9/ DUEL IN THE SUN

 

Suddenly I had become as dazed as if my lungs had been filled with a dose of chloroform. When I was awakened again by the burning pangs of breathing, hardly 2 minutes had elapsed.

Although my blackout was of short duration, it was a warning sign.

Almost 12 hours had gone by from the time I had heard Rhodan’s last words.

Since then he had preferred to maintain silence for the understandable reason that he didn’t want to give me any clues as to his physical condition.

Neither had I broken our silence. I had already drunk one quart of water and it required tremendous willpower to let go of the suction tube when the water level that was not to be exceeded had been reached.

All I had been able to think of during the last 3 hours was fluids. My mind conjured up all possible delicacies in liquid form but ordinary water played the favourite role.

My body had already perspired for 6 hours. Then the first stage of desiccation set in, making me feel that my body had been drained of all fluids.

Now when I took a few sips, it caused no further perspiration.

I tried to master my all-consuming desire for water, in order to contemplate my dismal situation.

I was exposed to the merciless heat of the glaring sun. The temperature remained constant at 265°F. The sand of the desert was even hotter.

Therefore I had begun to turn my body around at regular intervals of 3 minutes in order to dissipate some of the heat absorbed by the warmer ground.

I rolled over from my stomach to my side and then on my back. The intermittent movements required a great deal of effort and my strength diminished with each turn.

The 12 hours were drawn out into an eternity and I had come to the point where countless Arkonides and Earthlings had arrived before me: it was that moment when the self-preservation instinct comes to the fore and takes over. Logic and a clear mind are pushed aside and a short-circuit occurs in the decisions of the brain. In those seconds of panic, the urge to escape and the frenzied rise of physical reserve energy have turned ordinary people into heroes and cowards into death-defying warriors.

I knew I couldn’t hold out much longer in my precarious position. My climate control, which had to absorb not only the humidity of my body but compensate also for the sun’s radiation striking me, began to sputter intermittently.

The cooling equipment for the oxygen supply and the air regenerator couldn’t keep up. The maximum capacity of my spacesuit was around 270°F, give or take 5 degrees. This was the absolute limit of my protection.

My micro-reactor’s output amounted to 50 kilowatts per hour. This was abundant under normal conditions. Now the device was overloaded. The reflection field of the climate control alone required 45 kilowatts to keep operating.

The air regenerator consumed 2000 watts and the cooling system gobbled up another 3000 watts every hour. This added up to a consumption of current which the small transformer bank could furnish for only a restricted time.

To activate the energy shield for defence against material objects and high-energy ionized beams from rayguns was out of the question. It would have used 50kw for even a medium voltage current and depleted all resources by itself.

A crazy idea popped into my head. If I had a suitable conductor I could tap the micro-impulse converter of my thermo-weapon but I didn’t find even a piece of wire in my pockets.

My throat refused to accept the food concentrates of which I had a plentiful supply but I felt no hunger.

I was plagued by the torture of inhaling hot air. The inside temperature had risen to 125°F and the mixture of oxygen and helium I was breathing was almost as hot.

There was enough air for 72 hours but it was questionable that I could survive that long.

Now I had suffered my first fainting spell. I forced myself to concentrate my attention on Rhodan and looked at the place where he was dug into the sand.

I saw the glazed spot left by the last shot of my blaster. According to my best estimate Rhodan could be no more than 100 feet away from this spot. It would have been impossible for him to get farther away than that in the short time. Consequently I had to keep constant watch over a circular area 200 feet in diameter to prevent my antagonist from breaking out. I had searched the immediate neighbourhood with the telescopic sight of my weapon. There were hardly any depressions in the ground Rhodan could have used to crawl away.

I had mulled over a plan to strafe and saturate the fairly small area with my fire. Undoubtedly I could sooner or later have hit my opponent, who must have been lying in some crevice.

After considering the pro’s and cons of the plan I came to a negative result. Unless I happened to hit Rhodan at the outset with a lucky shot, my first blast would give my exact position away and he could pinpoint me with his fire.

Therefore I discarded the idea and decided to wait until the barbarian lost his patience.

Due to the slanted crater produced by my beam, it would be easy enough for Rhodan to determine that I was up on a little knoll. He also could see the approximate direction, judging by the lengthwise shape of the impact, but he was unable to measure the precise angle because he was about 100 feet farther away.

If there had been only one knoll in that direction, Rhodan wouldn’t have had much of a problem. As it was, there were 3 mounds on which I could be hidden.

As a consequence Rhodan was also reluctant to shoot first since he knew that I only waited to discover his position.

Thus we had come to a stalemate and waited for each other to make a mistake. Neither one of us was able to move from his place. In order to reach the next cover I would have to cross flat and unobstructed terrain.

A low sun-scorched mountain range stretched out in the background about one kilometre away where there must have been not only numerous nooks and crannies for shooting but also shade.

I smacked my bone-dry lips as I visualized in my mind deep dark caves which were a nice cool 200°F at the most.

I became exultant, thinking about a temperature which I would normally have considered to be lamentable. Now a temperature of ‘only’ 200 meant sheer delight for me. My climate control would have obtained a respite and the reactor would have benefited also.

Fiery veils danced again before my eyes. Suddenly I saw Rhodan leap up and race away, kicking up fountains of sand with his boots and mocking me with shrill laughter.

I restrained myself at the last moment. The barrel of my weapon already extruded through the slit between the rocks when I realized the vision was a hallucination.

The ghostly figure dissolved. There was nothing but desert. A desolate expanse of glaring sand with myriads of reflecting crystals.

I wanted to scream a curse but my throat produced only an inarticulate rasping sound. Again I fought my agonizing desire for water. I still had a quart left.

I hunched my body and beat my fists against my pressure helmet. Only the thought that Rhodan suffered even more kept me going but I knew that something had to break very soon.

Suddenly I received an impulse from my extra-brain that alarmed me. Remember he’s a telepath! Don’t forget your mono-screen!

All my hallucinations ceased. I could see my pale face in the reflection of my helmet’s visor. Under no circumstances could I let my thought defences expire, regardless of how my physical condition worsened.

If Rhodan sent out his feelers for me and penetrated my mono-screen, he would spot my position and I wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance to fight back.

I mumbled a hoarse curse.

Prodded by the sound of my voice, I suddenly thought of the solution to my problem. I snapped wide-awake and my senses sharpened.

I devised a ploy—a psycho-plan—aimed at the craving for water of the deprived creature. I conceived an appeal to the most primitive nature in man, where nothing could be mentioned that aroused the suspicion of the still active mind.

I had only to play on the instincts already coming to the surface. Feelings and subliminal desires could never be driven to excess by logical and concise words. It was imperative that I exclusively used concepts which tantalized the thirst of the parched body.

Abruptly I was able to think clearly again. The renewed hope overcame my lethargy. My plan took shape and when it was ready to be applied it would cause Rhodan to betray his position. I had studied cosmo-psychology and knew the behaviour of most people. How I accomplished it was immaterial if it did the trick.

Very slowly, and resisting my rapacious thirst, I began to sip my water. I gargled with every sip till the liquid was soaked up by the dry lining of my mouth. I didn’t want to swallow it; I wanted to make my vocal chords supple again.

After each mouthful I enunciated a few words and it was getting better the more I wetted my throat.

I took the chance of wasting my last water but it was a calculated risk.

 

After I had absorbed almost a pint of water my voice sounded normal again. I began to vocalize a simple little song at a normal sound level until I was sure I could exactly reproduce even the higher notes. Then I took another sip of water, really swallowing it this time.

Meanwhile I had made up some silly lyrics which would serve my purpose. They elaborated with a play on words on the concept of water and drinking. Words to that effect had to be repeated as often as possible in the text. That was all.

I tried my voice again before I switched on my helmet transmitter. It used only 5 watts, which I could still afford. "Hey, barbarian, how you doing?" I called into the mike with a fresh and jubilant tone, attempting to drive Rhodan to the brink of insanity. He probably was unable to utter a clear sound and refused to answer with a rattle in his throat. But he heard me and this was all I cared about.

I burst out in laughter till my voice cracked. "Hey, barbarian! Tears of laughter are rolling down my cheeks and I’m getting all wet. For goodness’ sake! It’s all your fault. Why do you make me laugh so hard?"

I paused and listened. The word ‘wet’ had been dropped by me for the first time. I had to proceed cautiously in order to lull his vigilance first. He probably already suffered desperately from lack of water. Earthlings couldn’t go as long without water as Arkonides. If my assumption were correct, he had only a few drops left by rationing his supply with the greatest self-discipline. He was unlikely to have swallowed it all at once. I didn’t think that Perry Rhodan was the man to do such an irrational thing.

"Hey, barbarian! Why don’t you answer me?" I called in a booming voice. "Would you like me to give you a little water from my tank? I’ve hardly taken a few sips. Hey, Rhodan, what’s the matter with you? Can’t you answer me? It wouldn’t be the first time. I’ve seen Earthlings die of thirst. Are you all right? Or are you ready to give up? I’ll keep my promise, I won’t shoot at you. Why don’t you answer me?"

I laughed again because I knew he was incapable of replying even if he wished to rebut me. His voice had already given out.

Now I went into the major phase of my harangue which ought to prove disastrous to him. He probably was still thinking about my remark about my ‘wet’ tears. "Hello, barbarian! I’m going to sing a nice little song for you. You’ll know the tune. How about it, barbarian? Listen to the words composed by me, your good friend Atlan, whom you’re trying to ignore so shamefully!"

I listened for a moment before I started to sing:

 

"The water is wet,

the water is cool.

It tastes so delicious,

it makes me drool.

In the water I float,

so wet and so cool.

It soothes my throat

as I splash in my pool."

 

It was a psycho-verse, daffy and nonsensical, but it had the shattering effect of an explosion of feelings.

I repeated the chant again and again: "The water is wet, the water is cool!"

I was certain he was listening. He would be much too fascinated by his wishful dreams and hallucinations to shut off his receiver.

I kept pouring it on with the same monotonous text till my throat became dry again.

When I received no response and finally came to the conclusion that my scheme had failed, it suddenly happened. An awful croaking noise came out of my loudspeaker as if Rhodan wanted to scream and bellow with a faltering voice.

A white-hot flash burst about 400 meters away and the searing beam of the energy shot smacked into a mound 100 feet away from me, making a bubbling crater.

Now I had him where I wanted him. His nerves had snapped and he had tried to gun me down.

The point of origin was precisely in my sight. When he fired off his second shot, I returned his fire. The weapon recoiled in my hand. A glowing stream of atomic energy, produced by catalysis from a few highly unstable atoms in a controlled nuclear fusion, zipped out of the rectifier and reducer field in the barrel of my blaster.

It struck with devastating impact. Rhodan’s fire ceased instantly. He stopped after 2 shots. I poured a rain of fire on his position and broke off only when the automatic warning signal peremptorily demanded a pause after the 20th shot. My gun was overheated.

Clumsily I shuffled away. The dome with its alluring treasures was 1½ kilometres away from me and the hills on which the fortress was built began to rise within one kilometre.

I trudged through the burning sand. All feelings seemed to have died in me. Rhodan had rescued me from the flaming spaceship. If he had chosen not to, he would have saved himself all kinds of trouble and escaped this tragic fate.

I could hear myself groaning. I drank the last bit of water, being very sure that I could easily make the short distance to the dome.

It took almost an hour to reach the foothills. When I finally entered the shade of the 50-meter-high cliffs, I tumbled helplessly to the ground.

I simply had to take a rest. I lay flat and still, arms and legs spread-eagled as I had flopped down, dropping my weapon which I no longer needed.

When I wearily turned my head after a few minutes, I beheld a ghost tottering through the desert.

The chimera only amused me until the ‘ghost’ fell on his knees and his body began to sway. One arm moved up and something glinted in the sunlight.

As I kept staring at the gleaming object as though paralysed, it emitted a flaming blast which slammed into the rock 30 feet over my head. The ghost was able to shoot! He staggered to his feet—incessantly spitting fire—until he reached a jutting rock and disappeared behind it.

I was fit to be tied. What an idiot I had been! Why hadn’t I first rushed to his demolished hideout to make sure I had finished him off? Now it was starting all over again!

Undoubtedly he had seen me all the time and refrained from shooting at me. But why? Not because he was softhearted or because my psycho-shock had pushed him over the brink.

None of that, to be sure, for he was simply no longer able to lift a finger. In his state of total exhaustion even a tiny match would feel like it weighed a ton.

Only now that I had turned my face toward him had he begun to attack me with his fire in a last act of desperation although he couldn’t even come close.

It defied my comprehension how the lucky devil got away with his life. I admired him—I just couldn’t help admiring him.

Seconds later I had pulled back into the cliffs after grabbing my weapon. The heat became unbearable and my water was gone. The safety of the bulwark was 400 meters away and could only be reached over a gradually rising road which had been blasted out of the rocks.