*   *   *   *
   Special robot Meech Hannigan's report had been evaluated in every detail. This report and its indications were so important that Perry Rhodan had established contact with Atlan several weeks prior, in anticipation of the results. In all sectors of the Arkon Empire the former Regent's Fleet had been mobilized, but even in star cluster M-13 it was not possible to deploy 95,000 spaceships without being observed. Aside from the Arkonides, who only lived for the present, there were several hundred other humanoid races who were alert to any changes.
   In spite of the politically uncertain situation in M-13 and a new flare-up of revolutionary activity, Atlan decided to go along with Rhodan's precautionary plans. The Regent Fleet received orders to concentrate on that portion of the outer galaxy which faced the Andromeda nebula. As an apparent matter of chance it so happened that the greater part of the Terra Fleet was also deployed throughout this extensive zone. Officially, nothing was known about this theatre of action.
   However, as Chief of Solar Intelligence, Allan D. Mercant was one of the best informed men in the galaxy. It was a great relief to him when he deduced from all intelligence reports that the fleet displacements had hardly attracted anyone's attention. But he suddenly felt uncomfortable when Rhodan stared at him longer than he usually did, and he reluctantly made only a short summary of his agents' reports.
   "That's better, Mercant," Perry told him with a friendly nod. "The only thing that can help us now is constructive pessimism."
   The Solar Marshal was taken aback for a moment until he finally caught the import of Rhodan's remark. "I understand, sir. From now on I'll add a question mark to every positive report I get from the various Arkon worlds—economic or political. But I'd like to wrap this up by mentioning that the Blue System has apparently taken little notice of the fleet dispersements, like everybody else. But to put the question mark on that, it's to be noted that in recent days they've been pumping a lot of new energy into their fleet-building program. When you put it all together it would seem that the Akons have been shaken up by our manoeuvres on the edge of the galaxy."
   "Mercant, it looks bad for us—very bad. If the Posbis make another attack on us, as we suspect they will, the humanoid races in this galaxy will soon become extinct."
   Sitting next to Perry was Reginald Bell who listened to the conversation in silence, but his unhappy expression spoke volumes. There was ample reason for it. Intercosmic space had suddenly loomed as a gigantic menace for this particular galaxy. Bio-positronic robots lived out there in the eternally dark void between the stellar populations. It was suspected that multiple millions of Posbis existed. A sample of their military strength had been experienced, and it was quickly recognized in the Solar Empire that Terrans were inferior to them in weapon technology. It was also realized that the robots could not be compared with any technical product known to date.
   With his bold theory concerning the cell plasma, Van Moders had left no doubt in Rhodan's mind as to the full magnitude of the danger from the outer void. Shortly prior to Allan D. Mercant's visit, the pugnacious looking robot expert had been in to see the Chief and Bell.
   "Sir," he had announced, "we've made further progress in our researches. There've been some good advances in the field of hypertronic technology. We're beginning to get a picture of how the hyper-impulse-controlled thinking processes of the Posbis operate. Of course we're a long way from actually understanding them, and it's a worse case if you're talking about the Posbi nerve plasma. In that sector we haven't gotten anywhere. The hypertronic linkage is still a riddle."
   At this point Rhodan interrupted him. "Even for you, Moders?"
   The young scientist confessed the fact with startling frankness. "For me even more than my colleagues, sir. I don't want to be suspected of gossip, but I just can't risk subscribing to their hypothesis. This supposedly natural connection between biological material and positronics simply has no place in our robot engineering. Positronic monstrosities are unknown to us, but this hypertronic linkage is exactly that—a monstrosity."    Then Bell asked a question: "Moders, is there life in the Posbi robots?"
   The stocky youngster stiffened and met his gaze firmly. "No, sir! According to everything we know so far or think we know, the plasma isn't even biological in the actual sense. It isn't evolved from life but from machines. We should not be persuaded that it really generates emotional impulses. With certain crystals that the Aras have supplied us, we're able to arouse any desired emotional response in a person, with or without his cooperation. But so far nobody's claimed that there was life in such crystals."
   "I follow you on this point, Moders," Rhodan interjected, "and I believe Mr. Bell also understands what you're saying. But you spoke of a positronic monstrosity. Would you like to clarify that for us?"
   Moders did not need to recall the point in his thesis where Bell had interrupted him. He continued immediately where he had left off. "The plasma linkage serves to unleash the Posbis from the limitations of their programmed commands. With increased knowledge the positronicons outgrow themselves—and that goes for every Posbi, sir! Definitely, the hypertronic linkage concept indicates that there's a master connection between the bio material and the mechanical portions, but so far we haven't been able to discover where this over-linkage is to be found. We don't have the research material. It seems we lack the proper instruments for detecting it. We can only go on our hunches, wandering blindly in circles."    "But you, yourself, have proposed a daring theory, Moders," Rhodan reminded him. "In opposition to your colleagues you have maintained that the Posbis from intercosmic space are supposed to be able to learn, if they are given the time and opportunity. Now how do you reconcile your hypothesis with your admission that you haven't progressed with this biomaterial?"
   "Sir, I had a chance to study the Posbis during the Frago operation. Before that I had investigated the materials we captured on Mechanica, but I was interrupted in the middle of my research by the Frago situation. On that flight into intergalactic space I suddenly saw the one hypertronic connection—and that was the learning instinct of the robots. But so far I haven't been able to offer any proof."
   "Nevertheless, you are convinced of it, Moders?"
   "More than ever, sir!"
   "And you are equally convinced that the Posbis are suddenly extending their sphere of interest to our galaxy?"
   "I'm sure of it, sir. I'm convinced that one of these days we're going to experience the most horrible of all invasions, and that after that there will be only Posbis, if..." He became silent, as if he had already said too much.
   "If what, Moders?" Rhodan inquired sharply.
   "... if you don't find a way to remove this menace from the outer cosmos, sir..."
   Rhodan had gotten up and gone to the window. From there he spoke to the robot scientist. "Moders, the first thing is for you and your colleagues to show me that way. Bring me your findings and knowledge concerning the Posbis. I have to tell you the same thing I urged our weapon specialists to do only two hours ago: as quickly as possible, as much as possible, learn everything you can about these bio-positronic robots! I can't do anything myself without the help of reliable co-workers. Remember that. Thank you for your report."
   It was shortly after Moders' departure that Allan D. Mercant had arrived. The Chief quickly briefed his Solar Marshal. "Just now we're marking time on every point concerning the Posbis. It couldn't be much worse, Mercant. The two transformation cannons we captured are like a book with seven seals for our experts. And no more can be said for the Posbis' Relativity fields. No matter what direction you turn, you have a dead end or a guessing game. All we need now is a concerted rebellion in the Arkon Empire or another plasma-monster attack from the Blue System."
   Mercant watched the Chief disconcertedly. "This isn't like you, sir. After all, we've always been able to handle every situation."
   Rhodan smiled. "Thanks for your confidence, Mercant, but we've never faced a task like this before where there are so many unknown factors. If we knew at least how many fragment ships this robot race commands, or how many stations they have in intercosmic space. A thousand questions and not a single answer. So that's the way it is, Mercant. Take a look at Bell. He hasn't said a word in hours..."
   "That's a slight over-statement," interjected the squarely-built man with bristly red hair. He seemed indignant but returned to his silence.
   Moments later when the Intelligence Chief entered his office, he was surprised to find that Reginald Bell had preceded him. "Well now! Bell, how did you get here ahead of me?" he asked in amazement.
   The other smirked and dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. He came to the point. "Mercant, I'm worried about your report concerning the Akons' beefed-up fleet construction. I didn't want to discuss it in front of Perry. He had enough on his mind.
   "Well, you can put your own mind at ease where the Akons are concerned. They haven't finished a ship yet, and it'll be many a month before they have any launching ceremonies."
   "So what if they lease a couple hundred ships from the Springers, Mercant? We know well enough that those star gypsies will do anything for money."
   "You never have had a good opinion of them, have you?"
   "And it's not liable to change in a hurry. Alert your agents again to keep their eyes open for any n fleet movements among the Galactic Traders. I'll reissue instructions to the observation stations, especially in that regard..."

   *   *   *   *

   Reginald Bell's special order to all Terran observation stations came too late.
   A small formation of cylindrical spaceships, each measuring 200 by 600 meters, had just gone into transition while still within the Blue System. The usual warp shock of the hyperspace jump had been eliminated by Akon absorbers of the latest design. The eight special installations, each worth a fortune, had not cost the owner of the squadron a penny. In contrast to their usual conservatism, the Akons had been overly generous. They had done everything necessary to enable the squadron of ships to reach its goal unobserved.
   Totztal was of the Mounder race, a giant who weighed more than 1700 pounds by Earth's gravitational standards. He grinned with satisfaction as he looked at the chronometer. This business with the Akons had replenished the clan's treasury. After delivering his part of the deal his fleet would not consist of eight heavily armed ships, but ten.
   Two weeks before, his oldest son Retzo had picked up a hypercom message. A Springer wanted to know if Totztal and his ships were available. Mounder squadrons were often in receipt of such inquiries, since they functioned more or less as a battle-ready fire brigade for the Galactic Traders. Anyone could call for such services, provided he could pay cash, and the Mounders were notorious for their exorbitant demands. It made little difference to them if they were known to be greedy. But they were proud of their long-standing tradition of fighting to the last ship's gun, once a payment for services had been made.
   The Springer clans, frequently waging stubborn warfare among themselves, continued to be in need of help from the Mounders, who were an offshoot of the race of Galactic Traders. During the old expansion period of the civilizations within star cluster M-13, several branches of the Springer race had settled on planets with heavier gravitation. After many thousands of years the colonizing Traders there had developed into the present Mounders. They had long since abandoned ordinary commerce, having become experts at war. With their heavily-armed longships they had often "settled" controversies between the Traders, and on a number of occasions entire Springer clans had been exterminated us a result.
   By modem Terran standards of morality, such a state of affairs was practically unthinkable. But even Imperator Gonozal VIII, in his precarious political situation, had thus far failed to put an end to this Mounder activity.
   In recent years, Totztal's military business had been going along better than ever. So the Springer's inquiry concerning his availability had been considered unimportant enough for him to leave the matter to his oldest son to handle. Shortly after sending off an answer, young Retzo received a further request for information, which he still regarded as a routine message. In his opinion, some Trader clan was trying to find out what Mounder group would take on a mission for the cheapest price.
   But suddenly Totztal changed his mind. The old fox had a hunch that an important piece of business was at hand. Nor was he wrong. Hidden behind the inquiries of the anonymous Galactic Trader was the Council of Akon itself.
   By secret routes which circum vented the Terran relay and observation stations, he had guided his eight battleships into the Blue System. He brought his squadron down on a small planet next to one of the great transmitter stations, where he did not have long to wait. On the same day of the landing, three fully commissioned Akon Council members arrived from Sphinx. Totztal retired with them into his cabin and let them talk. He watched them warily and repeatedly shook his mighty head. Now and again he would stroke his well-groomed beard, and from time to time the cabin would thunder with his laughter.
   The three commissioners raised their offer.
   "Too dangerous," Totztal told them. He knew the Akons were aware of what he referred to. When his three visitors attempted to persuade him further, he interrupted them. "I think I should make a return flight this very day. What makes you think you can make this kind of a deal with us Mounders? You'd better find somebody a little dumber than I am."
   The Akons stared at him angrily. As the ancestral stock of the present Arkonide race, they were not accustomed to be addressed in this manner. In spite of their recent defeat at the hands of Perry Rhodan, they still considered themselves to be the most superior people in the galaxy.
   "Totztal, we have developed absorbers that can eliminate any trace of a transition shock wave." There was no way of telling whether this statement had made an impression on the Mounder. Not a muscle moved in his furrowed features.
   "The Council of Akon is prepared to equip your ships with these new absorbers—at no charge to you."
   "No charge?" queried the clan chieftain. "Well, I can't object to that, but when are you going to get to your offer?"
   One of the Akons lost his patience. "Totztal, that is a part of the offer—"
   The rest of the sentence was drowned in Totztal's thundering laughter. When the old chieftain had quieted down, he spoke to them coldly. "Akons, we're going to end this discussion. Your Council still doesn't seem to realize that we Mounders are not Springers, who like to haggle and bargain. Our missions have always cost money, even more so today. Whether we go in with all ray beams firing or just flash our squadrons over the scene is our business. So give my best regards to your Council. Tell them that if they don't work out an acceptable offer in three hours of standard time I'll be flying back. And now I take my noonday nap."
   The three-man delegation had an impression of being thrown out of the ship. And Totztal actually did lie down for his nap. He dreamed that he forced the Akon Council to make him a super offer. Precisely one hour later a clan member announced the arrival of a five-man delegation from Sphinx.
   "Bring them to me, Atzta," the Old Man ordered, "but don't get into a conversation with those lofty gentlemen. To them we're not much better than semi-savages. It's just that they need us now, and—"
   In his distress, Atzta interrupted his clan chief, since the delegation members could hear every word Totztal was saying over the intercom connection to the airlock. "Sir, the Akons can hear you. They're standing next to me!"
   In spite of their militant trade and the loutish manners they exhibited to others, the individual clans adhered to strict codes and customs within their own social structures. Even an eldest son was not permitted to interrupt a clan chieftain. And Atzta was no son of Totztal. Nevertheless he had dared to do so. Beside him stood five Akons, obviously choking and pale from indignation. Yet Atzta was soon out of danger of being severely punished for his transgression.
   Totztal's booming laughter was heard over the loudspeaker. "You say the Akons have heard everything? So much the better! Bring them up here, Atzta!"
   Totztal grinned as he turned off the intercom in his plainly furnished cabin. It suited him that the Akons should know the straight facts.
   All five of the delegates were un known to him. So the Council had sent him a new committee.
   When they introduced themselves he said, "And you already know me. Let's sit down and get to the point."
   But they still didn't understand that Mounders never bargained. When Totztal banged his fist thunderously on the massive Arkon-plastic desktop, they almost jumped out of their seats.
   "Akon absorbers this, Akon construction that. Free or not, what's that matter to me? I want to see money! Money alone can compensate us for the dangers we're supposed to go into. Are you going to force me to tell you what hard-boiled fighters these Terrans are? With your ridiculous offer do you expect to send me into the Devil's kitchen? If you don't understand that expression in Interkosmo, then have it translated when you get home. It comes from the Terran language."
   When the delegation leader tried to protest against his method of handling the negotiations, Totztal waved the complaint aside with an impulsive sweep of his hand.
   "So I'm supposed to take my squadron and go find out what the former Regent Fleet is up to on the edge of the galaxy. Meanwhile, it seems the word is out that all the robot ships are under command of Terran officers. By any chance, are you familiar with any Terran officers?" It was a purely disdainful remark, but Totztal knew how to handle these original Arkonides, and how far he could go. Above all he knew that they did not have a space fleet, and that their new shipbuilding program had just gotten under way. "And secondly. the Solar Fleet is conducting their manoeuvres in the same sector of the Milky Way. Haven't y ou ever heard of Rhodan and his Special Corps? How much may be truth or exaggeration I don't know, but I have respect for this Special Corps, which is part of the Solar Fleet. So I'm supposed to get into that kind of a dangerous adventure and run the change of getting my fingers burned?"
   The 5-man delegation realized that their three unfortunate predecessors had not exaggerated. This Mounder, Totztal, was impossible.
   It would have made little difference to Totztal if they had bluntly expressed their opinion to his face. Mounders were not particularly sensitive types. What mattered to Totztal was to strike a good bargain with the Akons. The mission excited him because in his opinion it wasn't overly dangerous, actually. A bit of snooping around in the manoeuvre area of both fleets was really a welcome change, but at least the deal had to net him enough money for a new battleship. Moreover, he would obtain these newly designed absorbers for all his ships—gratis, of course.
   When the Akons increased their offer, Totztal rejected it with a scornful laugh. He pointed out that his 3-hour deadline was coming to an end.
   When the offer rose to 25 million he said: "Now we can finally get down to business. But 25 million is just a working basis for now. Whether or not you'll have to add a few million or so will be seen when we have all the details of this mission."
   The Akons quickly regained their composure. They were no longer shocked by Totztal's cold-blooded methods of negotiation. Basically they were pleased that the Mounder was at least ready now to listen to them.
   Totztal was a very good listener. He calmly observed the star chart as it was projected onto the cabin wall and that portion of the galactic rim facing Andromeda stood out in relief. Round red spots indicated the main concentrations of the Arkon and Terra fleets. There were also red traces across the chart emerging from both the Solar Imperium and star cluster M-13, indicating that large ship formations were presently en route to the rim sector.
   The delegation leader commented on this, estimating that at least 60,000 ships were out there, and he added: "An additional ten to twelve thousand Regent ships are presently under way toward that sector."
   Totztal caught his breath and shouted, "By the gods of Arkon! This mass mobilization of spaceships can't possibly be a mere fleet manoeuvre!"
   The Akon speaker's tone was slightly scornful. "If we do not overlook the fact also that there are presently political fomentations in the Greater Imperium, the situation becomes still more puzzling. Even more important, perhaps, is the fact that Arkon as well as the Terrans are doing everything they can to mask their fleet movements. We have intercepted and decoded quite a number of hypercom dispatches..."
   The clan chief straightened up suddenly and gruffly interrupted. "That's common knowledge. We know all that!" he exclaimed, as if talking to one of his own race. "But are you fool enough to think that my little fleet is going to fly into that hornet's nest just to satisfy your curiosity? By the star gods, we're talking about more than 100,000 ships when you put it all together! No, Akon, even for 25 million I won't do it. Go look for somebody stupid!"
   The five Akons exchanged troubled glances. They recalled that the Council had instructed them not to return under any circumstances without results. Totztal was the most reliable and cunning of all the Mounder warlords. The Akon Council was committed to getting help from the Mounders and their battleships.
   When the offer rose to 30 million, Totztal put his brain in high gear. This fantastic sum excited him. For that he could almost buy two new longships, armed to the bowplates with the newest weaponry—maybe measuring 260 by 800 meters... Coupled with this future vision was a sudden thought—a name: Panotol. But he warily kept this name to himself. First of all he had to double check his position to make sure he was not overlooking any errors.
   The star chart with its fleet mobilization markers was still being projected onto the cabin wall. Having lived among the stars for many decades, Totztal had an excellent knowledge of the known sectors of the galaxy. So he was finally able to determine that he was not making any mistakes.
   Close to the massive concentration area of the robot fleets was an insignificant-looking solar system. According to the Arkon star catalog, its small yellow sun was called Panot. It was circled by two planets. The inner orb was molten, and even the outer one was not suited for colonization. Its oxygen content was too meagre, causing its surface to be an empty desert. But beneath that desert lay a vast treasure of rare ores and other minerals. This was why enterprising Springers had set up a colony on Panotol long ago. They had provided it with powerful fortifications and had set about developing a mining industry.
   In spite of the use of robots, the first attempt had been a failure, and no humanoid volunteers for work on Panotol could be found. Whoever had tried it had given up within a matter of weeks, due to the unbearable environment.
   But the Trader clans did not give up, having already invested tremendous sums in the Panotol venture. In a rare mood of mutual agreement they had joined in secret conference and decided to establish a prison colony on Panotol. A strong point in favour of it was the planet's distance from M-13, amounting to some 2118 light years. Also, the Panot System lay outside all known routes. After all, who would be flying out into the rim zone of the Milky Way with its sparse scattering of stars where little business could be accomplished?
   In the course of a few decades, more than 6000 Springers were transferred to Panotol, due to such infractions as falling out of favour with clan chiefs or violating various moral codes pertaining to commerce. From then on, the mining project began to become a lucrative business. With the passage of time another 4000 Springs were found who were willing to overlook the inhospitable environment in view of an excellent pay scale.
   The advantages of building a gigantic ship-yard and dry-dock at the main stronghold were at first self-evident, since the available minerals were the best obtainable for spaceship hulls. However, due to the need for a virtual army of supporting personnel, the operation limited itself to general repair work and overhauls. Many Springers were not averse to making the long flight to Panotol for the purpose of repairing their damaged ships, because the cheap prices at the giant space wharf had no competition.
   All these factors shot through Totztal's mind like lightning, and he had a plan, but he kept it all to himself. He indicated that he was ready to hear the Akons' proposals and suggestions. Once more his eyes widened and he stroked his patriarch's beard with a mighty hand while thoughtfully shaking his head. His veto carried weight, so when it was over the five Akons watched him expectantly.
   Finally, his powerful voice rang out as he downed angrily at them. "You mean I'm supposed to take Antis on board?" When they reminded him again of the shock wave absorbers, he interrupted gruffly. "So what? You offered those contraptions gratis from the start!" Secretly, the Akon delegation amused him. These bigoted characters were going to learn, once and for all, what it meant to deal with a Mounder. He saw their readiness to make him an even higher offer.
   "Our final offer—"
   "Nothing is final," he advised the spokesman. "Let's do some more talking here. What else happens on board?"
   Then the Akons lay their cards on the table.
   "So that's all," he said finally. "A giant transmitter, a swarm of Akon scientists—and the Antis! I'd rather carry a cargo of fusion bombs. And if we're stopped by a Regent ship?"
   The speaker hurried to explain. "The new absorbers will make it impossible for the Terran or Arkonide stations to detect your transitions."    Totztal gave him a pitying look. "That's what you think! You don't know much about the Terrans. I'm not all that convinced about your new-fangled absorbers. But assuming the things work like you say, where do we go from there?"    The Akons sighed their relief. They were certain now that the Mounder had taken the bait.
   "It's a matter of landing on a planet and allowing our scientists and the Antis to disembark. The transmitter must be taken out of the ship and assembled. That won't take more than five hours of standard time." At the end of this speech the Akon speaker looked at the patriarch hopefully.
   At first Totztal shook his massive head and frowned critically. "A planet landing?" he mused. Then he added in agreement: "All right, 35 million—payable prior to departure. And we won't just land on any old planet that comes along, but on a specific one..."
   "Which one is that, Totztal?" blurted out the spokesman.
   The old fox grinned patronizingly and opened the palm of his hand suggestively. "Put your money there, and then I'll tell you where you can set up your transmitter with a reasonable degree of certainty that you won't have a hundred Terran ships on your necks!"
   The spokesman suddenly revealed a sterner side of his negotiating manner. "No, with that condition I cannot approach the Council. I must present them with a fool-proof plan."
   Totztal surprised them with a willing shrug as he rose to his feet.
"Agreed," he said, going to the projected star chart. "Here is the main contingent of the Regent fleet. But there is the Panot System." Then he began to explain his plan in every detail.
   A half hour later the 5-man delegation entered the giant transmitter station and left the small planet to return to Sphinx. In the middle of the night the patriarch was awakened. The delegation had returned.
   Totztal was peevish about it. "Couldn't you have given me your agreement over the hypercom?" he asked reprovingly.
   "The Terrans would be able to intercept the message," confessed the Akon spokesman. He seemed disconcerted when he noted the old Mounder's grin of amusement.
   "Akons, I'm very happy to see that you also have a healthy respect for this Perry Rhodan. If I didn't hate his guts I think I'd have to admire him. Do you have the money?"
   When they showed it to him he didn't even make the effort of having it counted. He merely turned the sum over to his eldest son so that it could be locked in the treasury vault. But then he gave a warning to the Akons. "If you've betrayed me in my way, you'll have every Mounder in the galaxy as your deadly enemies. We stick to our word, so you stick to yours!"
   Within three days, all preparations had been made. First off the ground was the TOTZTA IX, which was the flagship of the small but heavily armed squadron. The last longship to take off from the Akon world was the TOTZTA II. The TOTZTA I no longer existed. Several decades ago it had exploded during a battle with a Springer clan.
   And now the first transition lay behind them. The Old Man was alone in his Spartan cabin. In his thoughts he had reviewed again this best business deal of his life. In thievish glee he rubbed his hands. First of all it was pleasing to him to set the Akons on this Perry Rhodans heels and to give them an observation point against him. Secondly, he could already see himself in the shipyards of the planet Archetz, watching his two new giant spaceships roll off the assembly line. The money for them was already in his treasury—with 5 millions to spare.
   "If that isn't a prize piece of business," he muttered, "then I've never swung a deal in my life! Yes? Come in!" Someone was knocking at his cabin door.
   Kugar, his chief engineer, stepped inside. According to custom, the latter bowed before the patriarch. Totztal was one of the old conservatives who was a stickler for every detail of the Mounder's code of conduct, and he brooked no violations.
   "Sir," the man announced, "I've checked all the instruments. The Akon absorbers work perfectly. When we traced the closest ship behind us we were unable to detect shock wave from its re-entry out of transition. The Akons couldn't have given us a better present."
   Totztal's practical common sense came to the fore. "Kugar, when will you youngsters learn to control yourselves? You should not get carried away by your enthusiasm. The Akons made a big noise about their free installations, but they've given us nothing. If these arrogant big-wigs didn't need us they wouldn't have been so co operative, and if they had it their way they'd prefer to ban us away to the farthest planet, semi-savages that we are. Just take it from me, Kugar. And even if I can't stand this character, Rhodan, I'm glad that the Blue System is afraid of him. Too bad he isn't an Arkonide. Some, thing might come of us yet."
   "But, sir...!" the chief engineer stammered. Until now the patriarch had always gone into a rage at the mention of the Terran, Perry Rhodan.
   Totztal was impatient with Kugar for not understanding him. He retorted gruffly. "Kugar, you know more about technology and machines than I do, but in all else you're like a million other dumb heads who think the day will come when there won't be a Perry Rhodan. Such fools! And now, leave me alone!"
   After Kugar had left, Totztal muttered discontentedly to himself: "This deal with the Akons may not be so terrific, after all..."

   *   *   *   *

   Dr. Brandstroem warned robot specialist Moders. "You'll have to stop burning the candle at both ends—you'll gut yourself out. I'm going to give you this stimulant for the last time. The next time you come to me and you haven't slept for at least 20 hours, I'll force you to do it. Moders, you're still too young to ruin your health like this. Now you listen to an experienced doctor."
   The young scientist stared at him with eyes inflamed by intensity and fatigue. "I'd like to hear you, doctor. I'd like to lie down and sleep a whole day and night. In fact I've tried it but I kept seeing Posbis in my head and that blasted any chance of sleeping. You don't know these robots. I've met up with them. Now they follow me even into my dreams, where they appear even more terrible than they actually are. Or in my dreams am I seeing them the way they can really be?" He sighed apathetically, all but completely exhausted. This was the third time within 36 hours that he had visited Dr. Brandstroem. Now he waited for the Ara drug to regenerate his energies.
   "Cigarette?" asked the doctor.
   "I've cut out smoking. Doctor—imagine that you are a robot physicist. A day comes when you're standing in front of a robot and you look at the thing with the eyes of an expert. You stare and stare and you're eyes get bigger and bigger. Up to that moment you've thought you were an expert in your specialized field, but suddenly you have to confess that you know nothing.
   "There you are in front of that robot, and all you see is something unknown and incomprehensible. You then discover that a pseudo-biological substance is somehow linked in with the positronic workings. There are only theories about hyper-tronic linkage—also, luckily, a certain amount of formulas. But are they valid?
   "Well, that was the situation when I was struck with the idea that this hypertronic linkage by-passed ordinary programming restrictions in the positronic logic circuits and permitted a kind of learning instinct to take over. I feel my hunch is right, but though I keep on searching I can't find a single proof of my suspicions. Doctor, when you're up against a thing like that and yet find yourself at the end of your strength—well, you run the risk of losing all hope."
   Dr. Brandstroem resisted a temptation to ask Moders to explain hypertronic linkage to him. He knew he could give his patient no greater pleasure than to just let him talk. It was even better than a stimulant. However, now wasn't the time for it.
   Moders lay in the comfortable chair like a man on the edge of a breakdown. With his eyes closed, he looked more spent than he had appeared on entering the medical station.
   When he raised up suddenly, it came as no surprise to Brandstroem. "Doctor, what did you give me?" he asked, as if struggling against invisible enemies.
   "Sleep, Moders," said Brandstroem. Suddenly his soft voice acquired suggestive power. "Just go to sleep now. Don't you feel better already...?"
   Van Moders sank slowly back into his chair. He seemed to repeat the doctor's words. "Sleep, Moders... sleep... sleep..."
   He slept.
   Dr. Brandstroem had rolled the robot scientist out of the light. Instead of a stimulant he had injected him with a soporific narcotic. Van Moders' sluggish nervous system did not respond sufficiently to energy drugs. Any stimulant that tried to work against his exhaustion could only strain the patient's heart all the more.
   Brandstroem stepped to the visiphone, turned it on, and issued instructions to have the patient moved into the room that had been prepared for him. "Put Rob 109 on the bed watch. Mr. Moders is not to be wakened until this time tomorrow. That is all."
   He turned and looked thoughtfully at the young expert. "Tomorrow the world will look quite differently to you, Moders. You'll see your Posbis with a new pair of eyes... Strange, that name, Posbi... Never heard of it before. But it doesn't sound very attractive..."

   *   *   *   *

   A flotilla of 16 State class cruisers was poised motionlessly in the darkness of intercosmic space. Three days prior, another detachment of ships had departed, after spending 10 days in observation of the mysterious Posbi planet, Frago. Nor did the crews of the present formation do anything else. The instructions from Fleet Top Command were brief: observe planet Frago; avoid any hostile encounters with fragment ships.
   It was nerve-wracking duty. Throughout the Solar Fleet it was rumoured that Frago, having a 15,000 km diameter and thus much larger than Earth, was one vast industrial plant. At a distance of 92,000 light years from M-13, Frago moved along an orbit that was not yet stable. One point seemed to be definitely established: Frago was a planet which had originally been part of the Andromeda nebula!
   A group of experts around Perry Rhodan had arrived at this almost unimaginable fact. The possible deductions from this information were not comforting to the scientists as they analyzed it. They tried repeatedly to even imagine the vastness of the 1.5 million light-year abyss that separated their own galaxy from the Andromeda nebula, an abyss where a planet hurtled along an unknown orbit—this world of the Posbis.
   If light itself required 1.5 million years to reach our galaxy from the Andromeda nebula, wasn't such an abyss far too vast to be crossed by a vagrant planet? But the experts stood stubbornly by their theory. "Frago is headed straight at us!" they maintained.
   Admittedly, 80,000 or 90,000 light years represented a fairly small distance when compared with 1.5 million light years. So from that point of view it might well be said that Frago was quite close to the Milky Way.
   "For a long time the Posbis on Frago have kept their eyes on the Andromeda nebula because it was only from that direction that they expected danger. But in the recent past they must have come to realize that the galaxy they were heading for is also inhabited by organic intelligences."
   The opponents of the theory concerning Frago's origin debated the question heatedly. They referred to the Laurins, the invisible people from the intercosmic void, and presented a counter-argument: "Our concept of intercosmic space is entirely wrong, such as the theory that all it contains is attenuated clouds of cosmic dust. The presence of the invisible race alone makes that whole idea absurd. Probably in the depths of the abyss the Laurins aren't invisible at all. It may be that the light from the Milky Way makes them invisible to our eyes."
   Theories contradicted theories, but one new point emerged to the fore: the supposition that intercosmic space was empty now seemed to be false.
   The crews on board the 16 cruisers paid no attention to these scientific arguments and debates. For them the intergalactic void was the most lonely and horrible and boring place they had ever been.
   At an approximate distance of 10,000 light years from Frago, the 16 ships were deployed in a crescent formation. Day and night within their spherical hulls, high-grade machines and apparatus worked unceasingly; technicians and other experts sat before screens, instruments or computer consoles, unflaggingly staying at their posts.
   Thus the observation of Frago was multiplied 16 times. At this distance such an inspection was only possible through hyperspace. Some of the equipment necessary for this had only been installed a few weeks before, but part of the work had been accomplished with equipment already on hand.
   On board the MADRID a symbol message was coming in over the special hypercom. It was being intercepted from a fragment ship that was cruising somewhere in the star-empty void.
   "This is so boring my brain is numb!" complained Lt. Eskens to his friend Daumier.
   Lt. Daumier ignored Esken's demoralizing comment. "Give me that strip," he demanded, and he placed the tape in the symbol translator.
   The apparatus had long since been tested out to be foolproof. It operated rapidly. Within three seconds, Daumier was looking at the clear text. He frowned and got up.
   "I'd rather show this message to the Old Man," he said, referring to their 25-year old skipper, Capt. George Lasalle.
   "Why don't you feed it to the positronics, Daumier?" Eskens asked in some surprise.
   He watched Daumier as he exited the MADRID's communications central to look for the commander. "All right, so don't," he muttered. Still bored, Eskens turned back to his instrument panel. Every cipher, colour and indicator seemed to say something to him. He examined them indifferently, but his apparent indifference was deceiving. Even when he was a cadet, no instructor had been able to prove that he had not paid attention. Some of the gossippers had maintained that he could be aware of his surroundings or do his work while half asleep.
   Some of this was justified, but for the most part it was either exaggeration or due to jealousy. Lt. Eskens merely possessed the faculty of concentrating Completely and exclusively on any task. Thus he was able to accomplish his work with a minimum of effort.
   "Well now!" With no particular haste, he leaned closer to the oscillograph. "Hm-m... that doesn't look good." He pressed a button. Four decks down were a number of engineers who were concentrating on an extensive switch panel. Eskens had put in a call to these men over the intercom. "Eskens here. Observe oscillograph in Sector One... Looks like an energy spike to me. What do you make of it?"
   So far during the observations of Frago, no energy amplitudes had been detected. Such wave patterns could occur during takeoff of many spaceships, but as well they could be caused by the firing of energy-beam weapons of the higher calibres.
   The engineers hesitated. An oscilloscope could also show such a spike in case of an uncontrolled chain reaction.
   "We should sound a warning alarm!" said one of the engineers.
   Eskens didn't agree. "Now why startle all the lads out of their beds?" he countered, since he himself was passionately fond of long sleeps. "Let's all take a look at this pattern. That's no indication of ships taking off. The spike's too flat..."
   Loud protests were heard from the engineers over the speaker in the communications central of the MADRID. "What are you talking about, lieutenant? How can you be sure?"
   Eskens was of a peaceful nature. He let the engineers carry on. As for himself, he was certain of what he was looking at. The scope pattern told him that somewhere near Frago a spaceship had just been converted into a glowing cloud of gas. "Let's hope it was a Posbi..." He was thinking aloud.
   "Stop imagining things, Eskens," called one of the engineers.
   Eskens retorted calmly. "A guy ought to be able to think out loud if he wants to. So long, gentlemen. If you want to sound an alert, be my guests. I don't feel like making myself look ridiculous." He reached to his left and cut off the connection.
   Somebody came into the com room and he recognized Daumier's footsteps. "The skipper hardly even looked at the message," said the latter, disgruntled. "As if he could decide with only a glance."
   "Why didn't you feed it to the positronics?" Eskens asked, with out removing his gaze from the wave pattern on the oscillograph.
   "Anything new happening?" Daumier swung into his seat before the instruments.
   "Nothing..."
   Suddenly the alert sounded throughout the MADRID. And the same occurred on board the other 15 cruisers. Daumier jumped up and ran to the spacesuit locker.
   "Why are you running, Daumier? Stay in your seat. The alert will be cancelled quickly enough. We have a couple of civilian big-wigs on board who like to throw their weight around."
   Daumier took Eskens at his word. He left the spacesuit in its locker and sat down again.
   Telecom messages from three other cruisers came in, in coded and scrambled pulse-bursts. The main computer in the com central began to whir and buzz. In the MADRID's Command Central a viewscreen brightened and focussed in front of the commander. The received messages appeared on the screen in clear text. Three cruiser commanders were angrily inquiring what the alert was all about. Since when, said they, was a normal energy pattern interpreted as approaching fragment ships?
   Grimly, Captain George Lasalle even read the third message completely. The context lost no opportunity for sarcasm. Feeling himself on the carpet with his peers, his mood was at a low ebb when he punched the intercom connection to Deck IV.
   In com central, Eskens and his companion could hear their skipper blasting the culprits below. "Daumier," he said, rubbing his hands, "how sweet it is to see somebody else eat crow!"
   Daumier snapped at him irritably. "I suppose you're not concerned at all that the Posbis might start their invasion any day now with their crazy-angled battle crates? How can you act so ridiculous in such a situation? Gloating, you know, is a lowly characteristic."
   "For God's sake, Daumier...!" Eskens failed to finish his thoughts aloud.
   A cancellation of the alert came over the general intercom. Normality also returned to the other surveillance cruisers.
   "Too bad," muttered Eskens, "that our little diversion is over with so soon. That wave pattern is also getting weaker. Okay, so back to tiddlywinks."
   "Are you telling me you don't think of the Posbis at all?" asked Daumier rather bitingly.
   "Why push it? I'll start sweating it soon enough." He was voicing the common sentiment of all the crews in the flotilla.
   Daumier swallowed reflectively. There were supposed to be multi-millions of bio-positronic robots here in the void. Hopefully they were not also equipped with several 100,000 monstrous fragment ships!

   *   *   *   *

   Totztal, absolute master of his clan and authoritarian commander of his battle squadron, gave the Akon technicians on board the TOTZTA IX to understand, in no uncertain terms, that he alone gave the orders. They had to follow his commands like anybody else.
   The Anti group of priests of the Baalal cult avoided the Mounder. In contrast to other patriarchs of his race, he couldn't stand them. He detested anybody who Sought to do business under the cloak of religion. Which was, of course, the stock in trade of the Antis. Totztal had seen through them and their intrigues completely, and they knew they were not able to fool him.
   They kept out of his way as long as they were on his ship, and he avoided them wherever he could. Although he carried on a very rough trade, privately he demanded a peaceful atmosphere in his immediate surroundings.
   Up in the control room he was content to let his eldest son lay out their new course. Thanks to the Akon shock-wave absorbers, he had succeeded thus far in giving the slip to both the Terran and Arkonide space stations. Their scanners had not detected him.
   The squadron was flying an un known route. Totztal had no intention of running the slightest risk. He had a certain amount of respect for the Terran technicians, and for this reason he was still not 100% convinced about the performance of the freely installed absorbers.
   His eldest, Retzo, spoke to him. "Sir, after this transition we're going to be in trouble with our galactic position. We'll be short of three points of reference."
   "Retzo, when I was no older than you I never worried about such trifles. Just work out some reference points you can use. Is there anything else?"
   His youngest son, Ratz, spoke up. He was larger than the patriarch and several hundred pounds heavier. "Sir, we have several dispatches from Central."
   The Mounders were very well organized. At a centralized communications base, each clan had a family member assigned who was overseen by a patriarch. The Galactic Traders radioed their mission requests almost exclusively to this base, called Central, which processed them swiftly and determined which clan should be assigned the action.
   Having made an exception and refrained from advising his representative at Central about his Akon mission, Totztal figured the messages would have something to do with another task assignment or two, which he was not able to handle at present. His voice rang out irritably. "Give them here, Ratz!" And he almost tore the dispatches from the hands of his youngest son.
   His hunch was wrong, but it failed to improve the patriarch's mood. The first message informed him that he and his squadron was being searched for by Solar Intelligence agents. It was the second dispatch, however, that brought sweat to the tough old Mounder's brow.
   "When did you get this message, Ratz?" he asked in a rage.
   "Sir, while you were still talking with Retzo," Ratz confessed, intimidated.
   Totztal was not satisfied with Ratz's explanation. He checked it out over the hypercom. When he had convinced himself that it was valid, he muttered curtly, "Just our luck!" Then he returned to Retzo and showed him the message.
   The Mounder Central advised all clan fleets that the Panot System on the galactic rim had been declared a prohibited area by Arkon and Terra. To fly to Panotol, it was necessary to obtain a special permit which could only be requested through the administration of the Solar Empire.
   The Mounder snarled through his teeth. "Well I'm the very one they're going to give that special permit to! Is it possible this Perry Rhodan knows something about what we plan to set up on Panotol?" His eyes glittered as he spoke. "Ratz, we haven't received these last two messages from Central. I want them erased from the computer memory banks. Put out a normal radio call to the other ships and tell them to remain steady on course. I'm holding you responsible for carrying out that order, and also, if it comes to it, that Solar Intelligence won't find a single trace of those dispatches in the memory section."
   He eased himself down into a massive chair beside Retzo. "We'll make the next transition as agreed. But there we'll veer over the green coordinate to the Trifugu System. Do you know that system, Retzo?"
   The latter was already looking through the star catalog, where the system was not registered.
   "Forget that catalog, Retzo! What do you need it for? Even in their glory days the Arkonides were never there. Ah! That little nebular spot is the system. 12 light years diameter, with more or less 130,000 suns. You can wait until you get there to be astonished. From that point on, I'll take over the squadron's navigation. After all, I want to come out of that super magnetic field again. But before going in we'll beam a distress call to Hunzkhin. The Terrans are sure to intercept it, but I don't care what they make of it. Yet they'll have to recognize the possibility that we're in a windy corner of the galaxy, and also that We aren't able to pick up their directive about Panotol being a closed area. Is that clear to you, my son?"
   "Not entirely, sir. I don't know the astronomical distance to the Trifugu System."
   "May I remind you what I told you one time about the secret memory core in a reserve section of the positronicon? It can only be activated by your brain impulses or mine. When you tap that core, you'll find all you need to know. When do we make our jump?"
   "In 8 minutes, standard time, sir," said Retzo swiftly.
   "You do your part well and I'll take care of the rest. These Terrans are going to have a sweet time of it with me!" With that, Totztal got up and left the control bridge of the TOTZTA IX.
   Eight minutes later the squadron flashed into transition. All residual shock waves were eliminated by the absorbers.

   *   *   *   *

   Bell was calling Perry Rhodan over the hypercom frequency that was used only by Rhodan and his closest associates.
   "The Chief!" announced the great com central of the flagship THEODORICH. In the next moment, Bell saw Perry Rhodan's face on his viewscreen.
   "Something urgent, Bell?" asked the Chief.
   "I could tear this Brandstroem apart. The robot experts are in an uproar. I've never seen the like of it. We ought to open proceedings against Brandstroem..."
   From a distance of more than 50,000 light years, Rhodan interrupted. "Chubby, my telepathic faculty is strong enough to read some of your thoughts even from here—but not the details. Based on what you've said so far, nobody here can understand you. What's the matter? Who is Brandstroem? Please—can you be more coherent?"
   Bell then started to explain. "Brandstroem's a medical doctor. He and three assistants run the sick bay down in the robotics section. Van Moders came to him for the third time in 36 hours and asked him for a stimulant, but instead Brandstroem shot him with a sleep drug. Van Moders has been out for 13 hours so far."
   "He's pretty well off, then," said Rhodan calmly.
   But Bell was not to be interrupted. "Moders' colleagues are on to some kind of discovery in the hypertronic linkage study, but without Van Moders' collaboration they're just treading water. He's the main hypertronic expert. So when they went looking for him they found him flat out in a narco deep sleep. They're all at a dead end just because this Brandstroem character took it on his own authority to handle it his way!"
   Rhodan contradicted him sharply. "On the contrary, maybe the Administration should give him an order of merit, my fat friend. We should have high esteem for physicians who carry out their duties in a responsible manner. Let Van Moders sleep. You can't do anything with a dead robot expert. You will please tell his colleagues to avail themselves of his notes and knowledge on this matter. Or are you saying that in all the Solar Empire there is only one robot specialist? Anything else on your mind?"
   "Well, when you put it that way..." Bell sought to extricate himself from the affair, but Rhodan interrupted with a slight tone of irritation. "You should have seen the situation that way, yourself, Bell. Have you spoken to Atlan in the past few hours?"
   "No."
   Rhodan merely nodded. "Any progress with the Swoons and other advisers regarding Posbi weapons?"
   "No," Bell Was forced to confess.
   "Any new input concerning this Totztal fellow?"
   Bell had to say "no" for the third time.
   "Who's picked out this Mounder for a clay pigeon—you, Chubby?"
   Bell reddened. "Chief, Totztal is Mercant's special hobby. For hours he's been trying helplessly to find out where this Mounder and his squadron of longships has been nosing around. It was a big relief to him when you declared the Panot System as an extended closed area."
   Rhodan considered this in some concentration. Then the tension in his features appeared to relax. "Tell Mercant that Totztal is beginning to interest me," he said, finally. "Is that about it, Bell? Thank you—and out..."
   The THEODORICH's hypercom cut off. From his desk, Bell made an intercom connection with the robot scientists.
   His expression was now grim. "Bell here," he said almost fiercely. "You boys lay off Van Moders and let him sleep. A dead specialist can't do us much good, you know. And lay off Dr. Brandstroem, too. As a doctor he knew what he was doing when he slipped Moders a Mickey. How's it going with the hypertronic business? Why don't you pull all of Van Moders' notes together and make use of what he knows? In the future, please spare me these petty problems of yours. Thank you—that is all!"
   Bell felt no qualms about his action. When he got up from his desk he grinned with satisfaction. "I guess I gave it to them," he muttered, rubbing his hands.
   At that moment he was unaware of what one of the robot experts, Pierre Martell, was saying to his startled colleagues: "You should never take Bell too seriously. He'll always be a hothead. He just likes to sound off once in a while. Let him have his fun..."

   *   *   *   *

   Totztal reentered the control bridge of his TOTZTA IX. The vast panoramic viewscreen could only encompass a part of the Trifugu System. For a moment the old man closed his eyes, blinded by the flood of atomic light from countless suns. "Don't we have any filters for that screen?" he complained.
   Arto, his second eldest, spoke: "The main filter's been cut down to maximum, sir."
   Silently, Totztal sat down next to Retzo. Finally, he said, "98 years ago was the first and last time I was here. What you're looking at out there is unique in the galaxy. Have you taken a look at the magnetometer?"
   "Yes, sir, but we couldn't believe the indicators."
   "Don't those overloaded power piles tell you enough?" asked the old man sharply.
   The power station was separated from the bridge by a distance of 400 meters, but this was not enough to muffle the roaring sounds issuing from the transformers, converters and energy absorbers which were working at maximum capacity. The defence screens of the TOTZTA IX were already up to 80% of their capacity. Magnetic fields of unimaginable intensity sought to sweep the cylindrical warship away with them. The field intensities altered ceaselessly. Sometimes they would rise up to a million oersteds only to fall away in the next moment to be replaced by magnetic flux. The sons of Totztal shuddered when they read the millions of maxwell and gauss units on the instruments.
   Surrounding space was a compact sea of blazing suns, each of them creating severe disturbances in the gravitic fields of its neighbours as stellar giants competed with white dwarfs. Totztal told them about one of the latter, only 3000 km in diameter, that had measured a surface gravity of 123,500 gravs.
   "When we were here before we made a mistake in our calculations and that little runt of a sun dragged three of our ships into it. Whoever comes into its gravitational field is lost. Ratz, is the hypercom ready?"
   "Not exactly, sir... with these magnetic fields?"
   "They don't affect hyper space. Dispatch to Hunzkhin. Are you on his waveband?"
   "Tuned in, sir."
   "Totztal to Hunzkhin... Gravity absorber damaged. Irreparable. Main converter of TOTZTA V needs replacement..."
   Ratz waited for his father to close the message with the usual time indication, but this was not given.
   "Let the positronicon sputter after the word 'confirm'..."
   Was this a joke? But there was no one in the galaxy who could claim they had heard old Totztal joke in the past 50 years.
   "Did you understand me, Ratz?" asked the patriarch sharply.
   In the same moment, his son realized what Totztal meant about the "sputtering." He must short sections one and three of the hypercom when the word "confirm" was beamed out. By means of short-circuiting, certain hyper frequencies were generated which created coughing or sputtering sounds over the receiver's loudspeaker.
   "Yes, sir, I understand."
   A short time later the actual message to Hunzkhin was sent out. Including the sputtering. Totztal heard Ratz's announcement of completion only with half an ear. Behind him the hatch rattled and the bellowing of the converters and transformers burst through with sudden new volume. A dishevelled Akon stormed in.
   "Out with him!" yelled Totztal. "Don't listen to what he's saying. An Akon has no business with wildmen!"
   Onzke, a nephew of the patriarch, was able to grasp the Akon. The latter was like straw in his hands and in three steps he dumped him outside. The hatch door closed with a further clatter and the background clamour became bearable again.
   "Ratz, laser on! Hail the other ships with the beam. From here on, radio silence—even on normal bands. If they answer with their searchlights, let me know. Today you will learn the coordinates on this course, but you'll have to make it snappy. This Trifugu System is looking weird to me. Something has changed here in the past 100 years." He did not say what it was that might have changed, but it was serious enough to make the old patriarch be in a hurry.
   "I have contact with all ships, sir," announced Ratz.
   "Give the order for radio silence. Finished? Then here are the coordinates and energy readings..." He rattled out the data swiftly. "Don't wait for the return confirmations. Send the danger signal. We jump in five minutes, standard time!"
   The Mounders on the bridge tensed at this announcement. They were only flying at 0.25 light speed. Perhaps a transition was possible at such a low velocity but it was fraught with hidden dangers—both for the ship and the crew.
   Retzo, seated next to his father, suddenly discovered what had spurred the old man to such haste. The protective screens of the TOTZTA IX were up to 98% of their maximum capacity! They were close to breaking down. A dwarf star of unbelievable gravitic strength was hurtling at them head on. The maxwell, gauss and oersted readings had already gone off scale. The bellowing from the power section rose to an unbearable pitch.
   As the minutes crept by, Totztal sat silently in the pilot seat and watched the instruments. The acceleration reading was rising with unusual slowness and he knew why. He had just given the field screens a 120% capacity. This meant that the screens of the TOTZTA IX were taking on a 20% overload, that they were oversaturated. It was a move of desperation. The Mounder had long since realized that his visit to the Trifugu System was a suicide move. This extreme flow of energy could shatter the defence screens. Moreover, his ship did not have sufficient energy reserves to sustain a forced acceleration.
   Everything Totztal did seemed to be blocked by one function or the other.
   Then the void appeared to rip apart for the crew of the TOTZTA IX. At a velocity of 0.47 light speed they went into transition.

   *   *   *   *

   Rhodan had arrived three hours before on board his flagships the THEODORICH. Moders had presented him with his expanded theory and was dismissed without comment. He was unaware that the Administrator had then proceeded to give a full report on the subject to his friend, Atlan.
   The Arkonide listened with an inscrutable expression on his face. At the end of it he asked rather scornfully: "And you believe that, Barbarian?"
   Rhodan almost snapped at him. "It isn't important what one believes, but how he believes it."
   "Thank you for that bit of advice" Atlan answered this time with no trace of derision. "Much obliged, Mr. Philosopher." The Imperator broke off the connection.
   "What's that supposed to mean, Perry?" asked Bell. "Maybe his boredom is getting to him?"
   "How should I know, Bell?" Perry looked at Mercant. "Well, any news about your problem child?"
   Mercant caught the meaning of the question immediately. "None. Totztal has disappeared among the stars without a trace."
   Mercant straightened up almost imperceptibly as he seemed to detect the trace of laughter in Rhodan's eyes. Without a words Perry handed him a strip of message tape.
   Mercant read: Totztal to Hunzkhin" Gravity absorber damaged. Irreparable. Main converter of TOTZTA V needs replacement. Confirm... This was followed by a manual input: End of message not decipherable.
   Mercant did not register either surprise or anger. "Who picked this up and when? I can't tell when it was received, Chief."
   "15 minutes ago. But don't blame your Intelligence system, my friend. Not a single ship in the Solar and Arkonide fleets was able to intercept this hypercom dispatch. Only one station of ours that happened to be scanning the Trifugu System caught it. The hypercom technician on station ZUZ-08 is not sure of it actually came from the Trifugu System itself."
   "Hm-m... I'm sorry, Chief, the name Trifugu escapes me..."
   "Men too," put in Bell.
   "I'm not surprised. I just finished having it looked up, myself. The Trifugu System is known only to a few of the Springer clans. It must be a star cluster with unusual physical conditions surrounding it. But all that's immaterial compared to your main concerns regarding Totztal, Mercant. Your Mounder friend wants to fly into the Panot System."
   "He'll think twice about that now that it's in the extended restricted zone."
   "Provided that hens received the general notice, Mercant. If not..."
   "Then we'll intercept him and his cylinder ships before that," said Reginald Bell.
   "How?" asked Rhodan tersely. "Where?"
   "By God, that's right!" grumbled Bell.
   Mercant was more self-controlled. He fingered the message tape for a while. For some moments he looked at the Chief before asking: "Do you think the Mounder is equipped with shock-wave absorbers?"
   "That answer to that could be loaded, Mercant. The core of the question would be, if the Mounder has them, where did he get them?"
   Bell spoke up again. "I don't trust those Akons out of my sight. Even though they're back to building conventional spaceships, who knows what they may have dug up from their positronic archives?"
   Rhodan stood up. "With that in mind. I've issued the necessary instructions. Surrounding the Panotol System at the present moment are six picket cruisers. What they're looking for is a squadron of longships emerging from hyperspace with out producing any shock wave. They have orders to capture Totztal's fleet and to remove them from the restriction zone."
   Bell voiced his concern. "Six little picket cruisers against eight battle-class longships, Perry? I don't know if that will work out so good."
   There was no time for an answer because the ship's intercom interrupted: "Com central to the Chief!" the loudspeaker blurted out. The viewscreen flickered, then focussed to reveal a hypercom wave pattern. An important message was coming in from somewhere. But then nothing followed.
   "Chief here!" called Rhodan. "What was that?"
   There was a hesitant answer from the THEODORICH's communications central: "Sir, the observation cruisers in intercosmic space—they've cancelled their message."
   "What message? I want to hear it anyway," said Rhodan sharply.
   "State class cruiser MADRID claims to have tracked undefinable movements around the planet Frago. Under protest of the other cruisers, the dispatch has been withdrawn."
   "Thank you, that is all." Exasperated, Rhodan cut off. "Our men are starting to see ghosts. No wonder, considering the rumours that have been circulating about the Posbis."
   "But in reality it's a thousand times worse!" Bell snorted, sarcastically. "This Moders with his linkage business gives me gooseflesh. According to his idea, the Posbis are on their way to becoming super robots. Well? I don't hear any contradictions, do I?"
   He received no answer...

   *   *   *   *

   Nor did the duty officer in the communications and tracking center of the MADRID receive an answer from Capt. George Lasalle. Lt. Eskens had put in a protest over the fact that no one would take his tracking observation seriously.
   "You're laying your lieutenant's commission on the line," his friend, Lt. Daumier, warned him. "You're going to get a reputation for being a pesky grumbler."
   Eskens cared little about the one threat or the other. Once more he made a connection with the captain.
   "Now what do you want, Eskens?" asked the commander impatiently.
   "Captain, I beg your permission to send an alarm to the fleet. If those aren't impulse waves on my tracking screen..."
   Capt. Lasalle cut him off. "They are not. The experts have determined that! Now that is all."
   Eskens shut off the connection and turned to his companion. "Daumier?"
   "Are you going to start in on me now, Eskens? Come on—lay off, will you?"
   "I will if you'll just take a look at this. Come on, before it disappears. That's something new, wouldn't you say?" He pointed to a fluorescent screen that was back-lighted in pale blue, where opposed circles appeared to be combatting each other. "Never seen anything like that, have you?"
   "Never!" confessed Daumier, who began to feel his fear of the Posbis again.
   "So that's why I'm going to risk it."
   "What?"
   "This!" said Eskens.
   On his own responsibility he beamed out his alarm for the second time to the Solar Fleet—with the difference that his second message included an extra sentence: Lt. Eskens sending dispatch against orders of Capt. Lasalle.
   "You've seen your days as a lieutenant," said Daumier with a smirk as Eskens continued to press the hold key of the hypercom sender.
   "Then at least I'll be degraded for something of consequence!" retorted Eskens stubbornly. "Whether anyone believes me or not, these rotating circles are echoes from impulse waves..."
   Capt. Lasalle's bellow interrupted Eskens' explanation. "Lt. Eskens, report to Command Central at once!" Now for the first time his face appeared on the viewscreen, livid with anger.
   "At once, Captain," replied the young lieutenant calmly, while still holding down the transmission key. His unauthorized hypercom dispatch was still being beamed out. According to the digital counter it had been repeated 34 times. The 35th repeat did not occur. The hold key returned to neutral position and the hypercom transmission cut off in the middle of a word.
   Eskens was on his way to the MADRID's commander. He was certain that he would be relieved at once of all his officer functions and that Capt. Lasalle would tell him proceedings for decommissioning him would be brought against him. But this did not trouble him. In his opinion he had acted quite conscientiously.
   10 minutes later a compressed dispatch was beamed from the MADRID to the Chief.

   *   *   *   *

   At this time, Rhodan was in a hypercom conversation with Imperator Gonozal VIII. The Arkonide was thus able to hear what came through. His expression of astonishment continued to increase whereas Rhodan showed no reaction. At the first words, Bell had jumped up and begun to pace restlessly back and forth in the large cabin. Allan D. Mercant stroked his bald head several times. Those who knew the Solar Marshal well understood this gesture.
   The situation did not look very good for Lt. Eskens on board the MADRID. On the basis of his alert message, both the Solar and Arkonide fleets had reacted. Their firing hatches had opened and through all ships the rhythmic howl of sirens had roused all off-duty personnel from their beds.
   So now was the alert supposed to be invalid? Capt. Lasalle on the MADRID claimed that it was unfounded. The experts on board the other surveillance cruisers agreed with him.
   The message from the MADRID came to an end.
   "That shavetail..." began Reginald Bell, but he silenced himself in time when he saw Rhodan's pensive face.
   The Chief leaned over the microphone. "Claudrin, the alert remains in effect! Do not answer the MADRID. But I'd like to be kept currently informed about Eskens' case. This lieutenant interests me. That is all."
   Rhodan looked back at the viewscreen. "Did you catch all that, Atlan?"
   "All of it, and again I envy you Terrans."
   "How is that?"
   "Because this Eskens with his unshakable civil courage is no isolated case. All of you Terrans are strong fellows."
   "For Lt. Eskens I hope that his arbitrary action was justified," replied Rhodan gravely.
   "By that are you indirectly wishing the Posbis and the fragment ships upon us, Barbarian?" asked Atlan.
   "Sooner or later they'll show up in the Milky Way. Better now than in three years, because then we'll not be as well prepared as we are today."
   "If your pessimist Van Moders is right about his hypothesis, then I'm hoping the same as you. By all the gods, Perry: biopositronic robots with a learning instinct—and unsecured positronics! No, definitely there hasn't been anything like that in this galaxy, ever. Only a suicidal intelligence could have built such a monstrous prototype. Incidentally, I've received information that your Solar Intelligence is searching for the Mounder, Totztal, without results. I had thought I might be of help there, but my own Intelligence is not able to pinpoint Totztal's whereabouts. Has he broken some laws inside the Solar zone of interest? Why is he being sought?"
   The direct intercom speaker connected to the Command Central broke in with the booming voice of the Epsalian commander. "Sir, picket cruiser BETA-3, stationed in Panot System, has spotted eight battle-class longships but did not pick up any shock waves. Alien ships attempting to lay course to Panot at about one-fifth light speed."
   In the THEODORICH, measuring 1500 meters in diameter, all power stations were switched to continuous maximum output. Absorbers, converters and field generators set up a howl. Chief Claudrin knew what had to be done now.
   Atlan observed what was happening in Rhodan's cabin over the telecom. He witnessed how Allan D. Mercant lost his usual calm and cried out excitedly: "Sir, that has to be Totztal's squadron! Eight battle-class longships?"
   Rhodan shook his head at him. "Does everybody here think I'm hard of hearing?" In the next moment he spoke into the ship's intercom. "This is an order to the 4th battleship group: target, Panot System. Task: intercept longships and prevent their landing on Panotol. Send over commandos and take all eight crews on board. If there's any resistance, nip it in the bud. If it turns out that this squadron..."
   "Sir, new dispatch from BETA-3. Approaching squadron has established communication with Patriarch Hunzkhin. Chief of the longships is the Mounder, Totztal. Definitely identified!"
   Rhodan nodded briefly at Allan D. Mercant. He seemed to have forgotten that he had left the Arkonide waiting on the telecom. "Claudrin, advise the 4th battleship group that the THEODORICH will also lay course for the Panot System. I think I'm going to have to give our dear Totztal another lecture. You may cut off, Claudrin." Rhodan had not forgotten the Imperator Gonozal VIII. He turned to Atlan's image on the screen. "Arkonide, if I can prove that Totztal has only flown into the restricted zone for purposes of espionage, I'll turn him and his entire clan over to Arkonide jurisdiction."
   "Friend, aren't you attributing too much importance to this Mounder?" asked Atlan.
   "Considering Mercant's tremendous load of responsibility, if he interests himself so intensively in a single man, then that person is also of the greatest importance to me."
   "Sir..." Claudrin's thunderous voice came over the intercom. "Task order for battleship group transmitted. Mission: stop the longship squadron and also forbid all radio communication."
   "When will the THEODORICH go into the liberation zone, Jefe?"
   "In exactly four minutes. The 4th battle group has already entered it."    "Thanks." Rhodan cut off. Again he looked at the screen where Atlan's face was still to be seen. "Including my ship, we're under way to the Panot System with 12 super battleships and 15 Stardust class vessels. Does that tell you enough, Atlan?"
   The latter sighed deeply. "I've lived among you Terrans for thousands of years, but even that wasn't enough time for me to know you completely. Often you will rashly plunge into hellish dangers, but on the other hand, as at present, you show up with a complete battle formation to arrest eight ridiculous longships. Rhodan, with this massive battle array are you also trying to throw a scare into the one-legged Hunzkhin?"
   "Scare, no... but I want to teach him a lesson and make it perfectly clear to him, that until the order is countermanded no ship may land on or take off from Panotol. You know, if the news gets around that we're not particularly strict about our restricted zones, then we'll soon have a couple thousand curious Springers to deal with. And what would happen if a Posbi fragment ship should also show up—well, I think I can spare myself telling you about that!"
   "Very well, Rhodan, although I'm not entirely of the same view. This Van Moders seems to have really lit a fire under you with his theory about the learning instinct of the Posbis..."
   Bell and Mercant could detect in Rhodan's next words that the Chief wanted to end the conversation.
   "Robot specialist Moders is at the present the most important man of all, for the Greater Imperium as well as for the Solar Empire. Whether he's right or wrong makes little difference. We don't know the least thing about the Posbis, and as long as we don't know we should listen to our experts.
   "I'm equally grateful to this Lt. Eskens, who took it on himself. to send out the alarm. Naturally he will never learn what I think of his case in regard to violating military orders. But Atlan, where would we be if there were not men who were ready to risk more than average men?"
   "As a prime example, take the Arkonides," said Atlan bitterly. "No Arkonide has dared anything for several thousand years. That's all for now, Barbarian. Once again you've given me a private less on which isn't overly pleasant."

   *   *   *   *

   The final transition of the Mounder squadron was a masterful example of precise calculation. The cylindrical ships had emerged from hyperspace into the normal universe, appearing at the designated area between coordinates, within a fraction of a second of arc. Within 20 light minutes of the Panotol orbit the small fleet of warships swung into its final approach course, which was aimed at Hunzkhin's giant space wharf on the Mars-like surface of the planet.
   Totztal's clansmen and himself as well as the Antis and the Akon technicians were now confident of the new shock-wave absorbers, which had repeatedly demonstrated their efficiency. Tension in the various control centrals began to relax. Men gathered around the high quality tracking consoles and continued to nod with increasing satisfaction, since by now three minutes had passed without a sign of an alien ship within a distance of one light year.
   Old Totztal grinned and stroked his well-kept beard. He was about to give an order to cancel their battle-ready status when he had a warning premonition. The hypercom sounded suddenly, and the positronics immediately decoded the call. The tracking station on Panotol had spotted the cylindrical warships. Patriarch Hunzkhin requested Totztal's identification signal.
   The Mounder cursed. He had not anticipated this situation. "That crazy babbler has too much nose trouble! With all this signal talk he'll lead the Terrans onto our trail! Retzo, send out the I.D. code—keep it as short as possible. By the gods of Arkon, why did this have to happen!?"
   The Old Man's mood sank to a new low. His eldest son, Retzo, used the directional antenna to beam out the requested data, also taking the precaution to format it in pulse-burst impulses. Totztal hoped that no Terran ship would pick it up. He felt slightly reassured when the outgoing wave pattern was only visible for the fraction of a second on the hyperscope.
   No one on board suspected that six picket cruisers were in linear flight, closing in on the squadron from all directions, or that they were even now being observed on 3-D sensors.
   Almost imperceptibly, the Panot sun grew larger. The small yellow star, possessing only two planets, wandered slowly from the center of the great viewscreen toward the left. Totztal stood in the middle of the control central and appeared to be immersed in thought. He seemed to take no notice of the others who were watching him expectantly.
   This major piece of business with the Akons had somehow lost its luster for him. And whether or not Hunzkhin would permit the Akon technicians to erect a matter transmitter on Panotol seemed to be questionable now.
   "Still no blips on the scope, Ratz?" He startled his youngest son who had been concentrating on the tracking console.
   "No sir, none... Ye gods, what the devil is that?"
   A hideous something with crazy-angled corners, like a warped cube! Everyone saw it.
   The first one to recover from the initial shock was the old clan chief himself. His eyes began to glitter, his mouth twisted, and suddenly his laughter thundered through the control central. "That's the craziest thing I've ever seen in my life..."
   The crazy thing fired!
   "Ha-hoo!" bellowed the Mounder. "Fire readiness! Concentrated repeat salvos with all rayguns. We'll show it a thing or two!" The command had already beamed out to the other seven longships.
   The TOTZTA IX fired off a full broadside. The Mounder ship trembled as tunnel-sized beams raced out from impulse, disintegrator and thermo cannons to destroy the Posbi fragment ship. A cry ran through the control central as many a Mounder closed his eyes against the blinding light. Broadsides from five cylindrical warships splashed against the energy screens of the weird, gigantic cube, spraying in all directions in fiery cascades.
   "Continuous fire!" thundered Totztal, suddenly seized with dread. This he didn't understand. He understood even less what this flying crate represented with its bewildering elevations, indentations and sunken surfaces. Nor could he comprehend why this insane contraption was attacking him. In fact it was now firing with an increasing number of energy weapons.
   "Ship call, sir!" cried Ratz. "Strange symbols—can't make them out! Positronics rejecting them, unable to decipher..."
   "Shoot first and hail them later!" roared Totztal in helpless rage. Behind Retzo in his pilot seat he looked with narrowed eyes over his shoulder at the defence-screen indicators. The needles swung into the maximum load range between 80% and 95%.
   "By the gods, so far their beams have only grazed us!" groaned the battle-experienced old Mounder. In that moment he realized that he and his band were lost unless they could escape.
   "Accelerate..." The rest of his words were drowned in explosive thunder as the TOTZTA IX's screens failed. Under a direct hit they collapsed like a soap bubble. The flat stem of the Mounder flagship had a hole in it measuring 80 meters in diameter.
   "Into your combat suits!"
   Although Totztal was by far the oldest on the bridge, he moved the fastest. He saw Retzo still sitting unprotected in the pilot seat. With the nimbleness of a young man he swung into the co-pilot seat and took over the ship.
   It was at that moment when Totztal simultaneously lost six of his eight cylindrical warships!
   He thought in desperation: what stellar fiends ever built such a terrible box of doom? Who's inside? Who can this be who comes and shoots at us and then hails us in a language that the positronics can't decode?
   The only thing left was to save themselves in a transition. For the first time in his life Totztal ceased to think of resistance.
   The fragment ship was approaching with uncanny swiftness. The combined broadsides from the two remaining Mounder ships were apparently no more than needle pricks to its mighty screens.
   Totztal uttered a groan. His flagship refused to accelerate. He knew why now; 80% of the power stations had gone out. They, too, must have suffered a direct hit.
   "Ratz, distress call on all wavebands ! Call the Springers, and this Rhodan and the robot ships of our Imperator..." For the first time he had referred to Atlan as Imperator! "Ratz, describe the damned thing, how it looks. Still no news of the Terrans? Nothing that can help us, Ratz?"
   A panic began to seize the old man.
   He groaned mentally as his seventh ship went out in a glowing gas cloud. His magnificent fleet of warships existed no more—only the TOTZTA IX.
   "Can't anything be done to escape this hellish thing?" he cried out, no longer in control of his voice. "Ratz, is the hypercom still working?"
   A sweat of fear stood out on the brow of his youngest son as he stuttered into the microphone: "Phantom ship measures two kilometers along each edge. Super defence screens with alien energy of unmeasurable capacity. Raybeam shots seem to materialize just before their targets. Ghost ship sends out radio impulses that can't be deciphered by our positronics. Computer analysis: presumably intelligences on board... If help doesn't come immediately..."
   The telecom loudspeaker crackled. The voice they heard was apparently having difficulty with the intergalactic language. "Cease radio traffic at once!" it demanded. "Establish radio silence immediately!"
   Ratz had already cut off. A dozen Mounders joined him in cursing. Each of them feared for his life. The gigantic flying cube with its frighteningly alien contortions was on a course toward their ship—now the last of eight.
   Once more, in a last desperate attempt, the cannons of the TOTZTA IX retaliated. Once again, more than 700 Mounders along with the Antis and the Akons, hoped blindly that the screens of the uncanny box-ship would break down.
   There was a brilliant flash from the hostile vessel. Then the beam struck, and a jolt ran through the TOTZTA IX. Totztal's ship had no means of propulsion left. A direct hit had shattered the engines.
   Totztal fairly screamed over his helmet radio to his youngest son: "Call Hunzkhin! Call..."
   The local radio traffic was suddenly shattered by a single cry from many throats.
   "The Terrans are here! The Terrans are here!"

   *   *   *   *

   At this late stage in life, Totztal was facing the bitter experience of losing all his solvency. He had arrived on Panotol shipwrecked, as a Mounder without warships. If Hunzkhin had not eased the fall of the TOTZTA IX with antigrav fields, the spaceship would have shattered like an egg on this inhospitable world.
   The one-legged Hunzkhin treated the Mounder haughtily. "If I run into trouble with this Rhodan..."
   Totztal cut him off. "Oh shut your mouth for once, Hunzkhin! I'm still the Mounder, Totztal, and in three months my war fleet will be greater than ever. Not everybody who takes a fall in business ends up destitute, you know. But so far you've treated me like somebody with empty pockets. I lay that to your colossal stupidity. So you're afraid of getting into hot water with this Terran, Perry Rhodan? Ha! He'll be happy if he gets out of this scrape with those devilish spook crates. Have you seen them? Giant cubical things with rayguns! You can't do a thing with them. Imagine, a thing like that with defence screens! And by all the star devils, they also use radio and hypercom!"
   "You've lost your bearings, Totztal. Your hypercom calls were nothing but a single stream of senseless howling..."
   The door flew open and a Springer burst in upon them. "Sir," he cried out, "a terrible battle is going on in the Panot System! We've detected titanic energy bursts—some of them we can't even measure on our instruments..."
   "There now," sneered Totztal, stroking his beard with satisfaction. "Do you still think I'm so crazy, and that when I entered this system I was only seeing ghosts? Since when do phantoms shoot at spaceships? Does it dawn on you now why thousands of Terra ships are swarming around out here and the whole Regent Fleet is on patrol? Rhodan must know what's inside of those devil crates. He seems to know all about them. Naturally, the Terrans turn out to be the super smart ones again. But we in the Arkon Imperium know nothing, hear nothing and have no idea of what dangers are looming over us. Don't you see that you have to put every Springer clan on alert? Maybe there's some profit in it for us!"
   "I've been ordered to radio silence, Totztal," explained Hunzkhin, now somewhat more calm and polite.
   "By whom?"
   "Perry Rhodan."
   "Are you a Terran? What's this Rhodan to you? Maybe I'd better spread some news around about you in the Arkon Imperium..."
   The old Springer snapped at him in new anger. "Your business deals weren't always so clean, Totztal! I've had to play my cards very close here on Panotol. This place isn't a spaceship that I can fly away with. What do you think would be left of everything if they planted a bomb in my shipyards?"
   "So what would be left to you if Perry Rhodan ran you off? Nothing, Hunzkhin! Now get going! I want my son Ratz to use your main station so that he can tell the whole galaxy about these devil boxes!"
   The one-legged patriarch still hesitated. Totztal was preparing to swing him to a decision when the young Springer from the tracking section burst in again.
   "Sir, please come and see what the instruments are showing! In outer space there must be devils fighting with the Terrans. They have unlimited energy potentials..."
   That was the turning point. Hunzkhin decided. "Totztal, the main station is at your son's disposal. But if I get into trouble with Rhodan..."
   Totztal shook his head negatively and spoke with no particular malice in his voice. "Rhodan will be glad to save himself from those hell crates. He hasn't any time to worry about us."
   Unfortunately for Totztal, on this point he had falsely estimated Perry Rhodan. "We'll talk tomorrow, Hunzkhin, about what the repairs will cost me for the TOTZTA IX. Just don't get any ideas that you can stick me with cut-throat prices now."
   "I have a reputation for good work at low prices," said the Springer defensively. Actually he had never accumulated sufficient money ahead to be able to buy a good synthetic leg from the Aras.
   "I'll take you at your word, Hunzkhin. Until tomorrow." As he stamped out of the room he failed to notice the malicious look the Springer patriarch gave him.
   Outside Totztal collided with an Akon. "Out of my way!" the old man growled, and he was about to shove him roughly aside.
   In that moment, however, he saw the weapon in the Akon's hand, plus three other technicians who were also armed. Totztal was no fool. It was not difficult for him to adjust himself to any situation. But he was sure that he was going to make the Akons pay for this effrontery.
   "We demand that you unload the transmitter, Totztal. Right today. In this very hour! We are going to accompany you now, Totztal. Perhaps you will be as wise as your son, Retzo. The 35 millions are now in our possession. You will have the money again, once we are standing before a fully adjusted transmitter which will be capable of taking us from this planet. Now don't you think that's accommodating of us, Totztal?"
   The old man was still able to laugh. He shook himself and looked grimly at the Akons. "I have underestimated you," he admitted frankly.
   But those who knew the old Mounder intimately would have been doubly on their guard at this moment. The four Akons deluded themselves with a sense of security as they walked on both sides of him.
   They went past the enclosed shipyard and space-wharf area. It had cost the clans associated with Hunzkhin a hundred million to erect this installation, where they could move about in a normal environment. By contrast it was the more inhospitable outside, where several thousand enslaved Springers worked for the Hunzkhin clan.
   Since the wreck of Totztal's ship also lay outside the installation, they all required proper protection. When he arrived at the airlock with the Akons, he went into an adjacent chamber where he had left his spacesuit. He put it on, closed the transparent helmet, and stamped back into the lock. Two Akons had followed him like his shadow. He had to wait until they had also put on their suits. His face betrayed nothing of his inner excitement.
   Shortly thereafter they all stepped outside. Totztal made a run for it and the Akons strained their legs to catch him. Their former degree of caution lessened during the chase. The derelict ship was two kilometers distant. The old Mounder seemed not to know the meaning of fatigue.
   Suddenly he whirled around. He fired two hypno-shockers at maximum charge. The four Akons crumpled to the ground. Inside his helmet, Totztal grinned in satisfaction.
   "Next time you'll have to be more on your guard," he said grimly. "I swear by our gods that I've done my last piece of business with you Akons! I think I'm gaining more respect for this Perry Rhodan. At least he seems more honourable than a lot of people say he is."
   One half hour later the Mounder was again in possession of the 35 million. Two additional technicians lay in hypno-sleep inside the wrecked TOTZTA IX. Retzo received a severe dressing down from his father. Finally, work robots unloaded the machinery and assembly kits for the Akon transmitter.
   This the frightened technicians from the Blue System had not expected. As Totztal walked up to them with a disapproving glare, he explained: "You may consider us Mounders to be half savages as you please, but we're far from being cheats and swindlers. So far we've carried through honourably with every agreement we've made. All right, don't just stand around. Assemble your transmitter, or Rhodan will be here sooner than you or I would like!"
   As he watched them run hastily away, he spoke dejectedly to his eldest son. "To think that all of us have come from that kind. It seems hardly possible. Why couldn't the Terrans have been our ancestors? Maybe they didn't exist yet when Arkon was a mighty empire? Sometime I'll have to look that Up."
   He stamped across the deck of the TOTZTA IX to his cabin. He took no note of the surprised expressions on the faces of his son and the other Mounders.
   When he was out of earshot, chief engineer Kugar spoke up excitedly. "The Patriarch must have changed his views about the Terrans, and especially in regard to this Perry Rhodan. May the gods guard us against his turning to Rhodan's cause!"
   Retzo angrily cut him short. "You're crazy! My father would never be a friend to Rhodan. He's too shrewd!"
   "Maybe for that very reason," replied Kugar, without suspecting that his hunch was correct.

   *   *   *   *

   The THE-15 raced toward Panotol. Wiry little Capt. Mahaut Sikhra was piloting the disc-shaped scout ship. Their tracking screen seemed to have gone crazy as it registered what was happening behind them. The Terra ships were waging a furious battle against the eleven Posbi invaders.
   Glu Olo, whose father had been one of the last nomadic inhabitants of Australia, sat at the weapons console and inspected the screen indicators. Although they were receding from the focal point of battle at a breakneck speed, the intensity meters had increased their readings.
   "The Chief is taking a big risk to cover us for this mission, Captain," said Glu Olo, impressed.
   The commando chief agreed. "Ever since I've known him, he's always been ready to risk a lot when it came to protecting human life. But isn't that Posbi ship changing its course in our direction? Hey, Willis, what's the range reading?"   "Optical illusion, Captain. We're still alone in a wide corridor."
   Pete Masters and Luigi Pagnotti had made themselves comfortable in their seats while enjoying their cigarettes. For the present they were at their ease. This wasn't their first commando mission.
   Panotol grew larger swiftly. The THE-15 took a new course. Mahaut Sikhra appeared to have turned the ship on its head. The three inertial absorbers bellowed powerfully. Now Panotol was taking up half the viewscreen, until it finally expanded beyond the limits of the view field. The THE-15 was still upside down.
   The altitude indicator continued to drop. 100,000 km... 80,000... 30,000... When it reached 24,000, Sikhra went into horizontal flight. Panotol's night side lay beneath them. Sikhra accelerated on a downward slant and the altitude dropped rapidly. When they flew over the border between night and day, the Gazelle was still 8,000 km over the bleak, Mars-like surface.
   "Close your suits and pressure helmets!" ordered the captain.
   Their locking devices clicked into place. Masters and Pagnotti doused their cigarettes. Everyone's confirmation of readiness was heard in Sikhra's helmet speaker.
   Altitude 1,000 km.
   "Hunzkhin's settlement should show up soon now, Glu. Just don't miss the hypercom station!"
   "That would be the first time, Captain," Glu Olo reminded him. His hands fondled the weapons switches.
   The THE-15 raced toward its target at 20-mach speed. The first silhouettes were poking up over the horizon. From second to second the large buildings became more and more defined. The massive repair wharf seemed to dominate all the rest.
   "Ah-h-h... over there to the left!" said Glu Olo with satisfaction. The positronics started working. Without a positronic computer a precise hit would have been impossible at this rash velocity and close distance. The communications station had been housed in a small area measuring 100 meters square.
   A light blue signal flashed on Olo's panel, indicating that the hypercom station was in his target cross-hairs. With a relative inward calm, Glu Olo went to work. Four energy beams of surprising diameter shot with the speed of light from the weapons apertures of the Gazelle. They were visible for less than half a second.
   Willis shouted from his tracking console and his cry was heard in their helmet radios: "Posbis!"
   Mahaut Sikhra broke off the attack and reached for altitude. The THE-15's engines set up a howl. The inertial absorbers started a high scream. The planet Panotol tilted away beneath them. An energy beam as thick as a tower flashed several kilometers in front of their bow. It was a wild shot from a fragment ship! Then a blinding light shot through the nav optics into the cabin. Behind the five men the engine room seemed to fly into a thousand pieces.
   "Abandon ship!" Capt. Sikhra's voice was controlled as he gave the order over his helmet radio.
   Abruptly, all instruments in front of him went dead. All hell broke loose behind them as the THE-15 exploded! The transformation beam of a fragment ship had materialized near the Gazelle and had ignited a gigaton fusion bomb.
   The emergency exit hatch worked independently of the power plant. Six men in Arkonide flight suits, protected by their repulsion fields, plunged through an area of space that was saturated with hard radiations.
   "Drop!" ordered Sikhra, instantly recognizing their danger.
   Far below them, accompanied by continuing explosions, the THE-15 hurtled downward toward Panotol. There was no trace of the Posbi ship that had destroyed their vessel.
   With a glance at his manometer, Sikhra determined that he had a 100-hour supply of oxygen. By questioning around him he quickly assured himself that his companions were equipped with an equal supply.
   He risked turning on his searchlight. "Lights on!" he called. "Let's get together!"
   The six men steered themselves toward a common center. Glu Olo was the farthest away. It took him ten minutes to reach his comrades. They hovered over Panotol at an altitude of 50 kilometers. Far and wide there was nothing to be seen of Patriarch Hunzkhin's settlement.
   "From here on, radio silence!" Sikhra ordered. "All we need is for the Springers or Posbis to trace us by our radios. It's worry enough that the Handlers could trace the energy emissions from our combat suits. Helmet traffic only in emergency. Now I'm going to use the hypercom to inform the Chief."
   The crackling in his speaker was signal enough that the others had switched off. He warmed up the tiny but unusually high-powered hypercom transceiver. Then he called the THEODORICH on Rhodan's telecom frequency. The connection was excellent and Rhodan answered at once.
   "Land with your men, Sikhra. Get as close as possible to the settlement, and observe. Above all, silence that hypercom station. How much oxygen do you have?"
   "About 100 hours, sir."
   "Okay. I won't leave you behind."
   The other men had heard this on their own hypercoms.
   They cut off their antigrav fields again and permitted themselves to plunge downward toward Panotol. An hour later they stood in the middle of the desert. Their air-conditioning units worked at high capacity to maintain normal temperatures inside their suits.

   *   *   *   *

   Perry Rhodan didn't have a second longer to talk to Mahaut Sikhra. The situation for the 4th battleship group was becoming extremely dangerous. After an incredibly powerful symbol communication between the fragment ships, the fantastic structures suddenly raced forward and picked out the Stardust-class ships as targets for their transformation beams. The Posbis had realized that these were easier to destroy than the super giants.
   This attack had already begun when Sikhra's disaster report came in. This single minute that Rhodan had to sacrifice for his conversation with the Nepalese commando had permitted the flotilla's situation to become almost hopeless.
   Rhodan took over command. Over a master hookup he was connected with all commanders. "Ships of THEODORICH-class will take over defence of Stardust ships! Don't be tricked by the Posbis' diversion tactics. Keep on the offensive until signal to retreat. That is all!"
   Jefe Claudrin closed in on an enemy warship, and Brazo Alkher fired from all available gun positions. A second super giant raced forward from the right. A third one stood for a moment behind them. Four ships brought a fragment ship under concentrated fire. But it was not enough to explode the baffling defence screens of the Posbi ship.
   The 4th battleship group had divided itself into three powerful formations. Ten fragment ships swarmed about them and brought the three groups under continuous fire. The eleventh Posbi ship remained poised over Panotol. A Stardust ship sent out an alarm: collapse of defence screens due to transformation beam fire... breakdown of three reactors due to fusion bomb ignited one kilometer behind then warship.
   "We can't hold out long against this," Claudrin heard the Chief say. The Epsalian wondered why Rhodan did not request reinforcements.
   "Retreat to coordinate eight!"
   This was code. It was a last-second command. A super giant reported collapse of its screens under transformation beam fire... breakdown of three reactors due to fusion bomb ignited one kilometer behind the warship.
   "We can't hold out long against this," Claudrin heard the Chief say. The Epsalian wondered why Rhodan did not request reinforcements.
   "Retreat to coordinate eight!"
   This was code. It was a last-second command. A super giant reported collapse of its screens under transformation beam fire. Thanks to its acceleration it was able to dodge a second hit and had time to regenerate its screens.
   In one moment the 4th battleship group was still fighting—and in the next it suddenly dispersed like a flock of startled sparrows. Flight! Flight from the fire power of the fragment ships! Flight from the bio-positronic robots!
   Did this presage defeat for Rhodan? Was the concentration of both fleets on the galactic rim but a drop on a hot stone, should the Posbis finally appear with their entire fleet?
   The Posbis did not pursue them. Although Bell was willing to let it go at that, it was no cause for Rhodan to relax.
   "Find out where they're going!" he demanded.
   A few minutes later the report came through: "Sir, the fragment ships are definitely laying a course for Panotol."
   Within a single breath, Rhodan established contact with the cruiser, MEMPHIS. "MEMPHIS, join the THEODORICH. I will come on board. I'll expect you in 5 minutes, standard time. That is all." Ignoring Bell's astonished expression, he instructed him briefly. "Establish a holding position and wait for my call." He flipped on the intercom. "Mr. Moders, go immediately to airlock C. You will transship with me to the MEMPHIS. That is all."
   He went to the exit hatch and stepped through before it had hardly opened a meter wide. It was a long way to lock C. He would have to hurry.
   He encountered Van Moders in the main antigrav lift, who looked at him quizzically. While they sank into the depths of the ship, Rhodan briefed him quickly. "I need you beside me, Moders, when I study the Posbis at first hand." The robot scientist looked shocked. "Sir, are you going to land the MEMPHIS on Panotol?"
   "It's bad enough already," said Rhodan, "that six of our men are apparently helpless down there. I've no intention of adding to that misfortune, but we're going as close as possible to that planet. I'm presuming that the fragment ships will land there. I'd like to take a close look, and you're to help me observe. I can't get your theory about the Posbis' zeal for learning out of my head. Let's hope your idea is wrong, Moders."
   Before entering the airlock they closed the helmets of their space suits. The officer at Lock C advised the Chief that the MEMPHIS now lay alongside. Seven minutes later they were on board the cruiser, and shortly thereafter they reached the Control Central.
   As the officers attempted to come to attention and salute, he waved them off. "As you were, gentlemen. Carry on." He turned to the commander. "Lay a course for Panotol. I'll tell you in time when to take a holding position. Please prepare for maximum panob screen observation in detail. I presume the MEMPHIS is of the 10-FG series, is it not?"
   The commander was astonished that Rhodan was informed concerning the design series of individual ships. "Yes sir—that is quite correct."
   "Then the MEMPHIS must be equipped with the genie-optic device?"
   "Yes sir—the new long-distance surveillance equipment. At 100,000 kilometers...
   "Then everything is in order. Tie that in to the panob system. That's all I need."

   *   *   *   *

   Totztal couldn't stand it in his cabin. The loss of his fleet left him no peace. When he thought of the monstrous angular space cubes with their uncanny fire power he was seized with dread. Meanwhile, had the Terrans been able to get rid of the alien phantoms?
   This question drew him back to Hunzkhin's settlement and the industrial installations. For the most part, his TOTZTA IX was a scrap heap. Almost all the instruments in the command central were defective. If he wanted an answer to his question, he'd have to go to Hunzkhin directly.
   So he marched across to the settlement in his heavy space suit. He passed the place where he had paralysed the four Akon technicians with his hand weapons. In the meantime they had been found by their people and had been taken back to the TOTZTA IX.
   The closer Totztal came to the settlement with its wharf installations and processing plants, the angrier he became with himself. He realized now that for many years he had been riding the wrong horse. "If I had only flown my dangerous missions for Rhodan instead of working against him, I'd still have my ships now. Rhodan is the only one left that an honest Mounder can work for these days. But these Akons..." He stopped to look at the location where the Akon technicians were busy assembling their matter transmitter.
   Then he stamped on ward with his gaze directed toward the dusty ground. Thus he was unaware of the doom that was descending over Panotol. He was close to the first of the cosmic defence fortifications when suddenly a blinding sun seemed to flash into existence between him and the fort.
   In that same second, Totztal's life came to an end. He neither expected it nor sensed anything. The fort was gone. Around Hunzkhin's settlement and the industrial installations, all defence stations had ceased to exist. Eleven Posbi ships had destroyed them with a single burst of fire. The unveiled menace—11 Posbi spaceships hovered over Hunzkhin's little empire at an altitude of 10,000 meters.
   In spite of positronic controls, the fortresses surrounding the settlement had not been able to fire off a single shot. Positronics linked with bio-plasma was a faster combination.

   *   *   *   *

   Rhodan looked penetratingly at the robot scientist. "Well, Moders?"
   Mahaut Sikhra's telecom report had just come through. Rhodan had advised him and Glu Olo to get out of the Hunzkhin City area and ground themselves as quickly as possible, but the captain promptly opposed this since he was in a better position than the Chief to judge.
   "Later, Chief. First we have to organize a base with space flight capability."
   "Don't take too big a risk, Captain!" Rhodan had warned him sternly.
   He could not be sure, but he thought he caught the sound of a laugh as Sikhra answered.
   "Sir, we can't risk more than we're risking now."
   So now Van Moders, the young expert with the boxer's face, was going to have to express his opinion on the situation. Rhodan had not dared to operate the genie-optic device because of the position of the Posbi ships directly over the settlement. They might have been able to trace his emanations and attack the cruiser. But Sikhra's report had come in as a valid substitute—all considered, a master contribution of the special commandos.
   Van Moders straightened up. "Sir, I'm afraid that my theory is no longer a theory."
   "In other words: at present the Posbis are down there rounding up everything that moves, so that they can study the Springers at their leisure?"
   "Yes!"
   "But that's just your assumption alone. I checked that with Sikhra and even he couldn't give me an answer."
   "Sikhra is not a robot scientist, sir."
   "Does that mean you reject the validity of Sikhra's observation, Moders?"
   "No, but I'm being decisive. If you're able to think and evaluate experience like a robot, you've got to be convinced that in a case like this the Posbis have collected the Springers together as study material."
   Rhodan seemed piqued when he asked: "Moders, tell me—doesn't it make any difference to you that these hideous Posbis have drugged or paralysed and imprisoned a countless number of Springers?"
   "Sir, as long as I'm occupied with the Posbi problem, I can't allow myself to be diverted. For everybody in this galaxy it's more important to penetrate their secrets as quickly as possible. That must take precedence over getting involved in sympathy for thousands of innocent victims when at the same time you could overlook an important point. For instance, I've been puzzled by the fact that there's some relationship between the Posbis and the planet Mechanica..."
   "The narcotic beam of the Posbis, is that it?" Rhodan asked with new interest. "I, too, was forced to think of Mechanica when Sikhra told us that those bio-monsters were using the narco beam in their raid against the Springers."
   "Sir, that's only a small part of what interests us now. It is tremendously important to determine whether or not the Posbis are taking the Springers to study them—and if so, then to decide once and for all if, the hypertronic linkage theory can be regarded us proven. Actually, I need no other proof than that, sir..."
   "Unfortunately..." The word was almost a groan. "The Posbis' destructive rage has suddenly subsided. Their deadly hate of all organic intelligence has given way to a sinister curiosity. Moders, you were on Frago. You saw this Posbi world, even though for only a few hours. Now just imagine that there might be hundreds of these worlds in intercosmic space—and that they could be sheer industrial planets with billions of stored up Posbis that could all be activated by a single push of a button! Does that help you to see what a task the Imperator Gonozal and I are facing? Can you imagine my concern? Now do you understand why Capt. Sikhra's report has disturbed me? Moders, let's speak man to man. Check over your hypertronic linkage theory and your idea about the learning instinct again. If you have any doubts in regard to any part of it, let me know. No matter when or where! It would be irresponsible of me to base my actions solely on your knowledge, but if the Posbi monsters do possess a zeal for learning, as you say, then you have made one of the most important discoveries possible. Atlan's actions as well as ours would be strongly influenced by that."
   Slightly crestfallen but with unshakable firmness, the robot expert answered him: "Sir, I know nothing of strategy. I can't think militarily. But how is it the Posbi ships were able to adapt themselves to the delaying tactics of our flotilla? Didn't they pick that up very fast?"
   While the Administrator of the Solar Imperium had been conversing with the young scientist, all other conversation in the cruiser's Control Central had ceased. Not one of the 21 officers present wanted to miss a single word. Never before had they had a first magnitude crisis brought home to them so graphically as through this discourse between Van Moders and the Chief.
   The com room duty officer stepped in. "Sir, the main hypercom station on Panotol started up again about a half minute ago with 80% of its previous output power. Also an automatic repeater has been connected to their transmitter. It's sending out the same fantastic message that the Mounder, Totztal, broadcast during his encounter with the fragment ships."
   "Give me Capt. Sikhra's frequency," Rhodan ordered. The connection was made quickly. "Sikhra, do you read me?" Rhodan called.
   The loudspeaker carried sounds of laboured or excited breathing. "I read you, sir. Olo and I have been spotted by the Posbis. Just now our position is hopeless unless a miracle happens." The telecom transmitted the hissing of energy beams. A curse from Olo was mixed with the sound of heavy footsteps from fast-moving robots.
   Sikhra's voice vibrated suddenly at a new pitch. "Chief! The miracle's happening! Over a hundred Springers are firing at the Posbis with their heaviest weapons. The robots are being destroyed one after an other. The ones that spotted us are drawing back. Chief, I can read you. Situation reversed. Go ahead!"
   Rhodan's eyes glittered keenly. He knew from personal experience how a military situation could change from moment to moment. "Sikhra, do everything you can to make sure that transmitter station is silenced. It's stirring up the whole galaxy! But remember, this mission is not worth losing human lives. Over and out—and the best of luck. We'll soon haul you and your men out of there."

   *   *   *   *

   Night brooded over Hunzkhin City, but under its energy dome it was as bright as day. Giant searchlights of the most modern design illuminated the industrial and residential areas.
   Capt. Sikhra and Glu Olo lay next to each other beneath a shattered air car that had collided head-on against a house wall and fallen to the ground. Three dead Springers were inside the demolished passenger cabin.
   Sikhra and Olo had retreated to this point as they were detected by a large group of Posbis. They had been able to ward off the first charge of the monstrosities with their energy guns, withering more than two-thirds of their number, but during the battle Posbi reinforcements had appeared in the main plaza in front of them. Sikhra and Olo could count on their fingers the seconds left to them before they would be caught in the Posbis' narco beams. They had abandoned all hope of escaping. Banished from their thoughts were the Springers who might have resisted this robot attack.
   It was at that moment that the Chief had contacted them.
   Then like a bolt out of the blue, the Posbis were struck suddenly by a tremendous countering fire from the left. Destruction moved through the Posbi ranks like a flaming Juggernaut.
   Although surprised by this raging onslaught by the desperate Springers, the Posbis displayed no confusion. Their remaining number recognized at once that they could do little against the superior force. Seconds later the great plaza, surrounded by lofty administration buildings, had been evacuated. The Springers did not emerge from cover. The raybeam fire broke off as abruptly as it had begun.   "Out!" called Sikhra over his helmet radio. "Let's get back!"
   They had no fear of being recognized as Terrans by the Springers. Sikhra's team wore neutral clothing. Not even the Solar Empire emblem was to be seen on their spacesuits. Both men crept out from underneath the demolished vehicle. They sprang up and ran toward a sheltering street opening where no Posbis had as yet appeared. In the high-walled narrow street, Olo saw a shadow. Its outlines were grotesque. When the thing showed itself, Glu Olo hit it with a disintegrator beam. He and the captain continued their flight.
   When they made a turn around a corner, Glu Olo recognized where they were. "Captain—the transmitter station!" he cried.
   Mahaut Sikhra recalled Perry Rhodan's mission assignment, but he knew it would have been crazy at the moment to attempt to destroy the hypercom installation. He had spotted a fast, space-flying air car which from all appearances seemed to be intact. When they got into it they were pleasantly surprised. The engine was already warmed up and idling. They could take off immediately.
   "Now how do we get through the energy dome?" Sikhra asked, half aloud. They had entered through an unguarded lock, but how would they fly out?
   Glu Olo stiffened when Sikhra nosed the swift flier upward and raced toward the highly energized dome. Only in the last moment when he was expecting a disaster, he noticed a switch on Sikhra's console panel: Dome Lock. Under it in tiny letters was the word: automatic. Evidently Sikhra was relying on the chance that the lock controls were still functioning and that the air car's frequency transmitter for activating them was still in order. During their raid on Hunzkhin's City, the Posbis had not damaged the power installations of the defence dome. They had only neutralized them momentarily to get through.
   The air car also got through. Second by second, they put the dome behind them. Like some predatory beast, the night sprang upon them. Sikhra dove the flier to within 10 meters of the ground, but Olo didn't have to ask why. He had not forgotten the transformation beam of the Posbis which had delivered a fusion bomb to destroy the Gazelle. There was no risk to flying this low over Panotol's desert. It was as flat as a board.
   Both men had been expecting pursuit by the Posbis. It seemed incredible to them that they should escape the enemy's highly sensitive tracking equipment. Nor had they been forgotten by the 11 fragment ships hovering at 10,000 meters over Hunzkhin City.
   "There's only one answer for it," said Sikhra after long deliberation. "At present this hellish manhunting commando of theirs is so jammed up with organic impulses that they can't separate one from the other. Their defruiter system is overloaded."
   "Too nice to be true," replied Glu Olo pessimistically. "Unfortunately I don't have much faith in any such technical weaknesses on their part. Maybe they just don't have to work up a sweat because they know that sooner or later they can take care of us. Where are we going, actually?"
   "I'm on a return course. Call Luigi Pagnotti. Tell him to send out a tracer beam every 10 seconds, using the Oka frequency."
   "Oka? Why that one in particular?"
   "Because from all indications it seems the Posbis can't pick it up. A short time ago I heard that rumoured about in Terrania."
   Glu Olo hailed Luigi Pagnotti. The latter had picked up the conversation between Sikhra and the Chief earlier.
   "Good! Trace signal every 10 seconds on Oka band."
   A few minutes later the fast air car landed on the sand near the four waiting men. Sikhra kept the engine idling in readiness, which Glu Olo approved of with a knowing nod.
   "I can't get rid of the feeling, either, that the robots know exactly where we are, Captain."
   Sikhra studied him glumly. He placed much confidence in the Australian's opinions. "Olo, call the others on board. We have to go easy with our oxygen supply. The air generating equipment in this flier is working perfectly."
   The last man to enter was Pagnotti, and Olo closed the circular hatch behind him. The sound of the magnetic lock was reassuring. When Sikhra swung back his space helmet the others followed his example. The 4-passenger vehicle offered cramped quarters for them, but the air inside was excellent.
   The Captain briefed them quickly on their foray in Hunzkhin City. "The Chief considers it of prime importance to disable the hypercom station. As long as the Posbis in the settlement don't have a full handle on the situation, we have a chance to carry out the mission. What do you think of using micro-bombs?" He looked about him at the others.
   Luigi Pagnotti waved the suggestion aside. "We've already discussed it, Captain. Everything we need the most just now went up in smoke with the THE-l5. Practically, we're sitting here with empty hands."
   Sikhra had expected as much. "Then we have to try to find what we need in Hunzkhin City."
   Willis emitted a surprised whistle. Pete Asters dropped his gaze to the floor. Pagnotti stared at him. Only Olo remained calm.
   "Any more questions?"
   There was none. Apparently, Sikhra's commando team was a taciturn organization. The captain took off, setting a course for the settlement.
   "Reposition your helmets but don't close them," he ordered.
   There was a point of light in the dark night which grew larger with each passing second: the inwardly illuminated energy dome of the settlement. The air car did not have any tracking equipment. The men simply crouched behind the clear panels of their pressure cabin and peered into the night. All they could see was the growing light source ahead.
   "What's that, Captain?" Again, Glu Olo could see more than the others. "Turn away! There's a swarm of Posbis down there outside the dome!"
   Mahaut Sikhra was too close to the energy dome to turn. His speed was too great. He threw in the safety switch and a surge of power went to the engine, violating the limits recommended by the operating instructions. The flier raced steeply upward as the dome and the industrial and processing installations dropped away below. With the exception of Glu Olo, none of the others had seen any evidence of Posbis.
   "What the heck is that!?" yelled Pete Masters, pointing into the depths.
   Then Willis and Pagnotti also saw and recognized it.
   Luigi muttered in astonishment: "That's the wreck of Totztal's ship!"
   "But there next to it!" cried Masters. "Don't you see that thing that's lit up by searchlights?"
   Unfortunately, Sikhra changed course just then. The flier curved to the right, and the scene the three men wanted to see closer disappeared from their view.   "Pete, what was it you saw?" asked Willis.
   "No idea... But it looked familiar. Somewhere I've seen a thing like that before." However, he failed to realize what the energy gate of an Akon transmitter must look like in its first stage of assembly.
   Sikhra again changed course, and he was startled when he looked at his altimeter. He pointed quickly at the reading. "So there are also mountains on this desert planet!"
   The high-speed air car shot to an altitude of 3,000 meters over Panotol. But this was higher than necessary. The highest peaks of the mountains below rose up no more than 600 meters. He tipped the flier downward and swung simultaneously into a left bank.
   The night was suddenly ripped asunder as a powerful energy beam shot vertically in front of them. Where it struck the planet below, the ground exploded apart. The satanic howl of the over-taxed engine was muted by a giant shockwave: the first greetings of an ignited fusion bomb! A fragment ship was attempting to annihilate the air car with a transformation beam. Only Sikhra's chance change of course had prevented the small vehicle from flying directly into the path of destruction.
   The mach-speed indicator broke down. The master safety circuits threatened to melt. The tiny positronic sector sounded an alarm, insisting on less current feed to the engine. Sikhra manipulated the craft like a man possessed. Another course change. The men turned on the inertial absorbers of their spacesuits when the g-factor became more than they could bear.
   Another death beam shot vertically before them to the ground. This time it was farther away than the first one. The six men knew they'd been located by the Posbis in the warships overhead. They were sure their lives were forfeited.
   "Get ready to jump!!" rang Sikhra's order in their helmets. "Radio silence, but keep your receivers on the Oka band. Get going! Open the hatch! Move it!"
   Willis was the first to go, head over heels into the depths. Glu Olo was the 5th man out. When he was carried away by the outside airstream, he had an impression that the captain was turning the flier upward. It took him several moments to fool with the antigrav controls and adjust his fall to one meter per second. He was engulfed in a starless darkness. A vapour haze seemed to be over Panotol, filtering out the starlight.
   Then the dark Was split asunder by another transformation beam.
   Glue Olo tensed when he saw something explode directly above him. He knew that the air car had ceased to exist. Was the captain dead? Had it been too late for him to make his jump?
   From five helmet speakers came a word: "Okay!" Then the reception only whispered again. But the five men were reassured. Capt. Sikhra had not been on board when the flier was hit. But now wouldn't the Posbis chase down each one of them?

   *   *   *   *

   500 Terran warships invaded the Panot System. Consisting of every thing from super giants to cruisers of the State class, they hurtled down toward Panotol. The flagship THEODORICH still moved in the liberation zone of semi-space and observed the fleet operations on the 3-D sensor.
   Meanwhile, Rhodan and Moders had returned to the flagship. Beside Rhodan stood Pucky the mousebeaver. The little fellow seemed to be listening into the distance. Actually, he was picking up Rhodan's plan in a matter of seconds by means of telepathy. He did not even chirp back an "Okay." Without a word, he then teleported back to his cabin.
   There to greet him was John Marshall, Chief of the Mutant Corp. To a high degree, these two widely different entities were the best telepaths in the organization. Pucky informed Marshall telepathically while pulling on his spacesuit and first of all checking his oxygen supply. Walking in his typically clumsy fashions he moved over to the weapons locker. With an experienced eye he made a selection from among the energy weapons there.
   "Actually of course I don't need these things, John, but since the Chief has strictly forbidden me to play around with the Posbis, I'll have to rely on these beamer cannons." He took the deadliest of the weapons. Each one was especially custom made. "Tell the Chief I'll be in the transmitter hold."
   The air shimmered and the mousebeaver vanished. In the transmitter hold of the THEODORICH, two men emitted frightened curses as Pucky materialized between them. "Okay, where's it at?" chirped the little one.
   They knew what he meant. "There!" said a stocky sergeant and pointed with his thumb to a micro-transmitter that was just one meter high.
   With his helmet still clapped behind him, Pucky spoke more vigorously. "Hey now, sergeant, as a lieutenant do you mind if I ask you if the equipment is ready?"
   Pucky's hard chirps did not sound very gentle. Those who knew him could recognize that the mousebeaver was angry. Here the lives of six men were at stake, and this dimwitted sergeant couldn't even get his teeth apart.
   But the sergeant quickly came alive and talkative. The mousebeaver listened calmly, but when the man started to explain the micro-transmitter to him, the little fellow silenced him with a grandiose gesture. "My good lad, when I operated my first transmitter, your grandfather was just crawling out of his diapers."
   He waddled over to the small apparatus and placed his hands on the heavy holding handle that had been added a few minutes earlier by order of Reginald Bell. The mousebeaver paid no further attention to his surroundings. With his eyes closed, he seemed to be peacefully asleep. However, by means of his para-senses he was in contact with Perry Rhodan. The THEODORICH emerged from the liberation zone back into the normal universe. The rumbling of the Kalup converter was stilled.
   Ready for the jump, little one?—asked Rhodan telepathically.
   All set, Perry. Are Deringhouse's ships giving those Posbi crates a proper thrashing?
   So far no hostile contact, but the fragment ships are racing this way.
   All eleven? Only Pucky could permit himself to speak this way to Perry Rhodan.
   All eleven, little one. In three minutes we'll be over the mountains where Sikhra and his men are defending themselves against the robots. Try to make telepathic contact with them.
   The giant panoramic viewscreen in the THEODORICH's Control Central brightened with the fires of war. Suddenly there were tracks of energy beams cutting through space. Ten flashes became a hundred; a hundred became a thousand. 500 warships of the Solar Fleet under Deringhouse's command hurtled from all directions toward the fragment ships. The giant superior force seemed capable of destroying the cubical vessels in a matter of seconds, but after three minutes the eleven monstrous spaceships were still there, fighting for their existence.
   Far removed from this space battle, the THEODORICH hurtled toward Panotol. The spherical giant rounded the night side while dropping rapidly until it touched the uppermost layers of the atmosphere.
   Marshall announced to the Administrator that Pucky had teleported.
   The mousebeaver materialized with the small transmitter between two towering mountains composed of rocky rubble. "Hoo-ee-e-e..!" he cried inside his transparent helmet. "This place is crawling with Posbis!" He recalled what Rhodan had said about the insidious narco-beamers of the bio-positronic robots.
   He did not even let the group of eight Posbis come within firing range. In a sudden transport of rage he released his telekinetic powers. He sent the robots flying vertically upward like so many jet fighters, briefly halted them at a height of 200 meters, and then let them fall with four times that speed to the ground.
   Meanwhile, three other Posbis had appeared unnoticed. Pucky whirled and caused them to collide with each other, again and again, until they were broken into pieces. He chanced to turn around toward the pile of eight shattered robots. More than 20 Posbis were charging him. He uttered a curse and teleported In the same moment, materializing behind them at a height of 80 meters.
   "I'll put some vinegar in your taste for learning!" he chirped. He fired simultaneously with his impulse and disintegrator guns. At the same time he put his telekinesis to work and forced the remaining nine of them to the ground. If there was anyone in the Solar Fleet who could not stand robots, it was the mousebeaver Pucky.
   "Nine... eight... seven..." He was just dissolving the third one when his para-senses picked up a human cry of distress.
   He turned away from the bursting gas clouds of his destruction and teleported. He rematerialized three rubble hills farther on. His knobby eyes became unnaturally large and his weapon hand sank to his side. A Posbi was racing away with Pete Masters. And Masters did not move!
   "I'll be darned if Moders isn't right. Well, those monsters may have an itch to learn—but not with us!" In the next instant the place where he had been standing was empty.
   He materialized a few feet behind the Posbi. The unconscious Pete Masters was not endangered when Pucky destroyed the robot with his disintegrator. Masters' fall was cushioned by the mousebeaver's telekinetic forces. Then Pucky threw his arms around the narcotized commando and disappeared with him. Before the transmitter he let him glide to the ground.
   He looked around him. For the moment there was no Posbi to be seen. With a skilful swiftness, he turned the transmitter on.
   "What the devil—if this keeps up...!" He shot past the transmitter and reduced a Posbi robot to molten metal with his impulse beamer. Then he returned to making his adjustments. Without proper tuning of the equipment, the men would never reach the THEODORICH.
   His telepathic senses intercepted clear mental impulses of despair. Pucky realized that they were emanating from Luigi Pagnotti and Willis. But now he could not let himself be distracted. Only the Posbis forced him to interrupt his work. Two came at him from the right, one from the left. All three of them much too close. Pucky cursed and teleported. He appeared close behind the two robots and they quickly ceased to exist. But the third Posbi took aim at the mousebeaver and shot at him with a narco beam.
   "Ooh!" he groaned aloud. "What kind of infernal gadget is that!?" He felt as if lead were in his limbs, but that failed to save the third robot.
   The transmitter was finally adjusted. Pete Masters floated inside without Pucky having to touch even a finger. Then the commando disappeared.
   "There's one little surprise for Perry!"
   He vanished again and in the next moment was squatting on top of the highest rubble peak. Over his micro-transceiver he called Mahaut Sikhra, but there was nothing stirring on the wavebands.
   "Para forces are better than all this technical junk!" he declared with conviction.
   Mahaut Sikhra was the last one he teleported to the transmitter. Three Posbis who had been on his heels soon ceased to follow him.
   "Get going! Crawl inside!" he urged Sikhra over his helmet radio. "There come the robots again! And I still have something left to do here..."
   Mahaut Sikhra had disappeared inside the device. Pucky turned it off. He didn't need it for himself, but at least he was going to have one good laugh today. He pressed the red self-destruct button and vanished at the same moment. Once more he squatted on a high rise and looked back at the small transmitter, just as more than 20 Posbis rushed toward it. When his single incisor tooth began to come to light, the robots must have detected him as an organic intelligence. With uncanny swiftness, they turned around—just a thought too late.
   The miniature transmitter exploded into its atomic components. Before the impertinent mousebeaver was caught in the shock-wave and swept into the air, he was able to see what the disaster did to the Posbis. Teleportation prevented him from being smashed against a rocky slope.
   The little one concentrated and made his big jump. The THEODORICH wasn't all that far away-merely 23,000 kilometers.

   *   *   *   *

   Sikhra's report was precise. Rhodan listened with interest while at times he would clench his hands. When the captain had finished, Rhodan spoke to him earnestly:
   "Gentlemen, at first we considered the Laurins to be a colossal menace. Now it develops that these uncanny robots represent a much greater danger. But most devastating of all is what your horror theory presages for us, Moders: the Posbis possess a learning instinct. That's a setback for us. According to Sikhra's report, Totztal's ship lies near the settlement, although it's been damaged. Other spaceships are in the wharf docks. What happens if the Posbis learn how to retrieve the data from the memory banks of all those positronic computers? And this main hypercom station with its plugged-in repeater is meanwhile transmitting again with 98 percent of its output power. We can forget Totztal's death, but we can't forget that several thousand Springers are now in the power of the Posbis. If we want to save ourselves from these robots, first we have to free the Springers. What do you think about that, Moders?"
   "Sir, maybe I'm chasing after a phantom with my hypothesis..."
   "Moders, it's always been an unforgivable mistake to close one's eyes to the facts. All of us naturally would like to live out our normal lives. We can only do that when we are also prepared to look unpleasant facts in the eye and to combat them!"
   Shortly thereafter, Moders and Sikhra left Perry Rhodan's cabin.
   "What a man, our Chief!"
   "Yes," agreed Mahaut Sikhra, and his eyes gleamed in spite of his fatigue. "The right man in the right place. That's why I believe that in the end he'll even take care of the Posbis."
   Neither of them was aware of how swiftly the THEODORICH was racing through space from the Panot System. They weren't even thinking of the battle raging between Terra ships and fragment ships. The thoughts of each man circled around Perry Rhodan. More clearly than millions of others they came to realize that he was on his way to becoming heir to the universe.

The Posbis have invaded the planet Panotol and occupied the Galactic Traders' stronghold there.

Therefore he issues a command which launches the mission: ROBOTS, BOMBS,AND MUTANTS! That is the title of the next Perry Rhodan adventure, written by William Voltz.