Part 1 (1/2)
Perry Rhodan.
Atlan in Danger.
1/ THOMAS CARDIF'S REVELATION.
SOLAR SECRET SERVICE Section F-1 was engaged in observing the political scene on 21st century Terra.
All reports were handed in to Frank Lemmon.
Frank Lemmon had an att.i.tude towards work that was in keeping with his character and for the past two hours he had been proving it beyond doubt: he was loafing!
He had read the voluminous Terrania Post, even taking note of the political articles; he studied the financial section and regarded this activity as important work, although reading the newspaper was by no means part of his official duties.
Frank Lemmon was a North American by birth. His hometown was called Klondike. He had come to Terrania three years ago, pa.s.sed the final apt.i.tude test with honours and, six months later, was already head of Section F-1 in the Solar Secret Service.
He, though sometimes unable to master the weakness in his character, was still one of the few men in Terrania who chose not to utilize computers for preliminary evaluations. Frank Lemmon preferred to rely upon his instinct or, as was written in his records: A parasense? Uncla.s.sifiable characteristic. Above-average gift of deduction combined with prophetic sensitivity to the extreme importance of apparently insignificant reports.
Frank Lemmon had arrived one hour late for work. Upon awakening he had already been horrified at the prospect of another boring day. When he got out of bed with that feeling the whole day at work was useless, so he regularly approached this fact with laziness and did not even take care of a few important items.
But Solar Marshal Alan D. Mercant, Head of the Security Service, never reproached his Section Head, Frank Lemmon, on this account. Mercant was very good at weighing the merits of his co-workers against their shortcomings and in Lemmon's case his ability to instantly discern the significance of incoming reports far outweighed his laziness.
Lemmon was slurping his strong, hot coffee with great relish as the viewcom flashed on. The slender, 24-year-old section head hardly glanced at it. Dispatches from Was.h.i.+ngton, Peking and Lah.o.r.e.
”Great Milky Way,” Lemmon moaned, still holding the cup to his lips, ”that agent in Lah.o.r.e is writing a whole novel! So much effort for such rubbis.h.!.+”
As the screen darkened he had already forgotten all the reports. He was about to reach for the Terrania Post to read the short story with the intriguing t.i.tle of 'Ghanu, Mirror Image of a Soul' when he jerked back in his seat and swung his feet off the desk. His bored face instantly changed expressions. ”Rabintorge... isn't that the Indian who supplied material about the Druuf linear hyper-propulsion that was such an artful swindle it made a fool of the entire security force and...”
The speaking phase of the intercom connection, switched off during picture transmission, was now activated by Lemmon. ”Manners, get me all the data on Rabintorge, that charlatan from Lah.o.r.e. At once, Manners, it's urgent!”
When Frank Lemmon used that phrase, things were really urgent. He did not have to wait long. Manners, a stocky 40-year-old, laid a stack of archive prints on the desk for him.
”Is that all?” Lemmon rea.s.sured himself.
”That's all. I compared our records with the main archive's and...”
Frank Lemmon waved him aside. He wanted to be alone. He could read the perforated cards with their coded symbols like others read a book.
He selected three reports. Sticking them in his pocket, he got up and informed the front office that he had a meeting with Solar Marshal Mercant.
The leaders.h.i.+p of Solar Security was located 18 kilometres away in the enormous government skysc.r.a.per that had become Terrania's landmark. However, considering the tasks to be accomplished by the Solar Empire, their administration was not an overgrown octopus that provided thousands of bureaucrats with a comfortable life.
The sporadic hours of laziness Frank Lemmon indulged in were a rare exception; still, due to the phenomenal achievements he sometimes came up with, he replaced a skilled six-man team.
He had to wait half an hour in Mercant's reception room. ”The boss is inside,” he was told by the even-natured, pug-nosed executive secretary.
”Then the boss will just have to hear what I have to say,” Lemmon thought, unaware of how highly he prized himself.
When the 30 minutes had elapsed and there was no sign that the conference behind those heavy doors was drawing to a conclusion, Frank Lemmon again approached the pug-nosed secretary. ”Please inform the Solar Marshal immediately that my visit pertains to LH-propulsion!”
The abbreviation LH was his own invention. It had just shot through his head and neither Mercant nor Perry Rhodan knew it. And perhaps neither of them was even able to guess its meaning. However, Lemmon had observed the cardinal commandment of secrecy and in so doing he might influence Rhodan into remaining and hearing what he, Lemmon, had to tell the Marshal.
”Is it really that important, Lemmon?” The secretary was doubtful, accustomed to constant attempts to occupy Mercant's precious time by claiming urgent business.
Calmly Frank Lemmon replied: ”I consider it very important. Emphasize LH-propulsion, OK?”
The echo from Allan D. Mercant followed immediately. ”What? LH-propulsion? Who's waiting? Lemmon? Send him right in!”
Frank Lemmon slowly shut the heavy door. Seated facing each other at the coffee table were Perry Rhodan, the Administrator of the Solar Empire, and his defence chief, Allan D. Mercant. Both were watching him expectantly. Mercant indicated with a swift wave of the hand that his Section Head was to take a seat. Neither of them inquired about the meaning of the abbreviation LH.
Lemmon pulled the three coded strips out of his pocket and placed them on the table. As he raised his head, he looked into Rhodan's grey eyes, which were reflecting some slight tension.
”Sir, Marshal,” Lemmon addressed both of them, failing to notice that in his salutation he had degraded the boss. He did not comprehend Rhodan's grin nor did he give it any thought. His concentration was directed at the report he now had to present. He spoke about the Indian student, Rabintorge, who had heard something about the mysterious Druuf linear hyperpropulsion through as yet unknown channels. He spoke about the excitement engendered at Solar Defence by the article, four pages long and loaded with formulas, which had appeared in the student newspaper, Ars Stellaris. ”...and only two weeks later were our scientists able to say that we had fallen victim to a student gag.”
”These here,” he stated as he slid the three strips into the middle of the coffee table, thus enabling Rhodan and Mercant to decide who would take them first, ”are the most important recent reports.”
Lemmon paused briefly, waiting for one of them to pick up the strips. Instead Perry Rhodan said to him: ”Go on, Lemmon.”
”Well... an hour ago I received a report from our agent in Lah.o.r.e, a whole book-load of trivialities with the exception of one item worthy of notice: that student, Rabintorge, who put us on with his linear hyperpropulsion hoax, is supposed to be negotiating with the GHC Company for a position as research a.s.sistant. Do we really want that type of man to drift off to our compet.i.tion?”
Frank Lemmon had spoken to Perry Rhodan several times previously and he thought he knew the Administrator somewhat. But now he felt rather uncomfortable under the penetrating gaze of those grey eyes. Allan D. Mercant was staring at him sharply, too. Both men continued to remain silent, which increasingly grated on Lemmon's nerves.
Perry Rhodan then leaned back and crossed his arms on his chest. Mercant reached for the strips, staring at them but not reading them. In the spartanly furnished office of the Defence Chief silence reigned. Lemmon interrupted it by clearing his throat but he was unable to get out a word.
”Lemmon, how did you arrive at your suggestion?” Perry Rhodan asked.
His uncla.s.sifiable para-perception was awakened in Frank Lemmon, prompting his counter-question: ”Sir, isn't my suggestion the result of a logical deduction?”
Rhodan ignored the remark. ”What do you know about the Druuf linear hyper-propulsion, Lemmon?”
”Nothing, except for the fact that the Druufs allegedly possess propulsion units faster than light and that upon exceeding the speed of light, transition into hypers.p.a.ce is not advisable. But whether that version is correct...”
”It is correct, Lemmon!” Rhodan interrupted. ”Where did you obtain your knowledge?”
Without hesitation Lemmon replied: ”From research team 065-propulsion. We worked together for one week while investigating the Rabintorge case.”
”Thanks!” Rhodan hastily said, turning his gaze to Mercant, who read in it a request for his opinion.
”Sir, we really shouldn't let any opportunity slip by, especially now...”
Mercant's position was not extremely clear; at least so it appeared to Lemmon. However, Rhodan must have understood it differently, for he nodded to his Solar Marshal and said in conclusion: ”Make all the necessary arrangements.”
”We know more about this Rabintorge than he does about us, sir.” Mercant now presented his information about the peculiar case. ”The student has never come in contact with beings of extra-solar intelligence. His skill in mathematics and physics that show traces of Arkonide hyper-mathematics, are inexplicable. Even more puzzling is the fact that he first learned to read and write at the age of 15.”