by Perry Rhodan
"Us?" Captain Klein interjected anxiously.
"Exactly! And we fools even flew in front of their ray projectors for them. We are dealing with a galactic great power, and the Earth has desperately little to oppose it with. No need to frown so, Thora. Your so-called Great Empire is dying. It's time that people on Arkon took a look at what's going on along the rim of the galaxy. Do you still think it's a good idea to give them a shout on the radio? The Topides undoubtedly have super light speed ships. Maybe they've gone home assuming that everybody recognizes them as ruling Arkonides."
The words hurt. The Arkonides reacted to them with a bowing of their heads. Rhodan turned away, but Khrest's question followed him.
"But to whom do those other ships belong? Did you see how rapidly they were being destroyed?"
"Naturally. They are like helpless, bleating sheep, which incidentally we might have been on a larger scale, If these Topides had attacked our solar system. Reg! Kindly get your fingers off the weapon controls! If anybody slips up now we'll have these lizards swarming over the Earth tomorrow. They probably haven't detected their slight error, and they won't as long as the indigenous Vega intelligences around here carry on just as we would have. They defend themselves, that is all. But they are hopelessly outmatched. I don't doubt that these others are the inhabitants of the planet Ferrol, which was discovered more than 10,000 years ago by an Arkonide exploring expedition. They have progressed from primitives to capable space travelers. Now they've got to swallow what was actually meant to be dished out to us."
Rhodan fell silent. The Good Hope hurtled unmolested through space. The arena of the space battle lay far behind.
"And now?" asked Bell. "Do we disappear? And if so—how?"
Rhodan settled into the control seat reflectively. "In the interests of Earth we've got to disappear, but unobtrusively. We'll cruise out of this system at normal sub-light speed. Then we'll have to risk a hyperspace jump. It was very fortunate that our incoming warp disturbance wasn't detected during all the excitement Khrest, do you have anything to say?"
The Arkonide shook his head. Rhodan began to program the board. Again the starboard drivers of the Good Hope roared into life. It was going to take considerable time to face the ship homeward again, because Rhodan preferred to maintain velocity rather than decelerate to a halt.
Orders came in clipped precision. In the upper hemisphere of the ball shaped vessel, Major Deringhouse clambered in disgruntled mood from his fighter. He had counted on a pursuit launching.
Later, when they had achieved an opposite trajectory, the sensors began to warn of objects ahead. Far ahead and dead on course, were countless pieces of wreckage and debris. The area was close to the fourteenth planet, in the area where the space battle had occurred.
"Interesting," remarked Bell. His brow furrowed querulously. "Do you think there are any survivors? Those Ferron people are bound to have developed space suits—I hope! We really ought to make an attempt to talk to one of them."
Rhodan did not answer for several moments. First, he made a slight adjustment of the controls. All four drivers of the Good Hope began to thunder, this time, however, with the propulsion field tubes set in reverse. Khrest suddenly froze. This lanky, mysterious man had just finished saying that it was necessary to disappear from the Vega system as quietly as possible, and now he was locking the entire drive system into a braking manoeuvre. Rhodan was something more than a phenomenon. Khrest had to admit that there was also no one left now in the Greater Empire who could approach this man in his swift dexterity at the ships controls.
"Weapon controls secured," Rhodan said briskly. "You know, that isn't a bad idea, Reg."
"Apparently it's easy for anybody to change your mind for you," snapped Thora. "Just a slight suggestion and you do exactly the opposite of what you lust finished deciding you would do."
Rarely had anyone ever seen Rhodan smile so scornfully. Thora reddened under his gaze.
"There's been a slight error," he advised. "Bell's suggestion wasn't the cause. It was the final data run-out from the positronics. Look at the information on the screens! These beanpole Topidian ships are way behind the Good Hope in their acceleration rating. By the time any of them could even approach the speed of light, we'd be gone into hyperspace ten times over. The egg crates of the Ferrons are still slower. The computer brain has determined the nature of their propulsion. Ultrahigh concentrate photon generators. You can't expect fast pickup from that kind of system. So we'll just have ourselves a look at what's going on out there."
"Wreckage—uncounted swarms of debris!" whispered Dr. Manoli. "Just look at all of it—sensor readings from all directions. There must be survivors somewhere!"
With a quiet smile, Betty Toufry looked at Rhodan. She had read his thoughts. The fact that the Good Hope had a speed advantage over the enemy aliens wasn't the only reason why he was slowing down. He, too, was thinking of the living entities who might he struggling for their lives out there in space.
The ship developed a deceleration rate of three hundred miles per second. In the hangar, Major Deringhouse forced his long frame once more into the cramped cockpit of the space fighter. Several crew members pulled down and fastened the hood over his head...
6/
The manoeuvre had not been easy, inasmuch as it had been carried out deep within the heavy gravitational pull of a giant planet. Even Khrest was amazed at the size of this world, which must have measured three times the diameter of Jupiter.
The wreckage of former spaceships had already started the slow, inexorable drift downward into the grip of the heavy gravitation by the time Rhodan could match the Good Hope's speed and course for salvage operations. After a protracted search in the vacuum of space they had found one survivor. That, and only that. There was nothing more.
When they pulled the creature in through the airlock with the traction beam, they found it close to death by asphyxiation. Also the body of the alien displayed a number of burns, evidently caused by the ultraviolet rays of mighty Vega. The entity had initially cowered in its seat in the control room, intimidated and shaking with fear, until the helpful attentions Of Doctors Haggard and Manoli demonstrated that no one here was intent upon taking its life.
Yes, it was a Ferron, they decided; a descendant of those beings which the Arkonide search expedition had discovered 10,000 years before. Of course, its race had long since outgrown the age of primitive gunpowder weapons. Rhodan thought that actually the Ferrons should have developed further than was apparent. Humankind on Earth had required only five hundred years to graduate from fire to the first satellite rocket. By that yardstick the Ferrons should have long since conquered interstellar travel.
Their means of propulsion had developed only to that stage, however, which required a furtherance of the principles involved in order to progress. The fact finally emerged that the Ferrons lacked the mental capacity, by their nature, to think in fifth-dimensional terms and to work out a corresponding system of mathematics, They were simply not so constituted. Without a high order of mathematics, which ultimately required an exceptional power of the imagination, space travel beyond the speed of light was not possible. So they utilized their extremely reliable quanta propulsion system, which at least had permitted them to achieve the speed of light.
On the other hand they had developed such a marvelous technology of micromechanics that Rhodan's cursory examination of ship parts they had picked up caused him to whistle softly. All in all it had to be recognized that the Ferrons were far ahead of Earth in every respect. It would be some time yet before the intelligent race of Earthmen might reach such a state unaided. Of course, the Ferrons were immeasurably behind the superior technology of the Arkonides.
When the Ferron was brought on board and his thinking processes emerged from the lethargy of total exhaustion, Rhodan made an announcement over the ship's P.A. system. "He's coming to. With the help of telepathy the mutants will try to establish rapport as a basis of understanding with him.
Nevertheless I must insist that everyone avoid the concept or expression of 'Earth' or 'Terra.' Don't forget the location of our home planet must remain a secret. Watch yourselves on that point! However these creatures may seem or whatever they may call themselves, to them we are Arkonides. The Good Hope itself can support that. Besides, we are physically similar to the Arkonides. Therefore, from here on in you will forget that you have come from Earth and where the Earth is. That is all!"
The order was clear and distinct. With a sense of bitterness, the two genuine Arkonides perceived that Perry Rhodan was thinking exclusively of his world and humanity. In this respect he seemed to be a monstrous egotist. In spite of this, however, even Thora was forced to admit, against her will, that the camouflage was absolutely necessary. For her the sudden appearance of the reptilian people had represented a severe blow.
A miraculous special positronic extension of the Arkonide computer equipment served as an instantaneous translator. Once it had registered and classified the first sounds and semantic groupings of Ferron speech, the process of communication proceeded much better. Since the Ferron's rescue, three hours had passed. Voluminous data were provided by the telepaths Betty Toufry and John Marshall and fed into the translating machine, so that the task finally became relatively simple.
Khrest and Thora, who possessed the advantage of eidetic memory, were now beginning to speak haltingly in the other's language. Meanwhile, the Good Hope fell free in an orbit around the oversized fourteenth planet Perry Rhodan held aloof from the discussion group, although the alien's gaze frequently turned to him. Apparently the creature had readily discerned that the power of decision rested with this tall, lanky man.
Rhodan surveyed him carefully. The Ferron was relatively small, though tremendously muscular and broad shouldered. His home planet of Ferrol was supposed to have a gravity reading of 1.4 G, so the stocky bodily structure was to be expected. Arms and legs were entirely humanoid, as well as the head with its uniformly bushy hair and very small eyes deepset under an extremely forward arching brow. The mouth proved to be remarkably small. The most essential difference from humans was his pale blue skin coloration, which contrasted strangely with his copper colored hair. With it all, the Ferron was no monstrosity. There were anatomical differences, to be sure, but nothing unusual.
Rhodan listened to the incomprehensible words that were being spoken. In so doing, he strove in vain to analyze a nameless premonition that was nagging at him. In the back of his brain a faint shred of thought plucked at him, warning him of immediate danger.
John Marshall hurried over to him. The Ferron's watchful gaze followed him. As Rhodan turned, looking at him, the alien came to attention and saluted with a right hand over his chest. Rhodan nodded briefly. The Ferron's space suit was of excellent quality, so precise in its details of fabrication as to present a complete perspective of the technology that had produced it. It was depressing for Rhodan to realize that normal humans were outmatched by these people. All the while, the rescued Ferron appeared to accept the impression that he was dealing with immeasurably superior beings.
"What's going on?" Rhodan asked. "Problems? I don't like the look on your face."
The telepath snorted angrily. Khrest is pumping him full of overblown exaggerations of the power of the Great Empire," he complained.
"I know. He's following my instructions. Anything else?"
Your instructions—that's great! But did you also tell him to dodge all the important questions so that he can chase down clues about the so-called planet of eternal life? There are other things now that concern me more.
He never gives up, does he?" Rhodan muttered. "Is the communication method working?"
"Excellently. The machine is a phenomenon, and Khrest has already built up a tremendous vocabulary."
His eidetic memory. That figures. What does the Ferron say about the attack?"
John Marshall glanced across at the alien. Haggard was administering a second injection, which the creature received calmly. "He calls himself Chaktor and was commander of a small ship that was destroyed about twenty-four hours ago. Here, at the fourteenth planet, the first line of defense was set up. The second line was also destroyed. We were witnesses to that. The third front is sitting right over the home planet, that is, planet eight. He says that the first enemy ships appeared about a week ago. Nobody ever expected such a thing. Panic broke out on Ferrol, and their space fleet seemed headed for doom. Chaktor is frantically pleading for help, and his pleas increase in proportion to Khrest's unlimited exaggerations. Chief, maybe that's not so wise."
Marshall was biting his lips, apparently deeply disturbed.
"What else do the Ferrons have?" asked Rhodan.
"Hardly anything more than that. They don't have any concept of faster than light space travel—that's why his boundless respect for us. Chaktor regards you as a sort of miracle being. They have absolutely no type of defense screens. When their ships get hit by a ray beam, they are lost. They have a giant space fleet at their disposal, mostly commercial ships, which have also been armed, incidentally. They have no energy projection weaponry. Principally they use a sort of rocket artillery with atomic contact heads that have a peculiar method of operation. In the beginning they started to meet with success.
"Khrest says that the invading Topides have a really miserable defensive armament. At first onslaught, their defense screens didn't mean much. The Ferron confirms this, but he says that the Topides gradually learned how to avoid the rocket bombardment. The things travel at only a third the speed of light, and that was their downfall. Once you're on to that weakness, you can do something about it. Mostly the oncoming shots were met with ray beams and detonated harmlessly. Chief, you know, we ought to—"
Rhodan interrupted him with a brief wave of his hand. "Wait a minute, John. How come the Ferrons have such a space fleet? Are there other intelligences around here?
"Underdeveloped, yes. Aside from their home planet the Ferrons have settled planets seven and nine—mainly the ninth one. They are oxygen breathers, of course at higher temperatures than we're used to. Number eight must really be hot. We might find number nine a bit more pleasant. The Ferron requests that we make a landing on planet nine, which is called Rofus."
Rhodan thanked the mutant. He had learned enough. Thoughtfully, he looked at Bell, who sat beside him, apparently detached.
"Well? What do you think?"
"Thanks for asking," Reg grumbled. "You know all this puts a damper on our disappearing act unless we secure this solar system, the Earth won't be safe either. For these Topides a mere twenty-seven light-years would be a milk run! I'd sure like to do some closer snooping around, especially to pick out the enemy's soft points. Under the circumstances I think touching base with the Ferrons would be advantageous. They seem to have all sorts of things that Earthmen could put to good use. Their methods of production and fabrication have got me fired up. Terrific workmanship and technique. There's also something else to consider. The Good Hope outclasses the Topides in velocity and weapons. Any time we want to we can duck into hyperspace and outrun them."
Meditatively, Rhodan got to his feet. "Your think pot is still working, I see. You took the words out of my mouth. Take bearings on planet eight and feed the data to the hyperpositronics. I don't want to lose any time. It jolts me to think that the Topides really had us in mind. Let's have a closer look at these characters. Get on the P.A. system and pass the word."
Moments later, Rhodan stood before the squatly built Ferron. Chaktor humbly bent a knee to him. Then he began to speak rapidly. The simultaneous analyzer translated the words in meaningful context.
Khrest whispered hastily, "I've determined some astonishing contradictions in these people! In some things they are backward, but on the other hand they have what they call material transmitters, which can only be based on fifth dimensional principles. But they are entirely incapable of converting such equipment so that it can transport dematerialized matter faster than light. T
here are an obvious indication of the existence of a superior technology in their midst! He speaks of such a contact in the dim past ages. By all means you must go to the home planet of the Ferrons. I've got to have more information. I am certain that the world of eternal life exists in the Vega system. Those matter transmitters probably come from there!"
"Equipment like that just could be of interest," Rhodan commented gravely.
"How well we read you, Perry!" Thora put in with irony. Mankind über Alles—right?"
Rhodan turned to Chaktor who faced him in grave formality. Rhodan was aware of a strange sensation. Exactly four years ago he had known essentially less than this Ferronian space commander. Had he met him then, it was he who would have been the grossly inferior one. Thora's reddish eyes watched him scornfully. She seemed to divine his thoughts.
He spoke into the pickup of the instantaneous translator. "I will bring you to the ninth planet of your system," he said. "Can you arrange for your own ships not to attack us!"
Chaktor waited until the end of the translation. Then his flat face began to beam. Again came the bended knee, which was distasteful to Rhodan.
Bell broke through with an announcement. "Distance to number eight, slightly over eleven light-hours."
Chaktor confirmed the measurement. In so doing he used symbols that the translator had already learned. The Ferron stared uncomprehendingly at the relatively compact apparatus. Gradually he seemed to look upon the humans as gods. Then his reply came through. Yes, he could transmit the required code signal, if they would place a transmitter at his disposal.
Oh, is that all?" said Captain Klein sceptically. "What kind of transmission do these fellows use?"
"Familiarize him with the terrestrial gear—we've installed a few units on board. He'll be able to use normal ultrashort wave. I'll guarantee you they won't have hypertransmission."
In three hours of ships time the experiment was concluded. Chaktor did not appear to have any difficulty in comprehending the Earthly installations.
