair get the upper hand and seeks to end it all has never had the stuff in him to be a citizen of the universe. That's what I want to be—even now! And I believe that such a citizen I shall become. At this very moment I know now why I believe it.

  "I believe it because I'm a Terran and for us the future stands wide open even though this plasma infection is blocking the way at present..."

  While Ballin continued his address to the inhabitants of the northern hemisphere, Reginald Bell felt Rhodan's searching gaze resting on him.

  "You have my admiration, Perry! What the devil does Ballin have that he can talk so simply and yet be so convincing? He even gets to me! Just as if I was the only one he was talking to!"

  "It's just that he believes in what he says, Reg. But now I have to get to the broadcast studio..."

  Ballin had to interrupt himself because of a yawn and he let everybody see it. In fact he made a point of it. "The plasma infection is causing fatigue in all of us but what our medical scientists can still do about it is another matter. I'm not going to stand here and make silly promises but I have every reason to believe that our doctors will conquer even this terrible affliction."

  A few minutes later, Rhodan was speaking over the networks.

  The live transmission was also being received in Terrania's medical Research Center. On three separate occasions the doctors interrupted their discussions to listen. Almost all of them had contracted the infection, yet they nodded in agreement with what they heard. Death faced them all and yet they wished fervently to keep on living—especially Dr. Koatu, who had just turned 33 and had been married for only a year.

  6/ THE ENEMY UNMASKED

  Short, fat and bald-headed, Jeff Garibaldi looked out the window toward the Parisian Arch of Triumph. Since the outbreak of the plasma plague 10 days ago, he and his staff in the French Sector had not had much to do.

  Although he wasn't sick yet, he knew it didn't mean very much when one considered at any second the plasma plague might detect him; every morsel of food he ate might already be infected by the plague. The monster had become an ever-present menace. The coded message from Terrania today had been pretty discouraging. They were still groping in the dark. The plasma resisted every medication and yet day by day it was on the increase in an exponential progression. It pounced on all organic matter it could find and even turned that into its own type of voracious protein.

  Refrigerated warehouses containing tons of food, vast acreage ready for harvest, giant herds of cattle—all of it had already been consumed and destroyed, or such destruction was imminent. Thus hunger, that other horseman of the Apocalypse, was charging neck and neck with the advancing plague. It was a new danger of which the general public was not yet aware but those in charge in Terrania were watching this development with ever-increasing concern.

  Jeff Garibaldi was a remote grand uncle of the famous freedom fighter whose name he bore. Now he suddenly sat up rigidly in his chair as a thought struck him.

  Yesterday he had been in Soisy-sur-Seine, a small town 50 km from Paris where he was to meet with a contact man who never showed up. Garibaldi had enjoyed the beautiful summer day, having waited until evening in the small cafe in the Rue de la République.

  There in Soisy-sur-Seine, did I see anybody marked by the plasma sickness, or didn't I? Anybody at all? Garibaldi tried to remember but couldn't. The more he tried to think about it the more excited he became, which was something else he couldn't understand. Is this thing starting with me, too? he asked himself while examining his hands suspiciously. But he could find no telltale pinpoints on his skin.

  What the devil! Was there something I missed in that little place? He was free to muse because he was alone in the Parisian office of Solar Intelligence, which covered all French language areas.

  He knew it was against regulations to leave the office empty but outside the sun shone in a cloudless sky. A summer day beckoned—an irresistible Parisian summer day.

  "The last summer—for everybody," said Garibaldi as he got into his car. "After that there'll be nothing—only the plasma monster!"

  Ordinarily he would have taken a good hour to drive out of Paris but today he only needed 12 minutes to get to its outer periphery. The highway sign said: Soisy-sur-Seine—42 km. Jeff wanted to know what he might have overlooked yesterday in the little town.

  Until 10 days ago this main highway had been an unbroken chain of cars all the way but by the time Garibaldi reached Soisy-sur-Seine he had only encountered four vehicles and one of those had been coming from the opposite direction.

  The Earth and humanity were waiting for death. Garibaldi tried—in vain—to shake off the horror that swept over him at the prospect of such a fate.

  He made a right turn to pull up in front of the Cafe Nicole, where he got out. Two tables were occupied, 11 others were empty.

  "Café au lait," he ordered as a slender dark-blonde girl came up to him. At first she had looked anxiously at his face but then she seemed to give a sigh of relief when she could not detect any bloodied fungus-like markings on him.

  At that moment a light dawned in Garibaldi's mind. Now he fully remembered what it was about his visit here yesterday that had made a subconscious impression on him. He had not seen a single victim of the plasma sickness in the town! Not a one! And yet Soisy-sur-Seine had a population of 45,000.

  His coffee with milk arrived.

  In some astonishment the young, dark-blonde waitress watched Garibaldi as he got up to leave. He had paid but had not touched the coffee. Instead he hurried directly across the street toward the old-fashioned town hall. They were willing to give him information once he had identified himself as an employee of Solar Intelligence.

  "No, Mr. Garibaldi, in Soisy-sur-Seine we haven't yet had a single case of the plasma sickness."

  "Definitely none?" Garibaldi couldn't believe it. In the entire northern hemisphere there wasn't anyplace left that had been spared by the plasma monster, even if there were only two houses in a village. Yet here in a town of 45,000 inhabitants, was he supposed to believe that the plasma plague hadn't

  taken hold?

  "Thank you!" he said, half in a daze as he left.

  The two officials who had informed him shook their heads as they watched him leave.

  It was 3:20 A.m. and the greyness of dawn was beginning t
o appear over Terrania when Perry Rhodan was awakened by an alarm signal. Instantly he was alert.

  "This is Rhodan—what is it?" he said into the telecom instrument beside his bed. The viewscreen was still flickering when the voice of Allan D. Mercant came through

  "Sir, I've just received a call from France, from the same man who contacted Walt Ballin for us. His name is Jeff Garibaldi. This fellow Garibaldi has confirmed something I think is incredible. In his section of..."

  "Mercant, what's the matter with you? At this end I can't make out what you're saying. Make it shorter, will you?" Rhodan shook his head in exasperation.

  "Excuse me, sir, but this news! 50 km from Paris there's a town called Soisysur-Seine. Its population is 45,000 but in the whole place there's not one case of plasma infection!"

  "None...?!"

  Rhodan had not said anything more than this but Mercant also remained silent.

  "Is this Garibaldi reliable, Mercant?"

  "He's reliable, sir, though he's not one to stick close to regulations. Nevertheless, today he's..."

  "Yes, alright! 45,000 inhabitants—you told me that, Mercant—and no case of

  plasma sickness. Are you still in bed?"

  "Yes."

  "Then get out of it! We'll meet in half an hour at the spaceport, berth 67. The

  Burma is there. We'll take off in that!"

  "But sir, we surely can't..."

  "We surely can..."

  But what they were supposed to be able to do Rhodan didn't say. He alerted

  Reginald Bell, John Marshall, Pucky, Ras Tschubai and finally the journalist Walt Ballin.

  "Well take off in half an hour. Meet me at the Burma, berth 67."

  Why and where remained unknown.

  The Burma was a State Class spaceship. When two aircars carrying seven plasma-afflicted passengers approached it, its impulse engines were already warming up. The groundlock showed lights inside but only the outer hatch was open. In the airlock itself were seven spacesuits.