Enterprise Stardust

by Perry Rhodan

  His suit was still in order. He nodded with satisfaction and directed his glance further across the vast terrain of such overwhelming, such foreboding aspect.

  This area was not so torn and fragmented as other regions on the moon. Nevertheless, there was no sign of life. The stark contrast between brightest sunlight and darkest shadow painted the landscape with nightmarish contours. There was no shade, in the true sense of the word, no comforting transition between extremes of light and darkness.

  Far away, no longer visible on a horizon that seemed so near, there lay the well-known outlines of the polar region. There was good reason why Perry Rhodan had ascended the lofty crater wall.

  He could see no sign of any object that did not fit into the natural landscape. The Stardust and the pneumo-tent with its mirror-like surface were foreign bodies, obviously, but these now "belonged" in the picture.

  An imperceptible smile played about his lips. Skeptically, with his characteristic detachment, he asked himself what right he had to think such thoughts. He arrived at the conclusion that here he was dealing with a certain audacity of the human mind. What man had conquered at the cost of great effort, that would he treasure and call his own. Therefore, the Stardust belonged with the landscape!

  Rhodan chuckled to himself when he caught him self at this train of thought. Shortly thereafter, the small loudspeaker in his spherical helmet began to crackle. "What's the matter? Hey, Perry, what's going on? Have you run into trouble?"

  Rhodan chuckled quietly to himself again, and his eyes narrowed as he continued his reverie.

  "Perry, why don't you answer?" Reg shouted louder, having naturally overheard Rhodan's laughter through the open communications channel. "What's the matter?"

  "I've taken the liberty of laughing," said Rhodan into his tiny microphone. "If you don't mind."

  A short cough followed a harsh oath.

  "He's standing on a moon crater all alone, and he's laughing." Reg could not help taking a dim view of it. "Who ever heard of such a thing? Fletch, he's standing up there and he's laughing."

  "Well, at least I'm doing something," came Fletcher's grumbling reply. "For half an hour I've been trying desperately, with all ten finger's, to scratch my back. Nothing doing, though. Right where I'd like to scratch, I've got these damned oxygen tanks."

  Reg was roaring. Rhodan turned the volume dial a bit toward the left. The voice of his redheaded friend could wake the dead. "Hey, Perry, what's the air like up there?" the loudspeaker croaked.

  "A thunderstorm is coming up," replied Rhodan dryly.

  Reg fell silent, nonplussed. Rhodan's peculiar humor always affected him this way.

  "Because the air is so highly charged on the moon," he added softly.

  "All right, Commander; but what good is it to know something like that?"

  "That's precisely my point; but I was trying, even on the moon, to convey the information as factually and exactly as I could. From now on I will no longer depend on sound but on sight. Okay? Now, my friend, approximately how far away from you am I in the direct line of sight?"

  "About 850 yards," said Dr. Manoli, amusement in his voice. "I'm seated at the radar screen now, and it has established your distance, accurate to the inch. Efficient, isn't it?"

  "More than efficient," laughed Rhodan. "All right, Reg, here's something for you to do, but I want you please to make a clean and thorough job of it. Take your MPi and adapt your sights to ten times magnification. Distance 848. Fire half a magazine onto the rocky outcrop that looks like the head of a giant, about fifty yards to my left. Do you see it?"

  "I see it," confirmed Reg just as briefly. "May I ask what this joke is all about?"

  "I seldom make jokes when I'm dealing with serious matters. I would like to know how our rocket missiles perform in miniature, especially their force of impact and power of detonation. Begin, and pay close attention to the effect of the recoil under present gravity."

  "There's no recoil whatsoever," asserted Reg. "Every shell has its own propelling force, according to the RAK principle. There can be no recoil. Quite the contrary. I've been informed in great detail on this particular point."

  "Very efficient," Rhodan said sarcastically. "Now fire and please don't mistake me for the rock."

  Reg laughed abruptly. Fletcher observed him silently as he bent to the floor and gathered up the weapon with the short stock and thick barrel. Rhodan's explicit command was that they were never to leave the Stardust without arms.

  Reginald Bell stood in front of the half-finished pneumo-tent. To one side, hardly thirty yards away, the spacecraft reared up into the lunar sky.

  Very carefully, he adjusted the reflex lens on his telescopic sights. Magnification ten times, distance 848 yards.

  Reg hesitated for a few moments. The target was far away though it seemed to leap so much nearer through the lens.

  "Let's get going," came the insistent order. "What are you waiting for? Just imagine that it was this rock that destroyed our remote control guidance. Well?"

  Reg swore loudly. At last he understood what Rhodan's intentions were. The experiment took on greater significance and the thought of needless tomfoolery was quickly forgotten. "For the first ten shots, with your permission, I'll fire only single projectiles," he said. "First I want to see what distance I can make with this thing."

  "Very well. Begin."

  Reg set the stock of the weapon against his shoulder. In the strong magnification of his sight, the rock became clearly visible. He decided that this distance, easily bridged, would be negligible for the incredibly fast missile. Considering the lesser gravity of Earth's satellite and the absence of atmospheric resistance here, the path of trajectory would be an almost straight line. The lens had been constructed for just these conditions. Reg could quite as easily have fired across a distance of several miles. The probability of a direct hit would still be remarkably high.

  Fletcher held his breath as Reg touched the trigger. No sound whatsoever followed. On Earth there would have been an indescribably shrill whistling. Here the discharge took place in an eerie silence.

  From the oval muzzle of the barrel, bright flames emerged and were extinguished at once. It was as if nothing had happened.

  Reg was a bit startled. "Did you notice anything?" he asked breathlessly. "What the dickens… ? You've got to get used to this kind of marksmanship. I didn't feel a thing."

  "But I did," came the dry reply. "The rock fragments flew as far as where I'm standing. The missile was here before you had bent your finger properly. Incredibly fast. The outcrop shows a hole about a foot across and just about as deep. That's really something—after all, that was solid granite. Try it now with a longer burst of fire. So far the RAK has hair trigger accuracy."

  Reg pulled the trigger all the way back. The fiery exhaust blinded his eyes, but from where Rhodan was standing, he could see a bright and whitish shining trajectory trace. This was the path of the burning solid propellants of the small missiles. Where they penetrated the head of darkness close below the hills, a brilliant line of flames arose. Reg's magazine emptied itself before be could even adequately appreciate what was going on.

  There were now only a few wretched remains of the huge rock. The stone fragments that had been blasted upward fell to the ground in exasperating slow motion.

  Rhodan had been able to follow the countless explosions carefully. They had been silent and without shockwaves. Only the shower of debris and the flashing glow had indicated their occurrence.

  "That will do," he said briefly. "A nice toy the armaments division has loaned us, I've got to admit. How long did you hold through, Reg?"

  "Perhaps two seconds," came the astounded reply. "The magazine is empty. Good grief! Ninety shots in that moment."

  "To be exact, the rate of fire is about fifty shots per second. All right, the experiment is over. I'll come down. Eric, how far along are you with dinner?"

  "You can come now. I've been hard at work."

  Rhoda
n looked around once more before sliding down. Then his wide leaps brought him easily over any obstacles in his path. For a man who was used to the null gravity of space, the insignificance of the moon's gravitational pull offered few surprises.

  Twenty minutes later he appeared at the entrance of the pneumo-tent. The construction of the air lock was completed. The air conditioning equipment had been joined to that of the greater installation on board the Stardust.

  "Filling this tent cost us a few gallons of liquid oxygen," declared Fletcher. "Will it be worth our while to waste such a precious commodity this way? I wonder if one day we won't need it more for the control center of the Stardust. Our supply is limited."

  Rhodan halted in front of him. Though he was tall, Fletcher still towered above him for another inch and a half.

  "Fletch, you worry unnecessarily. For the repair of the landing support we will need skill and unlimited mobility. If I chose to work on the molybdenum steel myself, I couldn't be encumbered by that clumsy spacesuit and on the other hand, I wouldn't want to stand in this gaping void in the first place."

  Fletcher blinked up at the dark, incredibly clear starry skies.

  "I was only thinking…" he muttered, and a hesitant smile appeared at his lips.

  "You were thinking about the journey back home, weren't you?" asked Rhodan gently. "Or of the baby or what?"

  Fletcher was silent. His lips were pressed close together.

  "Okay, we fully understand that. But you really ought not to think of it too often. Our plans are made. We've discussed them long enough. We will not undertake any exploratory expeditions until the Stardust is completely restored to working order. We cannot risk a short blast-off followed by a landing on the other side of the pole. The damaged telescoping support could not stand renewed stress. Of course, in space we could navigate for a few miles and, with a brief maneuver, come into the direct line of sight with Earth; but then, as I say we would still have to land again. And it is entirely possible that then the Stardust would be so seriously damaged that we could no longer repair it with the tools we have on board. In other circumstances, I would really think twice about using the oxygen to fill the pneumo-tent. But now there are no objections to our doing so. Is that clear?" Rhodan smiled blankly.

  Fletcher was still gazing up into space. "Clear, entirely clear," was his hollow reply. "But another alternative has occurred to me. Wouldn't it be better to prepare now for the return flight to Earth? We managed to have a crash landing. Okay. But why should we put ourselves out to repair that landing support? The landing on Earth will depend on the efficiency of the bearing surfaces of our wings. We'll set down with our landing gear. It will no longer matter whether the landing support is broken. We'll have a safe descent anyway."

  He looked down, his eyes flickering.

  Rhodan lost neither patience nor presence of mind. Only his tone of voice changed, becoming sharper to an almost imperceptible degree.

  "Fletch, your proposal could of course be carried out, but it would be tantamount to desertion. Let me put it this way–we have here a mission to accomplish, and a slightly damaged landing support will not deter us from accomplishing that mission." His face again became mask-like. "Besides, I have the unpleasant suspicion that we would not be allowed to reach space unhindered. There's something here that we must get cleared up first."

  Fletcher got hold of himself at once. His blue eyes begged wordlessly for forgiveness. Reg began to grin. The case seemed to have been dismissed.

  "Okay, forget what I said," the heavyset man muttered, clearing his throat. "It was only, a thought. After dinner we'll find out where the interfering transmitter is. I've calculated the important data; afterward I'll feed it into the computer."

  "I'll be anxiously awaiting the result," said Rhodan, nodding. "Now, then, let's see what the good doctor has concocted for dinner."

  An indignant snort was audible in their space helmet. Dr. Manoli began to explain, at great length, how and why the master chefs' often lauded art of cuisine was wholly identical with a simple mastery of chemical processes. It all sounded splendid, but somehow it didn't quite ring true.

  At the edge of the still mildly radioactive landing area, below the engines of the Stardust, Rhodan stopped. Before him was suspended the wide net transport basket of the freight elevator. The long arm of the crane swung forth from the open hatch of the storage room, situated immediately beneath their cabins. Rhodan had renounced the use of the ladder along the ship's hull. They would have had to step between the widely outspread landing supports and walk dangerously close to the radioactive engines.

  "For the time being, someone will have to do without the culinary delights we so eagerly expected," Rhodan announced with a grin. His eyes studied the faces of both men. "Well, Reg, will you be so kind as to take over the watch out here? I'll relieve you in about half an hour. Up there on the hill is a good place. Take a look around. We'll keep in touch via radio."

  Reginald Bell was silent. Rhodan's dark voice had told him enough already. As calm as the commander seemed on the outside, within be was tortured by unrest. Before Reg left, his weapon at readiness, he said slowly, "One more question. Are you still thinking of that report according to which a manned moonship is supposed to have been launched by the Asians?"

  "You've hit on it," agreed Rhodan. His eyebrows rose upward. "It's quite possible that someone wanted to make certain that we crashed; and they wanted to see it happen at close range. In my opinion, the interfering transmitter must be near the polar region. So keep your eyes peeled. Our automatic frequency direction finder is systematically probing all possible wavelengths. If we hear something out of place, things will start moving very quickly around here." He looked around, wearing an expression of ostentatious boredom.

  Further up, in the cabin of the Stardust, Dr. Manoli began to feel a chill. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He was among those men who would endure the risk and labor, defying any challenge, in the interest of Science. But it would be quite a different matter if this led to surprising complications. For such as this, Manoli was not well equipped. Plagued by heavy thoughts, he listened to the hum of the crane motors as Rhodan and Fletcher came up in the basket.

  On the video screen Reg's image, becoming smaller and smaller, was still to be seen. Finally, however, it disappeared into the deep darkness of a sun shaded overhang.

  In a moment a whistling sound issued from the air locks. The equalization of atmospheric pressure had been completed. When they entered, the most Manoli could manage was a forced smile.

  "Hello," he said weakly. "We've heard nothing from the direction finder. Nothing at all, except your conversation."

  Rhodan peeled off the space suit. Fletcher's face was covered with perspiration. With joyful gurgling he rubbed his itching back against the wall.

  "Ah!—oh!" he sighed. "That's like heaven on Earth."

  "On Earth they'll think we're lost," Manoli interjected gently.

  Fletcher's cooing stopped.

  "Yes," agreed a nonchalant Rhodan. "That they will, but not for very much longer, I give you my word. Right after dinner we'll begin repair of the landing support."

  Manoli thought of his wife, and Fletcher of his baby. No one talked about it, but everyone knew it. Here was a situation that demanded a firm hand and an iron will to keep things under control. Rhodan possessed both these characteristics.

  CHAPTER SIX

  They were all alone on a strange world, without air, without water, and without life…

  The thin molverdin skin of the low slung full track tank could undoubtedly have withstood fire from heavy cannon. Yet it afforded them no feeling of safety and security.

  Beyond the sheets of steel began the void—the absolute vacuum of space, with all its dangers, known and unknown. It was, however, not so much the constant threat of death that strained the nerves of these men; it was more the forlorn, incredibly alien landscape, more the blazing crescent of the white shining sun, and the high
rising crater walls interspaced with barren planes torn by deep ravines. It was caused by the bizarre ridge and summit of mountain chains that had never been gnawed by the jaws of weather.

  Even the most desolate wasteland on Earth would have seemed familiar and welcoming compared with this.

  All this exerted a psychological pressure not to be under estimated. These were the dangers to mind and soul that one had to accept somehow. One either rose above them and adjusted to them with stoic unconcern or perished. There was no remedy for the insidious corrosive influence of these surroundings.

  In view of these considerations, Rhodan had left Clark G. Fletcher and Dr. Eric Manoli behind in the spaceship. At least two men had to remain at all times in the Stardust, and the commanding officer did not believe that either Fletcher or Manoli had the necessary powers of endurance.

  Fletcher had been given explicit instructions, in writing, to start the Stardust and to bring it into the remote control area should Rhodan not return within eighteen days.

  Captain Fletcher had nodded silently. He was quite capable of launching the fully automated rocket. It would be relatively simple to pilot it into space and follow through with the necessary procedures.

  They had required only five days to repair the broken landing support. Only another twenty-four hours had been needed to set up and equip the lunar tank.

  After an extended period of sleep under the effects of hypno-narcosis, Rhodan and Reginald Bell had departed. The full track vehicle had been tested under the most rigorous conditions. Failure was inconceivable. Each and every part had been checked again and again by a multitude of highly specialized technicians.

  The tank was an unarmed overland transport vehicle with a spacious four man cabin. Its transparent silicon steel dome could be darkened according to need. For the time being, the small loading platform behind the pressurized dome contained only the necessary provisions and spare parts. Rhodan was unwilling to carry out any of the many orders for exploration and research during this expedition.