With his doomed craft in flames and the ground coming up to meet him at supersonic speed, Janno pressed the escape button.

But . . .

I’m going to hit that hightension cable!

ZZZZZKKK-K-K-KK!

They found him later.

Is he? . .

As near as makes no difference!

In fact, Janno did not die. And, after an examination of his craft’s wreckage, a report was made to his uncle the emperor.

The craft was fired upon, you say?—Fired upon by whom?

That, Imperial Majesty, only Janno can tell us, when he recovers . . .























. . . If he recovers!

Another matter for your attention, Imperial Majesty. While enquiring into the strange disappearance of Marshal Rossu, our computers have come up with a series of most remarkable coincidences . . .

Explain yourself, Colonel.

See, Imperial Majesty—there have been no less than seven other disappearances in the last lunar month.

You are surely not suggesting some connection? What possible link exists between the Marshal of the Trigan Air Fleet and . . . for instance . . . a beggar?

The circumstances of the disappearances provides the only link so far, Imperial Majesty . . .

All seven persons were seen, apparently hale and hearty, immediately prior to vanishing . . .

And all left their outer clothing behind.

Rossi was the youngest senator the Empire had ever known, and tipped for Supreme Minister before he was much older.

Do not wait for me. I will find my own way home.

Yes, Excellency.

Rossi had—a certain weakness . . .

Gambling was his passion. He played badly and staked recklessly.

Fool that I am, I’m ruined . . . ruined!

But help was at hand. As soon as Rossi arrived home, he had a call.

 . . . Listen carefully . . .

Who are you?

That is immaterial, Excellency. I am a friend. I am willing to pay off all your gambling debts—in return for a simple service that you must perform for me . . .

This instalment was originally published in Look and Learn issue no. 755 on 3 July 1976.

The Air Fleet base near Trigan City was a scene of colourful activity. An inspection by no less than Marshal Rossu, chief of the mighty Trigan Air Arm.

It was the occasion of the Emperor’s birthday. The Marshal paused for a word with the Emperor’s nephew, Janno.

Ah, Lieutenant Janno. You will, of course, be attending the reception at the palace after the fly-past. Join me after we land, and accompany me in my automobile.

Yes, Excellency. Thank you.

Later, led by Marshal Rossu’s all-red fighting craft, Janno and his companions flew in tight formation over the Imperial Palace . . .

. . . where the Emperor Trigo took the salute.

After the fly-past, the Marshal’s craft was first to land.























And then, as it came to a halt . . .

Hey! Where’s the pilot?

The Marshal! He—he’s disappeared!

Nothing here but his flying kit!

News was brought to the Emperor.

He can’t have disappeared!

It’s true, Uncle! One instant his Excellency was at the controls, the next there was nothing left but his helmet and gravity-suit.

The Air Fleet High Command held an enquiry some days later. Ten mechanics gave evidence and all told the same tale.

You were the first to point out that there was no pilot in the craft as it taxied to a halt?

Yes, sir. And when we looked inside, he’d vanished!

Other enquiries—of a more confidential nature—were made at the Emperor’s orders. But to no avail.

The Marshal has a happy family life. His financial affairs are in good order, his health excellent. There is no reason, in the opinion of the secret police, why he should choose to disappear.

Then he must have been taken by force, unwillingly. But . . . how?

That morning, at the other side of the city, the owner of a weapons shop made a casual remark to his assistant.

I shall be in my office if you require me.

Yes, sir.

Some time later . . .

‘Scuse me, sir. A gentleman here wants to buy a . . .

By all the stars!

What’s the matter?

My boss has vanished, that’s what! And left his clothes behind!

This instalment was originally published in Look and Learn issue no. 753 on 19 June 1976.

The advanced science and technology of the planet Elekton had its inevitable drawbacks—such as how to dispose of large quantities of poisonous, radioactive industrial waste material. They finally came up with the ultimate solution—space disposal.

Disposal unit airborne!

The disposal units filled with waste were intended to orbit the planet in outer space for eternity, in perfect safety.

By a multi-million mischance—DISASTER!

Emergency! Emergency! Two units have collided!

News of the happening was flashed round the planet—in secret!

Strict security silence to be maintained!

Or there will be widespread panic of the populations!

Alert all heads of states . . .

An emergency conference has been called . . .

An emergency conference of all the states on Elekton was held in Trigan City. The delegates were addressed by the planet’s top scientist, Peric.

The contents of the two units will eventually land on the surface of Elekton, widely distributed. In short, the entire planet is at risk of deadly contamination . . .

Questions were asked including the question uppermost in all minds . . .

What will be the nature of the contamination? What effect will it have upon our peoples?

That I cannot tell, since the combined effect of the two different types of waste contained in the two units is impossible to determine . . .

One thing we know . . . the effect is bound to be cataclysmic!

The delegate from Tharv had a proposal . . .

I suggest that we immediately recruit a secret force to monitor the situation and be prepared to go anywhere on the planet, at an instant’s notice, to deal with emergencies.

The Emperor Trigo supported this proposal . . .

We will call for volunteers from the armed forces, for special hazardous duties of a secret nature.























That same day, a notice appeared at the Trigan Air Fleet base. Janno and his fellow-pilots Keren and Roffa were among the first to see it.

What’s this—they want volunteers for a nasty job!

Well, what do you think?

Anything for a change—let’s all put our names down.

A lunar month passed. Early one morning, in the Vorg mountains, an old couple were picking a wild plant greatly esteemed by Trigans.

Later, they sold the plant—called forus—in the market place of Trigan City.

Lovely forus, fresh this morning!

A clerk in the City Treasurer’s Office, name of Sollum, cooked some for his morning meal.

They smell fine! I bet old Jarros in the flat upstairs will wish he was joining me.

Some time later, Jarros from the flat upstairs called in to see his neighbour—and received the shock of his life!

Are you there, Sollum, old fellow?

Sollum! What are you doing?

No! Aaaaaaghh!

This instalment was originally published in Look and Learn issue no. 748 on 15 May 1976.