by Hans Kneifel
About three dozen crude huts had been assembled between the landing site and the edge of the forest. They cast long, bizarre shadows. Plant fronds, thin stems and branches, plastic tarpaulins, and thin ropes held the ramshackle structures together. They offered shade but little protection from wind and rain.
"External temperature 22 degrees Celsius in the early morning," Rhodan said. "We're landing. There, at the edge of the burned area."
Humming, the Space-Jet sank down on its landing struts. Clouds of ash billowed up. Some Lemurian descendants poured out of their shelters, shaded their eyes from the sun, and stared at the Space-Jet. Several dozen survivors ran away in panic and hid in the bushes. Others waited, uncertain and fearful. Then some Lemurians waved and came hesitantly closer. Within a few minutes, about 75 individuals had finally gathered. Many others did not dare come very close.
Hyman Mahal checked the air analysis readings. "The remote scans were correct. It's a highly compatible composition. We can breathe it without any worries."
Rhodan raised his arm, waved back, and switched on the com system. All checks showed complete operational readiness. "Sharita! Maphan von Baloy!" he said into the microphone of his headset. "We've found two shuttles and their passengers. Looks suspiciously like a crash landing. How's your reception?"
"We can see and hear you perfectly," Driscol replied. "Don't worry about it. Was the second blip actually another shuttle?"
"We'll find out in a few minutes," Rhodan said, and deactivated his seat's restraining field. "We're going outside."
The Menttia of the Sand Surf watched as the two angular, massive metal bodies were joined by a third that came to a stop on spider-leg supports. The strangers, who had for three dozen day and night changes behaved helplessly and unaggressively, ran around in confusion. Two figures—almost identical in appearance with the earlier arrivals except for skin color—climbed out of the small space vehicle that shone silver-gray in the morning sun.
—Are they as harmless as the others?—
—They are different strangers. They behave as though they are waiting.—
—Waiting, as are we!—
—Let us continue to observe what the visitors do. We have separated a small group. They cannot do anything to us!—
For hundreds of generations, the Menttia had known they were all but invisible in sunlight to all creatures of their home world. They formed into a lens-shaped disc and began to circle over the meeting of the strangers, several thousand feet above the strip of land between sea and forest. They had been observing the castaways for a long time—and time was something, like energy, that they possessed in massive amounts.
Rhodan received the call while climbing down the Space-Jet's narrow exit ladder. He stopped and pressed the tiny speaker deeper into his ear.
"Rhodan here. I'm listening."
"Kealil Ron," a voice said in Akonian from the speaker. "I'm calling the Terran Space-Jet commanded by Perry Rhodan."
"I'm listening," Rhodan repeated.
The Shift pilot switched to Intercosmo. "We've found two sections or fragments of the ark. A lot of survivors, many injured. We're flying there now and hoping we can help them. It's about 300 kilometers from you, to the northeast of your position."
"Understood." Rhodan climbed the rungs back into the Space-Jet's cockpit.
Shimon watched as Ron sent them the coordinates of the ark remnants' location along with macroholos of the landscape. The two Space-Jet occupants looked at the holo-displays on their consoles and tried to make out features in the small image. Rhodan considered the details of the damaged, fragmentary section of the ark. "It must have crashed during the attempted landing of the shuttles."
Rhodan and Shimon left the Space-Jet with open spacesuits and walked towards the Lemurians. The morning air was cool and smelled slightly of seawater and heated metal. After a few steps, Rhodan saw that he had been correct in his assumption. At least as far as his deduction that each ark had different conditions on board. The closer he came to the group, the more it became evident that mutations had occurred during the many Lemurian generations. He looked into black and white striped faces, noticed horn-like patches on the dark skin and saw albino-like survivors with white manes and black knuckles. Among the many dark-skinned men and women there were a few individuals with reptilian skin on their heads instead of hair. He gently took Denetree's arm and nudged her a step forward. "Tell them who we are and ask what happened. If a former ark-inhabitant speaks with them, it will help build mutual trust."
"I understand, Perry," she replied. "Of course."
He listened as Denetree greeted the survivors in their own language. They immediately crowded around her. Rhodan, Shimon, and Dr. Mahal listened; only rarely now did they need the help of their translation units. The Picosyn in Rhodan's wristband and the central unit communicated via hypercom with the PALENQUE's Syntron; every word was stored in the central translator memory. At first the Lemurians all tried to talk at once, then a slender man of about forty stepped forward, gathered his courage, and began to speak.
"I am Kalymel, the pilot of the shuttle OVIR EDANA. Since the crash we haven't known what we should do. Stay here, build houses, go hunting—things we have no experience in. Or should we admit that it's hopeless and simply give up? This is how you find us ... Where do you come from?"
"From far away. From Terra. We look similar to you," Rhodan added, choosing his words carefully in order to avoid detailed explanations. "You and we—we both have a thousand questions to answer. You don't need to be afraid of us."
"We ... we have no experience with strangers," Kalymel said. "We were always in the Ship. The LEMCHA OVIR. Did you see how many ran away? Some of us are afraid of you."
"There is no reason to be," Rhodan assured him. "You should be as curious as we are." He indicated the shuttles. "Your landing craft seem to be still usable. We have found a wreck that is probably your ship. We call it an 'ark,'. We don't think it can ever take off again."
The mutated Lemurian's expression showed Rhodan that Kalymel had judged the situation as realistically as possible and, despite his confusion, he was trying to display calm determination.
Kalymel shook his head slowly. "I don't think so, either. How could it? With what? You must have seen how the great rock tore the Ship ... er, the 'ark' apart."
"We will help you as much as we can," Rhodan said. "We have many questions to ask you. At any rate, we've found you and other pieces of the LEMCHA OVIR have been located as well."
"How do you know the name of the Star of Hope?"
"From the data of another ark, a different ship. It's complicated. Let's stick with the important problems for now. Do you have enough supplies to survive?"
"For a few more days. We are searching for the remains of the ship."
"We've found that for you. You should join the other survivors. But that can wait a while longer."
The joy that greeted Rhodan's suggestion was evident but cautious. Then the Lemurian mutant, Technon, and shuttle pilot Kalymel and his comrades Ascelin and Macaire described the last hours of the ark. They pointed to the damaged shuttles and concluded their story: "We don't have any radio contact with the Ship. Ascelin, the shuttle pilot from Quadrant West-Blue, was able to take off a second time and land here with 81 people. As for other survivors who are stranded on Mentack Nutai, we don't know anything."
The other Lemurians were gradually losing their fear of the strangers. They began to let their curiosity show. A thousand questions hung unasked in the air.
The Lemurian that Rhodan spoke differed only a little from the language of the ark-inhabitants. Shimon absent-mindedly twisted the ends of his brown moustache as he listened. He observed in fascination the colors and forms of the conspicuous mutations; for almost all Lemurians, the dark color of their skin was predominant. Rhodan realized that he was facing members of a people that had long been absorbed into galactic evolution. Like Denetree, the people in the two arks were the last living Lemu
rians. At some point Denetree would also realize this, probably at the worst possible moment, and it would plunge her into hopeless despair again. I won't confront her with this fact, Rhodan thought. "We were horrified that we could only find wreckage from your ship," he said. "There's at least one other place on ... what do you call this planet?"
"Nutai's Destiny. Our commander named the red sun Ichest."
Stopover, Rhodan thought.
The shuttle pilot pointed up into the sky. "The seventh planet is Ovir's Nexas, the sixth is Lemcha's Reabion. For the moons, which most of us are afraid of, we don't have any names yet."
"Ovir's Lighthouse and Lemcha's Island ... " Rhodan said half to himself, then went on. "Our other groups have found survivors and at least one large fragment of the OVIR. We'll soon know more. So the ark broke apart during landing?"
"I had just taken off in the shuttle when an asteroid struck the OVIR." The rays from the low sun reflected iridescently from the scales on the parts of Kalymel's body that were like a snake's skin. "It was probably two asteroids. But everything happened too fast. I saw some debris from the ship flying off with the asteroids."
"We will find out more," Rhodan replied.
Over an almost smokeless fire, dozens of water-filled containers of various sizes stood on a metal grid. Rhodan realized that the survivors did not have adequate equipment; there was apparently not even a kettle or container that was large enough. Shuttles aren't vehicles for major expeditions, he said to himself and spoke a message into his wristband unit.
After a low-voiced comment from Hyman Mahal, whose half-bald head glistened with thick drops of sweat, Denetree asked if the survivors needed medical assistance. Then she turned to Rhodan and the physician. "They've helped themselves with the shuttle's emergency supplies. There aren't any serious injuries."
"Are you armed?" Rhodan asked Kalymel. "Are there dangerous animals? Or other dangers that you've already encountered?"
"We hear loud cries from the forest," Kalymel replied, "mostly at night. We haven't dared venture in very far as yet. Two kinds of berries and one kind of tree fruit are edible, and so far no one has gotten sick. We are sufficiently armed."
Macaire nudged Kalymel. "When we know where the wreck of the ship is, we will find our Naahk. The commander, the 'Star Seeker' Atubur Nutai. He will tell us what we must do."
"We'll help you with the search, I promise," Rhodan said. "We'll also be glad to help you with emergency rations from our spacecraft." In a corner of his thoughts he was still surprised that the two crawlers, the Shift, and the Space-Jet could still function without any limitations. Since neither Sharita Coho nor the Maphan had sent any warnings, the situation had apparently remained stable.
Rhodan rested his hand on the shoulder of Kalymel. "A few of your people should help us unload food supplies. We'll come back. First we'll fly to the other fragments of the LEMCHA OVIR."
"How is it that you, the young woman, and your little wristband unit speak our language?" Kalymel asked.
Rhodan smiled. He had the impression that, despite everything, some of the former ark inhabitants looked at the forced stay on Mentack Nutai as newly gained freedom and showed little sign of depression. Still, they were in need of assistance. The emergency shelters showed their builders lacked the capability to adapt quickly. But they worked, made an effort, showed they could rise to the challenge. There were probably still many sufficiently intact living quarters within the wreck.
He shrugged. "It's a long and rather involved story. We'll talk about it when we've seen the other crash sites. How many days and nights has it been since your landing?"
"Thirty-five, maybe thirty-six days."
On board the PALENQUE, they had estimated a longer period of time. Rhodan thought of the hyperdetection signal. "Please help the ark people," he said to Denetree. "Isaias and Hyman will show you where the emergency supplies are. Meanwhile I'll ask the others what they've found out."
"Right away, Perry," Denetree replied. "I haven't quite understood yet what happened to the second ark. All I know is that they've more-or-less decided to go on living here."
"It's much too soon to make any plans for that," Rhodan said as the group walked across the burned ground to the Space-Jet. Ashes flew up with each step. The sun stood just above the horizon; a hot day was in the offing. "When we see the main section of the wreck, we'll get more information."
They unloaded about three-fourths of the emergency supplies, leaving just enough reserves for themselves: concentrated food, antibiotics, the largest pots from the tiny kitchen, and liquitainers filled with special drinks enriched with vitamins and minerals. Meanwhile, Rhodan called the Shift and the two crawlers in turn and had them send him the data they had collected so far. Then he fed the data to the two auto-pilot Syntrons. When his companions were all once more sitting in the cockpit, he played back the recorded images and descriptions.
"We will find about a third of a fragmented ring, measuring 400 by 125 meters or so. And about twenty kilometers away from it is a kind of cylindrical module, relatively undamaged. That was probably the ark's central section."
He switched on the engines and was surprised as they slowly but dependably came to life. "Let's go have a look." Then he looked at Shimon and Mahal. "Don't let yourself be fooled by the seemingly idyllic nature of this planet," he said in a low voice but with an unmistakable sharpness. "We've only scratched the surface of mysteries that could prove to be both dangerous and far-reaching."
"What do you mean by that, Perry?" Shimon asked as Rhodan took the Space-Jet into the sky.
"Just keep your eyes open. And remember an ancient rule of thumb: never forget that behind even something that seems perfectly harmless, there could be a nasty surprise waiting to bite."
The Space-Jet flew over the landscape at a low altitude and circled the shuttles' landing site once more. The exterior cameras showed an overall view of the disorganized settlement and makeshift huts. But they also showed that these Lemurian descendants had a relatively high potential for survival, and at least in the short-term, could take care of themselves. They probably had what it took to endure as a Lemurian community despite all adversity.
6
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis
The PALENQUE's last mission had been fairly unsuccessful. Numerous prospectors had been swarming in the Ochent Nebula for several years. They were all searching for exciting discoveries that promised quick and enormous wealth such as five-dimensionally radiant quartz, or rare ores in easily exploited deposits. The ark had certainly been the biggest object that promised success so far. Now a large, uninhabited planet lay below Crawler V, and the three men in the tiny cabin thought of little else than exploration and success. Of course, they had not forgotten the death of their fellow prospectors and the loss of a crawler, but in spite of their grief they were still determined to search for valuable minerals. During this mission, at least, they would have to suppress their pain.
The team's real names were known on board, but the PALENQUE's crew never called the three anything but "the Dumas trio," Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. Somehow they fit the picture of how readers imagined the Three Musketeers.
"Down there," Aramis said, twirling and moistening the turned-up ends of his mustache with saliva, "Rhodan smells the secrets of the ark. As for me, I'm catching a whiff of dinosaur skeletons petrified into pure precious stones."
Creeping along at sublight speed, the crawler broke away from the formation and left the Space-Jet, and the Akonian Shift behind. When a long, gently curving seacoast and the mouth of a river appeared in a break in the clouds, the crawler swung to the left under Aramis' guidance.
"All the sensors are activated," Athos reported and leaned back. Through the porthole of the tiny cabin he watched the landscape as it seemed to leap towards the crawler. Long waves of surf rolled towards a sandy shoreline, which was broken by individual outcroppings of eroded trachyte. The peaceful landscape of an ancient world. Far ahead appeared dark b
ands of forests.
"It's an old planet," Athos said, thinking out loud. "With low tides and no volcanic activity. Could mean that a lot of ores, very pure carbon—diamonds, that is—and everything else have been flushed out of the deeper rock layers."
"Then they'd be found in the flood zones of the river deltas," Porthos said. "I think that's one there on the horizon."
"We're on a direct course to the delta," Aramis replied.
The construction of the crawler resembled a technological nightmare that the modifications of recent days had only slightly lessened. It was a wild mixture of disassembled robots, cubes, spheres, struts, projectors, and retractable spider legs. All were in various colors and sizes, and within this high-tech chaos the builders had filled the hollow spaces with an unusually shaped cabin. The occupants had just enough room to stand between the seats. In a so-called galley, measuring a cubic meter, were survival rations, a drink server, a few supplies, and a toolkit. A simple but practical pull-out unit in the one-man airlock served as a toilet.
Supported by antigrav, the crawler descended in the early morning light towards the dark line of the horizon.
"What are the detectors showing, Athos?" Aramis wanted to know.
Holo displays and archaic instruments glowed on the upper surface of the planetologist's cramped console. "Nothing worthwhile."
"I'm smelling veins of pure platinum, thick as sea serpents," Aramis muttered.
"Or a big hole where the Blues or whoever have already dug everything out," Porthos joked.
Aramis leveled off and cut back the speed even further. The experience of hundreds of missions and innumerable mistakes painted the landscape beneath them far more precisely than any description.
From out of the deep interior of a continent whose mountains had been worn down by time, streams meandered into a river that in turn reached for the sea in wide, sweeping bends. The edges of the huge delta at the river's mouth and the large, flat alluvial islands were covered with ancient forest. In the past, the river had eaten its way through the land and left deep canyons that had slowly filled with gravel, sand, and soil since ancient times. At a minimum, the landscape altered by the delta stretched an estimated hundred kilometers into the interior.
