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Others called him a fool but he preferred to be a fool rather than live in one of the great cities where one did not get the feeling of being on an alien world. All of which brought his thoughts back to the happenings of the day—or rather, to what had failed to happen. The Evergreens, as the natives were called, had not appeared; they had not delivered their usual quota of skins.

Only 8 of them had come to the shedding centre where ordinarily 10 times that number showed up each day. Not that it made any difference to Andy. The Passa Skin Co. He was paid whether the Evergreens supplied any skins or not.

He refrained from touching it, however, because he knew what had happened to inexperienced people who had grabbed hold of things without knowing for sure that they were not dangerous. Stranger things than that had happened here. But he still wanted to know what this was all about.

He turned around to get a lamp from the house.

And that was the moment when the tree began to move. It simply bent over toward him. Andy heard a sound above him and whirled about swiftly but it was of no use.

The thing he had assumed to be a tree swatted him, knocking him down, and then it pressed him against the ground. For half a second Andy was paralysed with fear. He slipped down under it and the tree redoubled its pressure on him as though his resistance had goaded it into further aggression. A fiery barrage of small, painful prodding drummed against his ribs and there was a wild roaring in his ears.

And all at once he knew what it was that was lying on top of him and that nothing could withstand such a massive force. He began to cry out but there was no one there to hear him. As he began to lose consciousness, oblivion seemed to rush upon him in blinding streaks of lightning and crackling fireworks. He stood there as if he were having a stroke and probably he would have been the first to assert that the shock was too much for his heart.

Quinto was a chubby little man with a slightly bloated-looking and perpetually flushed face which always exhibited a few drops of perspiration even in the coolest part of the year. Above his puffy lips was a small nose under a pair of deep-set eyes topped by a narrow space of forehead that was sparsely obscured by a scraggle of colourless blond hair. To those who did not know him he was strictly anti-simpatico. Ron Landry and Larry Randall waited until the security door behind them had closed.

Then they saluted with a military preciseness that was a strange contrast to their summery and very casual civilian attire. When he spoke, Nike Quinto seemed to fairly wheeze and shriek in an unpleasantly high tone of voice.

I told them to send me two of the best men we had and look what they come up with! What am I supposed to do with the likes of you?!

Have you listened to the tapes yet? Glord, do you think we have all day? Say something: yes or no? And so? Nike Quinto was standing behind his desk as if ready to pounce upon his answer.

At least he looked up at it as he bent back his head and ran his hands through his hair. He sighed almost piteously as if the last hope of the world had fled from him.

Somebody playing a bad joke—on me? This organization has been created for a specific area of assignments. What are the skins for? Aromatic hides and leathers? Can you build a spaceship with them? Can they be used to power an energy cannon? Are they a source of exotic drugs or medicines? So riddle me this: why should we concern ourselves over such fid-fad? His twisted grin was a mixture of anger and malice. For you I suppose the world depends on spaceships, cannons and miracle drugs, right?

And just what is that revenue? Pretty smelling hides? Nor any drugs either. And 10, of them have either been killed or have vanished in the glass forests under mysterious circumstances? Oh well, why bother? Now I want you to go into the next room and listen to what you are told there.

You will take careful note of everything and then tomorrow morning early at Terrania time you will take passage on the scheduled passenger freighter of the Passa Line—is that clear? When they entered they saw a room dimly illuminated by a reddish light. They also saw a row of comfortable upholstered chairs and the familiar large screens of the hypno-projectors. That, my friend, is enough to build 10 heavy cruisers for the Fleet! It was a warm oxygen world, somewhat larger than Earth yet with a lighter gravitation.

The native intelligences on Passa were strictly non-humanoid and the first Terrans who saw them had experienced a shock of terror in spite of the weapons they carried. For the aborigines of Passa were nothing more nor less than 4-limbed serpents which measured on the average between 15 and 18 feet in length. They were not only different from Earthly serpents in the matter of intelligence but also in their method of locomotion, since they walked upright. Their limbs served merely as a means of grasping things and maintaining their balance.

Their serpentine bodies ended at the top in a round worm-like head containing a number of orifices whose various functions only a galacto-biologist could make any sense out of. The Terran settlers had taken possession of this Paradise world with enthusiasm and they had named the serpent inhabitants Evergreens because of the prominent green colouration of their skins.

Not only were the Evergreens the native intelligences of Passa, they were also the suppliers of that trade commodity which had made the planet so economically important to the Earth: Passa Pelts, the Antares bonanza. This was owing to the fact that the Evergreens had one ancient biological function in common with other serpent types: they shed their skins periodically. The mechanism and frequency of this moulting process or shedding was something unheard of even among the experts.

The fact remained, however, that the Evergreens were able to produce an astonishing quantity of skins. On Terra and Arkon, products made of Passa leather were in a higher price bracket than their equivalent weight in gold. The Springers, those restless nomadic offshoot of the Arkonides who roamed the galaxy in their clan-ships, lived only for trading and were convinced that commerce on an interstellar scale was their own exclusive prerogative.

After that, developments proceeded peacefully on the peltrich planet. Instruments were developed which could translate the vowel-saturated language of the Evergreens into English, and vice-versa. The Evergreens were then persuaded to gather at designated collection points when they shed their skins and by this means a daily average quota of the pelts was obtained.

When they moulted, the Evergreens hung by their tails from the trees. By a process of shaking their bodies strenuously they would slip their old skins down over their heads. The Terrans made sure that there were enough suitable trees for the purpose at every collection point and they paid the Evergreens for their services in trade commodities which were considered by the serpents to be useful to them.

For a period of some years this operation had continued smoothly. The Terrans had expanded their settlements on Passa without crowding the Evergreens.

In fact there was no problem in this regard because the serpent people lived in their glass forests, so-called. Such forests consisted of thickets of bamboo-like growths which were hard as glass and branchless, with transparent trunks reaching as high as feet or more. On the other hand the settlers preferred the more pleasant regions of grass plains or the banks of the broad rivers and the more inhabitable coastal areas. They hardly had any contacts to speak of with the Evergreens, other than at the pelt collection points.

Although their language could be understood, the serpent people seemed to be a bit wary or skittish about revealing too much concerning their lives in the remoteness of the glass forests. The harmonious situation on Passa was based more on a separation of the social orders rather than on a loose system of integration.

Within very recent times, however, this harmony had been disturbed.

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No one knew how or why. The Evergreens failed to appear anymore at the collection points. The supply of pelts had been cut off almost abruptly.

A few settlers living far from the cities had been found dead near their houses. A large number of other settlers were missing. The few who were able to return alive had not penetrated very deeply into the forest fastness. They had returned because they had not found anything or because they had taken insufficient provisions along or because it was too great an effort—or for all such various and sundry reasons. It was to be assumed that the Springers had their hands in what was going on.

Nobody else would have had a reason to offer opposition to the comparatively sparse human population of Passa. Even though Passa yielded an annual revenue of 15 billion Solars, certainly no enemy could hope to strike a deadly blow at the Solar Imperium by eliminating the business or even provide a major irritant through such an action. On the other hand it could be argued that even the Springers were not interested in getting at Terra in this manner—other than indirectly for the time being, since that would go hand in hand with their Ultimate goal.

In their case it was much more a matter of simply wanting to rake in the profits for themselves. However well grounded this suspicion was, it failed to solve the mystery. How would the Springers have managed to influence the serpent people?

How could they even get to Passa past the patrol cordons of the Terra Fleet? It would be impossible for them to land on Passa with a whole fleet of their own. The most that might have slipped through the gaps in the Terra patrol line would have been one or two smaller spacecraft. How could such a small force manage to persuade the indigenous inhabitants of such a large world to become bitter enemies of people with whom they had cooperated so well up tin now? This was the major question and a great many things depended upon finding an answer in time—perhaps even the very existence of the Passa colony itself.

Landry and Capt. Randall were informed on the morning of 7 October , when they boarded the passenger freighter Laramie which was bound for Passa.

They did not travel incognito by any means. Everyone on Terra as well as many intelligences outside the Solar Imperium knew the operations of Intercosmic Social Welfare and Development.

It would seem understandable that this institution should be sending a pair of observers to Passa for, in the terminology of the Colonial Ministry, Passa was by no means a fully developed colony. However, nobody realized that this same institution contained a certain Division 3, whose interests lay anywhere but in the realm of offering economic assistance to underdeveloped colonies. In addition to being informed about their immediate mission, Landry and Randall had been educated concerning everything on Passa since the founding of the colony there, and especially regarding what had been going on during the past few weeks and even days.

This data could not be erased from their memories except under special conditions because it had all been impressed upon them by means of a blitz-course of hypno-training. The information had taken root in their subconscious minds. We bring thee offerings greater than have been seen since thou didst create the world…! Perhaps not actually trouble, he corrected himself, but work at least. Whoever had paperwork or other technicalities to take care of before leaving the free port area and entering the sovereign tax territory of the Colony of Passa always had to deal with Froyd Coleman in one way or another.

Froyd usually confined himself to merely hearing the case and then delegating one of his subordinates to handle the matter. Coleman was 46 years old. In the course of his officialdom he had become a bit heavier than one might have expected, considering his eventful background at least up to his 40th year.

In spite of a tonsure-like bald spot fringed with red hair, he carried his head with great dignity. For many hours during the day his activity was restricted to standing in just such a dignified posture at the large window which looked out upon the landing field and the approach and exit ramps for the passenger taxis.

It was through this window that he saw the two men headed his way. It was not necessarily the figures of this pair that drew his attention but rather the way they walked, the manner in which they looked about them and the seriousness with which they spoke to one another. It was these things that convinced Froyd he would have to go to work.

He sighed and went to put on his uniform jacket. However, he knew with which visitors it might be more advisable to stick to the rules. These were the first words the big blond stranger had said after the initial greeting. Froyd nodded with a sigh. Landry smiled. What were these two really after? Since when did the ISWD concern itself with such matters?

The blond suddenly changed the subject. Cities are safer. I hope the Laramie has brought more provisions. Naturally the settlers responded to our call since they could see what was happening out there. Landry had a quick question. They moved out in glider units. At km per hour over open country it takes a while to get to the edge of the glass forest, which is km from here.

So it would have taken them until last night to set up a camp there and this morning they were scheduled to start hacking their way in. They live deeper in the interior. He blinked and looked closer at it. What he saw gave him something of a shock. He thought he knew every type of service insignia in existence. He was familiar with all of them from the ordinary green badges of the regular police and the red insignia of the galactic criminal police force to the silver shields of the military security men.

They were all more or less the same pattern—a small Earth ball with initials representing one or another of the service branches of the Solar Imperium. The colour of such medallions determined the level or magnitude of cooperation that the bearer could expect to receive from authorities in charge of any operation.

He had never really believed that the violet medallion existed—which purportedly outranked the silver badges by far—until now. Those troops are to turn around as fast as they can and report back here to Modessa. But without doubt this was just such a place. Landry and Randall had had a second conversation with Froyd Coleman in the office of Maj.

So they had come here with Froyd to find him. To Ron and Larry, at the moment, Lofty Patterson was a small, wizened figure who was semi-obscured by the bustle and dim lighting of the tavern but they had been told that he was the best expert concerning the planet of Passa—in fact the last living representative of the first settler group that had landed here, 54 years ago. Ron made an inviting motion with his hand. Froyd walked ahead into the hazy room while Ron and Larry remained near the door.

They saw Froyd tap the old man on the shoulder and then converse with him briefly. Lofty nodded several times and finally Froyd pointed toward the door. The oldster got up and accompanied him.

Ron opened the door for Lofty as they all went out.

There was a cheerful glitter in his eyes, however, as he came along with them with his hands in the pockets of a suit that must have been almost as old as he was.

Ron figured he was probably between 60 and He must have been just a boy when he came to Passa. They came to a stop at the curb where the car was parked that the city had placed at the disposal of Ron and Larry. Lofty opened the conversation in a voice that matched his friendly face. Would that make you feel better?

The Terra Fleet C. Ron Landry had explained to the major that the present situation did not fall within his own jurisdiction and Bushnell had been happy to make his office available for any discussions that might be necessary.

For Ron and Larry this was especially important because the walls of the room were wired against tampering. Amy attempt to bug the place would be detected in the security centre. Once arrived, Lofty did not appear to be completely at ease in these surroundings. He narrowed his eyes and looked about him before he answered.

Just jump in the ocean sometime and try to swim after a shark. What will you come up with? That sounds convincing. Good, that makes sense. The Evergreens only attack when the cards are stacked in their favour. He raised his left arm and pointed to the small transceiver on his wrist. Ron nodded to him. He had heard the soft buzzing of its receiver. Froyd raised it toward him and answered the call.

Froyd had very few words to say. The most important part of the conversation was coming from the other end. Finally he lowered his arm and looked at the three men one after another as he spoke. They had managed to split up the expedition forces by luring them on in different directions with obvious signs of their passage. Each glider group ended up following a separate spoor until each man crew was on its own recognizance.

As reported by three survivors of one of these sorties, the Evergreens had charged them at the moment when their glider landed and the men were getting out. The Evergreens had swarmed upon them with a force that must have numbered at least They must have been waiting to charge from concealment because the pilot had not seen a sign of them as he had come down.

In the confusion of the bloody battle the three men who brought in the report had managed to get away in the thickets of the glass forest. However, these three were not the only ones who had escaped the strategy of the Evergreens. One fully manned glider had been spared because its pilot had been too cautious to attempt a haphazard landing inside the forest.

The three survivors from the other group had seen this glider several times from a distance and finally it came near enough so that they could attract its attention. The craft lowered to a point where the exhausted fugitives could be drawn up on a hoist line.

The 3 shaftgals at the concave console panel made only a few more adjustments of the knobs with their taloned hands. Outside beyond the alien ships a phantomesque drama was silently performed.

One assembly complex after another disappeared, apparently dissolving into thin air. Without using a matter transmitter or receiver, a gigantic machine installation spreading over 3 square km was transferred 10, meters deep through earth and rocks into a cavern that had just been prepared for it.

Unit by unit, the huge components were again assembled in a circle just as they had been on the surface within the cordon of spaceships. After the spectral performance had gone on for half a Vagabond hour, Gal-Enn received a signal which confirmed that the scheduled operation had been completed.

Gal-Enn no longer needed the concentrated energy of all orghs combined. His 3 shaftgals received orders to reduce the master hookup to the former pattern of individual orgh operation.

The manipulation of the protuberances on the concave control board began anew. In the third ship beyond him, another shaftgal sat alone in a room that was filled with indescribable equipment. The complex instrumentation here had no resemblance to either Arkonide, Terranian or even Druuf construction.

His task was to determine whether or not the charges being effected were in accordance with the forecast planning of their scientists. At an altitude of several thousand meters a Terranian ship of the light cruiser class had been flying around the planet for some hours while obtaining a series of cartographic photos and meanwhile the more than monster ships lay below under a screen of invisibility as they waited for the first indications that their experiment was progressing as planned.

In his instrumented work lab the observing shaftgal compared his memorystored data from the scientists with the indications on his multiple panels and screens. But he still hesitated to inform the Gal-Enn that the operation within the planet was turning out to be successful. Another Vagabond hour passed while the light cruiser of the Solar Fleet continued circumnavigating the planet and then the shaftgal became certain that their experiment would be crowned with success.

He transmitted the results of his observations to the Gal-Enn. He still continued to ignore the alien spaceship circling the planet.

The 10th time unit was reached. But they were too sure of themselves. Yet the Terranians were dubious about their indications because this was not only a highly unusual type of tracking pickup, it was also unusable.

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The position indicator was switched to maximum magnification but it revealed nothing. Therefore the crew in the Control Central of the spherical ship came to the conclusion that their echo-wave analyser was in need of repairs.

So it was that a combination of chance circumstances enabled the giant fleet of the monsters to leave the planet Vagabond right under the eyes of the Terranian reconnaissance ship. The mousebeaver who was also a lieutenant in the Mutant Corps was no longer the Pucky that everyone had always known. After his last mission against Thomas Cardif on the important Springer planet Archetz the change began to occur. Following his return to Earth it was at first not noticeable but when it finally reached a certain stage of development Bell was the first to see it.

The red-haired first Deputy of the Solar Administrator had jokingly greeted him and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder.

What gives with you, little buddy? Are you sick or something? Leave me alone! With a shrug, Bell had returned to his daily routine of activities but a few days later he was reminded of the situation when Perry Rhodan happened to mention something about it during one of their conversations.

The little scamp seems to be out of tune with things. No more tricks or escapades… no more laughs. He even avoids me. Is he doing that to you? But from day to day, Pucky was acting more and more strangely.

In the midst of his broodings his incisor tooth remained stubbornly concealed. He did not even know himself what was wrong. Although he did not feel sick he was depressed, listless and continuously perturbed.

Often he would try to avoid facing himself in this mood but he had not succeeded any more than anyone else who had ever tried it. Yesterday the Chief had given him a call. He wanted to be left alone in peace and not have to talk to anybody or see anybody. After a few sentences, Rhodan had given it up. In a disturbed frame of mind he had gotten in touch then with John Marshall, the Chief of the Mutant Corps. Marshall did not know either.

Maybe he really is sick, or else his age is suddenly starting to show. How old is Pucky, anyway? Do you know, sir? I think Bell tried to get it out of him once about 20 years ago but he had acted like an aging old maid and resisted telling him. I wonder if his little carcass would respond to a biological cell shower treatment?

Why should I spoil the party for you? I have to distract myself somehow. Are you familiar with it, Perry? He described Paris for him as colourfully as possible but in the middle of the description Pucky waved it off apathetically. Do me the favour of keeping Fatso away, will you? What the heck! This is—this is unbearable! Pucky had cut off the connection. However, 6 days prior to this Rhodan was startled by a shimmering phenomenon in front of his desk, which resulted in the sudden appearance of Pucky.

Rhodan looked at him in pleasant surprise.

Are you alright again, old friend? He would have made even more concessions if necessary to cheer up the droll little fellow. The mousebeaver let out a whistle. So please, good old Perry, will you let me make a flight…? He pulled Pucky to him and set him on his lap, placing an arm around him. So he has homesickness, Rhodan was still thinking. This little scamp was homesick for the cold and dreary planet Vagabond and for his own kind. Do you want a ship to take you there or would you rather go alone?

This sign was answer enough yet in his enthusiasm at being relieved of an unbearable tension, Pucky fairly bubbled. What can I use to blast off in, Chief?

I want to get to Vagabond, alone this time. Finally he even broke out in resounding laughter. However, my chubby friend, there is a slight damper on this celebration. But Rhodan would not relent. Yes or no? He slipped off the edge of the desk and came around to Rhodan, bending over Pucky as though to take hold of him.

Only you should try to teach me only half as many new slang words as usual from now on. The mousebeaver sought to soften things down.

How much leave time do I get, Chief? Will that be enough? In spite of his pranks and unsanctioned activities which had cost him many reprimands and extra unpleasant hours of punishment, he had not lost his natural sense of discretion. He looked from Rhodan to Bell. Or have me kill myself with boredom? Disobey an order? The mousebeaver had elected to make himself scarce with a teleport jump. The next moment, Bell burst out laughing.

That sort of gets me, you know? Perry, is it OK with you if I get busy with a Space-jet conversion? The order was signed by Lt. The department was not very happy with the assignment because the delivery schedule called for finishing all 30 of the suits for Lt. Puck this very same day. Of all the nerve! However, he did use the intercom to present his grievance to Reginald Bell because rumour had it that he was always having fights with this arrogant mousebeaver.

I could understand maybe 3 reserve suits but 30 all at once?! Puck drove out to his Space-jet SJ, which was supposed to be capable of bringing him to Vagabond in two hypertransitions. It was still early dawn in Terrania and people in the metropolis were still asleep, provided they were not on a graveyard shift.

Traffic on the giant spaceport was fairly negligible. Out on landing strip 56 the impulse engines of a heavy cruiser were just dying down. The last guttering rumbles of the powerful propulsion units were echoing away. The disc-shaped Space-jet SJ, measuring 35 meters in diameter, had gone through a number of hours of conversion work.

A robot team had so re-circuited the controls that the ship could now be started, flown and landed by a single pilot. As Pucky climbed up through his SJ and went to the small control room, he felt like the emperor of China. His thoughts were already ahead of him on his forthcoming flight and he pictured his triumphant arrival on Vagabond in glowing Technicolor.

In this roseate mood he took his place in the special pilot seat which had been redesigned for his figure. He strapped himself in.

Perry Rhodan 1

His single incisor tooth was a glorious sight to see. Pretty quick now, Terrania would see a thing or two—just wait! The powerful impulse engines of the Space-jet had been warmed up. The airlock closed. Video-voice contact with spaceport traffic control was in operation. However, before all that Pucky wanted to demonstrate that he could fly one of these star boats all by himself.

And A. Pucky had picked up an expression from Bell which was sometimes used by pilots on the bigger ships. There was a sharp call from the control tower but Pucky neither understood it nor even cared to hear it.

The SJ began to accelerate wildly but Pucky held it at a foot altitude over the Terrania spaceport. He headed straight for the control tower! Panob screen magnification 1. As the Space-jet pulled up dangerously close to the tower it also broke the sound barrier. Among a hundred thousand or so sleepers who jumped out of bed and cursed this unexpected nuisance was one Reginald Bell. And he guessed at once who had probably unleashed the hellish turmoil.

But he seemed to forget that now and again he had also taken the controls of a spaceship in hand and brought it down in a crash-landing approach. The only thing wrong with Bell at the moment was a twinge of conscience. He had often yelled it himself during emergency takeoffs and crash-landing retrobraking. Pucky knew how to fly and he loved it.

A slow climb in a series of shallow spirals was irresistible. It made little difference to him if he arrived an hour earlier or later on Vagabond. Puck, this is traffic control! We are waiting for your reply, Lieutenant! Eltzahn, Lt. Eltzahn had to swallow it.

Perry Rhodan 116 - Duel Under The Double Sun

The latter used a few expletives of his own after he had cut off the connection. Finally the time arrived when Pucky had to switch to his autopilot so that the main flight could be taken over by the preprogrammed navigation computer. A mere kangy kangaroo hop; kitty hop hop like that you should be able to handle with one hand tied behind you. Travelling on Earth by automobile was more difficult and considerably more hazardous!

The main synchro-switch closed into contact position. It was the last thing Pucky had to do. The first transition occurred beyond the orbit of Erebus. The Space-jet rematerialised into normal space at a distance of 1, light-years from Earth. When it was over with, Pucky still sat there in his seat with his safety belt buckled.

He had forgotten it because there was something else on his mind as he stared incredulously at the panob screen. OK, just wait, Fatso—revenge is sweet! He had even come out into normal space with his stern to the goal but now behind him he could make out the reddish, dimly gleaming point of light that was his home. And there was the dull red eye of the dying sun—the only star within many hundreds of light-years, and with but one small, cold planet.

He was distracted by the typical clicking sound of a tape strip popping into the receiver tray of the positronicon and he finally turned to pick up the piece of plastic metal foil. According to the computer message, Vagabond had deviated 80 million km from its normal orbit and had approached its sun by a similar distance.

The rotation rate had changed from That heat! Pucky thought in horrified alarm. And suddenly the calm and collected mousebeaver lost all rational perspective of what was mandatory and what was prohibitive under the circumstances.

In a case like this he should not land on Vagabond. He should send a message to Perry Rhodan over the hypercom. After all, he knew that for almost the past 4 months there had been some strange and as yet unexplained phenomena occurring on Vagabond. And perhaps Pucky would have responded in the proper manner and done all the right things but at this moment his telepathic senses had become aware of despair, alarm, horror and death—fear.

The creatures of his race were mentally crying out and pouring their telepathic impulses into one desperate distress call, probing outward with it into the depths of the void. Pucky bit the controls. Manual override—out with the autopilot. Main synchro-switch—deactivate. The inertial absorbers began to howl in complaint and two sirens started to shriek their warnings. Generator overload! Pucky flew against all his training and reason. Once straightened out on its course, the SJ hurtled wildly toward Vagabond.

Save them! I must save them from that flaming inferno. At least I owe them that. Who has made this attack on my home world? The Druufs? The Springers? The Aras? Oh Perry, you must help me destroy those scoundrels! Yet the idea of making a hypercom contact with his best friend simply did not occur to him.

There was a short-circuit in his brain convolutions. He urged the Space-jet after the planet as it receded on its already dwindling orbit. The sirens continued to howl. Red lights flickered on the flight panel.

Two vital relays had already gone out. Both of them were automatically replaced by reserve relay circuits but if these burned out there were no more spares. Pucky let the sirens scream. He kept the impulse engines on full power overload. He was blindly determined to get to Vagabond as soon as possible at his limited under light speed. He kept thinking desperately about the heat there. For his own kind he knew this would be like the fires of Hell!

Using the panob viewscreens, Pucky flew by sight alone. Everything he did was the wrong thing. Blazing galaxies, who could have done this? He tried with all his might to make telepathic contact with at least one mousebeaver but could not get through And this only frightened him more.

What was going on?! In a helpless frenzy, Pucky fixed his burning gaze on the disc emerging on his screen, unaware that panic had seized him. The sudden thought struck him that he had 30 spacesuits with him on board the ship. How come I asked to have that many made? Why did it take me this long to realize that I was homesick? Loewe Verlag.

Lukeman Literary Management. Machandel Verlag. MCK Verlag. MFM Entertainment. MobileRead Editions. Null Papier Gratis.

Null Papier Verlag. Oak Press, LLC. Oetinger Taschenbuch. Olymp Classics. Oregan Publishing. Papierverzierer Verlag. Parc Ela. Penguin Verlag. Penhaligon Verlag. Perry Rhodan digital. Peter Braukmann.

Phoenix Classics. Piper ebooks. Prometheus Classics. Psychothriller GmbH E-Book. Public Doamain. Public Domain. Ravensburger Buchverlag. Reinhard Pantel. Residenz Verlag. Richard K. Schreibwerk AutorInnengruppe. Styria Premium. Susanne Gerdom. Tina Folsom. TiPP 4 Verlag. Transit Buchverlag. Uksak E-Books. Ulisses Spiele. Ullstein eBooks. Verbrecher Verlag. Verlag 3. Virna DePaul. Wilhelm Busch.Grimpel with all reconnaissance data! Pucky had come to Vagabond to make a great show.

Ellimist Chronicles Animorphs. No one knew how or why. Gal-Enn was no sooner informed by the orgh that the cavern had reached the required dimensions before he beamed out the command to start the transfer and installation.

JAUNITA from North Carolina
Also read my other posts. One of my hobbies is falconry. I do enjoy reading comics softly.