Twilight Of The Gods Part 4

Mercant grew restless. "My dear Miss Sloane, you must leave that to our judgment. We are better informed than you. Rhodan intends to seize not only this planet's military might but also its total economic potential. The machines and goods he can offer in trade already surpa.s.s anything we have ever dreamed of accomplis.h.i.+ng. This alone is sufficient for Rhodan to shake the very foundations of our economic existence."

"That sounds great," she mocked. "I would like to meet this Rhodan very much. This makes your proposition sound acceptable to me."

"You will have an opportunity to make his acquaintance if you are willing to work with us," promised Mercant. "Perry Rhodan and his allies are looking for friends and helpers."

She was amazed. "How can this be possible? To seek friends while being known as the world's foremost foe? How does he go about it?"

"Quite openly. Who could prevent him from doing so? And how is anyone to guess his neighbour's destination when he packs his suitcases and leaves home? Dr. Haggard from Australia was abducted by force. Today he is working for Rhodan. We tried to smuggle in some of our agents, but they were caught. Maybe you will have better luck."

"I would seriously doubt that." Anne shook her head. "I can hardly believe I'd be more successful than your people, who are so much more experienced than I."

"That's just the point! Exactly because you have less experience. Our agents were too cautious and wary and reacted accordingly. Besides, you are a woman."

"I won't deny that," she smiled. "But what has that to do with the whole thing?"

"A good deal. One of the members of the Stardust's crew wanted to return to the States. Rhodan gave him a hypn.o.block that induced an artificial amnesia. When Captain Fletcher was cross-examined by the Australian authorities, he unfortunately suffered a stroke. His widow died too a few weeks later, when her first child was born. Her death was kept a secret. But we are in possession of her papers. And we also have a photo of her. Have a look at it, Miss Sloane!"

Mercant opened his wallet and took out a photo. Anne hesitated slightly before she accepted the preferred picture; then she looked at it. It showed a young woman, about twenty-five years old, dark and slender. Anne did not notice anything particular about it except that it reminded her of somebody she knew quite well.a "It looks like you, doesn't it?" asked Kaats eagerly.

Now Anne could see the resemblance, but it was nothing more than a slight likeness. "No one would dream of mistaking me for her, if that is what you want to say. No, I don't think I could pa.s.s for her."

"That is not so important here in this case," Mercant said. "Neither Rhodan, Bell nor Manoli had ever met Mrs. Fletcher in person. They might have seen a photo of her. Therefore, a slight resemblance is all that is necessary. As Mrs. Fletcher you will try to enter Rhodan's base in the Gobi Desert."

"This is a crazy idea," said Anne sceptically. "Who would fall for such a trick?"

"Rhodan! He will understand that Fletcher's widow wants to get in touch with him to find out what led to her husband's death. Once you are inside the energy wall, you can try out your special talents of telekinesis. I don't think even the fabulous Arkonides know a protection against that. At least, we hope they don't."

"Arkonides?"

"That is what the aliens call themselves. The strangers who had to make an emergency landing on the moon. They originate from a solar system more than 34,000 light-years away from ours. Star cl.u.s.ter M 13, NGC number 6205, to be exact."

"If these aliens really have come from this far distant star, I'm afraid that my limited faculties won't impress them too much."

"Let's wait and see. In any case I am not wrong in a.s.suming that this job sounds tempting to you? You do accept, I hope."

"I don't seem to have much of a choice. And besides, to be frank, this mission intrigues me."

Mercant rummaged in his coat pocket and pulled out some papers. "Here are your instructions. And your airplane ticket. But before you start you will undergo a short but intensive training course in psychology."

Suddenly Anne felt cold. She gazed up and noticed that the sun was now hidden by the branches of the elm tree. She stood up. "Let's go inside, it's too cool here on the veranda now. Over some whiskey you can explain all the details to me."

While she led the way into the house, she was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that she had let herself in for more than she could handle. Perry Rhodan, the celebrated astronaut, had gained her complete admiration when he had undertaken his daring flight to the moon. She had not been able to make much of the events that had followed, but she was sure that he was neither a traitor nor a criminal even if the whole world was against him. And now all of a sudden she was supposed to fight against him.

She was not entirely sure that she really would.

Unlike Anne Sloane, Ras Tschubai had never had the slightest indication of his hidden talents. He was born a few years after the end of World War II in El Obeid, a tiny village in the Sudan. He had studied in India and had lived for the past two years in Moscow, the metropolis of the Eastern Bloc. He worked in the laboratory of a scientific inst.i.tute involved in research into the production of a serum to prolong life.

As a chemist, Ras took part in an expedition into the interior of Africa where a particular species of bee could be found. Their liquid food was indispensable for the synthesis of the serum.

For weeks now the expedition had roamed the jungles near the headwaters of the Congo River, far from civilization and cut off from their supply sources. Radio communication with the outside world had been cut off when their radio stopped functioning. The native porters had taken French leave one after the other and had disappeared into the darkness of the jungle nights.

Their situation was desperate, for the slightest relapse into primitive circ.u.mstances meant certain ruin in this age of advanced technology. Both Russians, the German and the African born Ras Tschubai were sitting in the middle of the immense jungle, surrounded by virgin territory and hostile wilderness, far removed from any help. What irony when high above the dense roof of foliage they could hear the hum of the heavy transcontinental airplanes! just a few miles above them, yet unreachable.

They ran out of food as well as medical supplies.

The leader of the misfortune ridden expedition sighed, "d.a.m.n these wonder bees! Prolonging life! For that we don't need any bees now, just a few cans of food. And a lot of luck. Ras, you are the only one here who knows the country at all, If anyone can help us now, it's you."

They were crouched around a small campfire in front of their tent. The fire was smoking terribly, for they had been able to find only damp wood. The sun never penetrated as far down as the jungle floor.

"I was only born in Africa but educated in India and the Soviet Union," Ras replied.

"But your parents lived here and your ancestors. You inherited their knowledge and their instincts. You are the only one who could find a way out of this maze. We have tried in vain for days to reach even some village. We have not enough strength left to carry on. One of us must go on alone. You, Ras!"

Ras was frightened. It was correct that his grandparents and even his parents bad fought in Africa against the white man for their freedom and independence. They had lived in these endless steppes and impenetrable jungles. They had found food by hunting the animals of their domain. But he was now one generation removed from them. What did he know of the dangers of this wilderness? Nothing.

He shook his head in desperation. "It is senseless; that much I know. I'll never find the way on my own. Who knows if there is anybody still living in this jungle? They are all concentrated now near the coast or on the steppes. Even the wild tribes were lured by civilization. The jungle has been deserted. The wild animals have taken over. How should I, a man alone, find my way back to civilization?"

As he spoke, a picture appeared before him from days long gone by. He saw El Obeid, a tiny oasis in the wide Sudanese steppes that had developed first into a little village and then into a regular small town. El Obeid! That, was where his parents had lived, where he had been born. Here he had spent his childhood, those long ago days without any worries. The village school and the teachers and the funny memories of many a childish prank . . . The old chieftain who used to sit under a banana tree at the edge of the village pond and who told such interesting stories . . . How well Ras could remember all this, just as if it had been only yesterday. And his parents a "Instinct, Ras!" said the leader of the expedition, bringing Ras back to reality. "It isn't the compa.s.s that matters; but the instinct. Your parents were still savages when they were children, don't you ever forget it. Your own civilization is nothing but a thin veneer that can be stripped away at any time. Forgive me if that sounds rather brutal but it's the truth. It takes many generations to turn this thin layer into a thick and durable skin. You, Ras, belong to the first generation. If anyone of us has a chance for survival, it is you. Therefore you are the one to go for help."

Slowly Ras looked around the campfire. The German was squatting close by. He seemed to be cold, although it was warm and humid. He was drying his feet and boots, which had become soaked in the swamp. One of the Russians was sitting on a rotting tree trunk, staring straight ahead with a sombre expression. His rifle was leaning next to him, but only two bullets were left in it. The leader of the expedition regarded Ras expectantly.

The student of chemistry sighed deeply. "You're the boss. If you want me to, I'll try my best. But I can't guarantee anything."

"That remains to be seen. Take this rifle here five rounds of ammunition. That will leave us ten bullets for hunting. In addition here is your share of medications. It's not much, but it will do for one fever attack. You will have to hunt for your food."

"That means no food to take along?"

"That's right. We can't give you any! We have almost nothing left. I am sorry, but I can't see any other way out. You must start out today."

Ras knew that he could not argue; it would be senseless. He obeyed orders and soon afterward took his leave from his comrades. He walked off with firm steps and soon disappeared into the dense underbrush of the jungle. The thick foliage closed behind him and hid his friends from view. They remained behind, sitting motionless in the little clearing, just staring after him.

At first things were not too bad. Ras found a path apparently made by wild animals on their way to a water hole nearby. He followed the trail. If I should continue like this for about 600 miles, he thought bitterly, I would reach the coast. The only problem is that it would take weeks or months at this speed. It is hopeless. But what can I do? Perhaps I'll be lucky and I'll find some nomadic tube or some Pygmies. Or a El Obeid!

If only he had stayed there, everything would have been fine. Although he could not have studied, he would still have had a chance to live a long life. Perhaps he would even have become a teacher. His parents would still be alive, perhaps. As it was, only one sister lived in their old home. How long since he had last seen her!

Caution!

It was nothing but a monkey who, high up in the leafy roof of the jungle, had discovered the strange wanderer. His loud chatter aroused a lively echo. Ras was contemplating whether he should shoot him, but he did not feel hungry even though he had eaten hardly anything today. With a brisk step he continued on his way.

Soon it grew dark. Under no circ.u.mstances, he decided, would he spend the night down on the ground. He had to find some tree whose lowest branch was within easy reach. But this was not so easily done. It was almost night before he discovered a huge fallen tree trunk lying at a slant in a small clearing in the thick underbrush. He ran upward along the trunk until he reached a big forked branch, whence many paths led into a new realm that had been unknown to him till now. An entanglement of many branches, boughs and twigs wove a cover more than sixty feet above the jungle floor.

It was not at all difficult to find a suitable place. A cave like leafy shelter provided protection against the night wind and cover against any enemies approaching from behind. He took the blanket roll he bad carried on his shoulders and spread it out. Carefully he put the gun in a corner. He still felt no hunger, only great fatigue. He stretched out in a shallow depression of his "nest," listened for a while to the nocturnal noises of the primeval forest and was soon asleep.

He dreamed. Strangely enough, he dreamed of the scene of his childhood of which he had thought earlier. He could see everything so clearly that it seemed to be reality. The old chieftain once again told his stories of those bygone days when he roamed through the steppes, armed with spear and bow, hunting for enemy warriors and for game, Ras's sister brought water from a nearby well, carefully balancing the jug on her head. His parents- Ras sat up with a start. A new sound, which so far had not been part of the nocturnal concert of the jungle, had awakened him from his dream.

At first the trunk had trembled lightly, as if something had jumped on it from the ground below. Then came a soft shuffling, as if the creature was cautiously approaching. Some thing was softly treading on the wood.

Ras reached for his gun. He could not find it at once, and while searching for it he knocked it over. Before he managed to get hold of it, it flipped over the edge of his tiny platform. He could hear the rifle hitting against branches and leaves on its downward path. A dull thud announced that his weapon had arrived on the ground.

Silence.

Ras trembled with fright. He was seized by a superst.i.tious fear. Again the creeping, groping in the dark became audible. It seemed to be louder now.

And then Suddenly a his heart stopped beating for a moment. He saw two glowing lights close by. It must be big jungle cat that had followed his scent.

Ras knew that he did not have a chance. His only weapon was lying far below him on the ground, perhaps even in the mora.s.s. His knife was very small, not of much use. How could he fight off a dangerous wild animal with it? But it was his only weapon, and be pulled it from his belt with shaking hands.

The two luminous eyes had approached him to a distance of less than ten feet. He could almost smell the stinking breath of his adversary, still hidden by the darkness. Ras remained sitting up straight, his back braced against the hollowed out tree trunk. He waited.

From the left something hissed viciously. The s.h.i.+ning eyes in front of him suddenly disappeared, as the big cat attacked its rival on the left. Ras could see nothing but he could visualize the struggle that went on nearby in total darkness. Both animals were fighting for their prey. they were fighting over him.

The victor would not wait long before attacking him. There were still a few minutes left to him to prepare himself for the coming onslaught. There was not really very much he could do, he knew. His hand closed tight around the small knife.

The wild hissing of the battling animals seemed to move away a short distance, but it increased in ferocity and loudness. Claws tore at wood and caused a nerve-racking sound that chilled Ras to the marrow of his bones. And then, suddenly and unexpectedly, all became silent. But only for a fraction of a second. Then Ras could hear branches breaking, the sound of something b.u.mping against foliage and trunk. This could only mean that one of the animals had lost its grip and fallen to the ground. The struggle was over.

Soon another would begin.

Once again he perceived the flickering eyes, a little farther away. Now they stared moving toward him.

d.a.m.n it, why had he had to take such a tremendous risk! How should walk through the jungle, all alone and almost unarmed? What on Earth had possessed him to emigrate to Moscow? He should have stayed in El Obeid, with his parents and his sister.

Oh Lord, his sister! She was the only member of his family still alive. He had always been so fond of her. The house a He forgot all about the wild animal that was slowly creeping nearer. If he had to die, then at least he would meet death thinking of his beloved home and his sister.

He could see her now in front of him in the small room in the back of the house. She sat at the table, grinding some grain to a fine flour. He was standing near the door, the way he had done at his last visit, just two, years ago. She had not known that he was supposed to arrive and had not recognized him immediately. But then a He would give anything now to be at her side this very second, to be in the safe shelter of the house. With all his might he longed for it, willed it. He could think of nothing else. He had even forgotten the wild cat.a His sister was sitting at the table but she was not grinding any grain. Instead she was leafing through some letters she had taken from a box in front of her. Then she looked up and noticed Ras standing at the door. But this Ras was like a stranger she did not know. A dishevelled man in torn clothes, with a knife in his right hand, raised high, ready for attack a "Ras! What is the matter? Your knifea"

The chemistry student stood as if frozen. With wide-open eyes he stared at his sister. Slowly his hand came down, still holding the knife. He released his grip, and the knife fell to the floor with a clanking sound.

"Brother, what is wrong with you?"

Ras was breathing hard. He looked around the room, without comprehending how he had got here. Just a short second ago he had been sitting on a tree in the middle of the jungle more than a thousand miles away, facing a certain death.

And now a El Obeid! His parents' house! His sister!

"Sara, is it really you? Am I really here?"

"Of course you are here. But what you look like! Did you escape? Did you break out from a prison?"

"Maybe I have done that," be murmured, trembling. "Maybe I escaped from a mental prison, from the barriers erected by my mind. But that can't be possible! Why me, of all of people?"

"What are you talking about, Ras? I don't understand."

"Sara, I don't understand it myself. I don't know how I got here. I was far away in the jungle with an expedition. The expedition!" Suddenly he remember what he had set out to do. They had sent him to get help. But now they were more than a thousand miles away. But a no, this no longer presented any problem. As long as he knew their exact location a Perhaps by airplane?

"Listen, Sara, my friends are in danger. I left them half a day ago a in the Congo."

His sister looked at him greatly worried. Ras was suffering from some fever attack. She must get him to a doctor as quickly as possible.

"Do you have some food in the house?" Ras asked firmly. "Make a bundle ready. Hurry up, please."

Ten minutes later he held a big bundle of food under his arm.

"Turn around now, Sara. I'll be back in about an hour. You must believe me, trust me. I shalla"

She ran past him toward the door and locked it. Then she hid the key in the pocket of her ap.r.o.n.

"You'll just stay here, Ras!" she cried, turning to close the window. "Whatever you are planning to do will have to wait until Dr. Swartz can come by to examine you. He will know-"

She did not finish her sentence. She had been turned away from him for only a moment, but when she looked back again toward Ras, all she saw was an empty spot where he had been standing with his bundle.

And a fourth case must be reported, for it was the most incredible and most baffling incident. It lay in the realm of parapsychology and concerned a special faculty, unknown so far. n.o.body on Earth would have seriously considered such a possibility.a Every Friday a few young artists from Schwabing, the artists quarter in Munich, Germany, gathered in the apartment of author Ernst Ellert. Each visitor brought along his own contribution to the evening's refreshment in the form of a bottle of wine or some salami. This gave each the rea.s.suring feeling that they would not cause too much hards.h.i.+p on the small budget of the freelance writer.

This particular Friday they were celebrating the birthday of Jonny, a painter who was so possessed by his love of painting that he could not refrain, even tonight, from making a few sketches on the gaily coloured wallpaper. Ellert had long since given up reprimanding him for such unwanted displays of his art. All he would hear for the rest of the evening would be Jonny's comments of "narrow minded frustrator of artistic creativity, the eternal curse of the true artist."

Late, as usual Heinrich Lothar arrived; n.o.body knew for sure how he earned his living. There were rumours that he photographed models for magazines, did occasional translations and the like. All these occupations, however, never prevented him from taking each of his friends aside sometime during the evening and discreetly whispering, "Say, you couldn't lend me a five till tomorrow?" This most touching approach had only once been crowned by success, when Ellert had let himself be victimized. Of course, he had never seen his money again.

The fourth member of the group was Aarn Munro, editor and publisher of a small magazine that was read by hardly anybody. Aarn Munro was not his real name, naturally. But he liked to be called by the same name as the hero of a well-known science fiction novel of his youth. Since he could not make a living from his auctorial work alone, he had some other job, which he preferred not to mention. He'd rather be regarded as an artist, even if he never sold anything. And he did make excellent drawings.

Finally there was Frettel, who also was smart enough to regard his artistic activities as a sideline. Frettel was a singer, entertainer, manager, organizer, impresario and general patron of the arts, not to overlook his being a physician.

"Tonight's topic," began the host, swiftly extracting a cigarette from Aarn's pack when Aarn's attention was momentarily diverted, "came up for discussion last week. You remember that Frettel mentioned some strange happenings that are supposed to have occurred in London. We could not come up with a plausible explanation. Lothar thought these phenomena were due to one of the parasciences. To be honest, I don't know too much about them and therefore don't believe in them. At least, that was my opinion up till yesterday."

Lothar took the olives that Aarn had brought and unthinkingly emptied the contents of the small jar into the wide cavern of his mouth. He chewed on them with a great deal of enjoyment.

"Up till yesterday?" He ate and talked at the same time. What do you mean by that?"

"That I have changed my opinion," replied Ellert, and tried without much success to rescue one of the olives for himself. He made up for this with a shot of the whiskey that Jonny had donated. "After all, artists are permitted to change their points of view if it pleases them. They don't have to be consistent."

"You are right; opinions are the only thing we can change," observed Frettel thoughtfully. "Besides the figures on our patients' monthly statements."

"You are a doctor!" pointed out Ellert to him. "Writers can't play that game so easily. Our publishers-"

Aarn was not at all interested in these problems. He simply did not pay anything for his writers' contributions to his magazine, for most writers were overjoyed just to see their names and their stories published. Therefore, he interrupted his friends' conversation rather abruptly. "Ernst, how come you waited until yesterday to think differently about parapsychology?"

Ernst was glad to get away from the unpleasant discussion about financial matters. Money was always a sore point with him. "Because something strange happened to me yesterday."

"Let's hear about it!" urged jonny, while trying to save at least some of his drink for himself. "Maybe I'll get some new ideas from you."

"I can hardly believe that," countered Ellert with a good humoured wink at jonny. But at once he became again. "All right, I'll tell you a story, a most interesting story. But I know beforehand that no one will believe me.

He waited until his guests had settled down comfortably in their seats and lit their cigarettes. Then he asked, "What do you think of time travel?"

General bewilderment. Then Aarn snapped, "That's your hobby, isn't it? You even wrote about it once, and it wasn't too well received by sensible people. If you want me to be frank with you, I consider time travel a most entertaining fairy tale."

The rest of the group nodded unanimous agreement.

Ellert sighed. "That's what I expected you to say. But despite that, will you listen to my story, please! As you all know, I have pondered a great deal about this particular notion. I think it quite possible to go time travelling in a mental fas.h.i.+on. A dream could be looked upon as a kind of mental trip through time, if it transports us into either the past or the future. Even when you mentally recall events of the past you could speak of this as time travel to a certain limited degree. I think you will agree, therefore, that the notion of time travel is not so absurd as it might appear at first glance."

"Just a moment!" interjected Frettel. "That doesn't make sense! What has that to do with time travel? As I understand it, it consists of physically transferring the body of a person into the future or the past. Therefore, I would have to exist in some epoch different from my own, at least temporarily, in order to be able to speak of time travel."