by Perry Rhodan
Guided by Nacro's instructions on the speakers, Rhodan pressed closer to the disaster area until he was stopped by an officer. This was Lt. Mahaut Sikhra, leader of the special commando task force. The rugged little dark-haired Nepalese had a reputation for pluckiness. He was directing the rescue operation.
"You can't go beyond this point, sir."
It seemed obvious. The force of the explosions had wreaked havoc in unsuspected places. Doors had been ripped out of their frames and torn and twisted debris was lying about in all directions. The vacuum of the void might have reached this area also if the hermetic hatches hadn't held. They were now the only shield between the survivors and death.
"What's the situation here, Lieutenant?"
"That's what my men are trying to determine, sir. A small detail passed through an emergency lock into the engine-room area. I'm waiting for a report." He held a micro-transceiver in his hand; it kept him in contact with his troops.
"Was the ship's center the only area that was hit?"
"Unfortunately not, sir. The explosion carved out a release channel. The weakest spots were the cargo holds and the hangars. The blast pressure tore out the bulkheads in that direction and caused further explosions in the weapons arsenal and in the lifeboats. Then came the ring-bulge engines. The detonations there tore off the cowling shields and produced an air leak. So in that direction there's nothing left. I'm afraid the vacuum break-in took more lives than the explosion itself."
Rhodan made no comment. The number of victims was still undetermined but it must be more than 100 men—maybe even 200. The ship itself was a wreck. Was there still a way out of this almost hopeless situation?
The micro-transceiver buzzed. Sikhra switched on. "This is Sikhra. Go ahead!"
"Sgt. Radler, sir. There are no survivors. All dead. If the vacuum hadn't struck so suddenly, some of them might have made it to their emergency suits. But it all came too fast, sir."
Sikhra looked silently at Rhodan. Then he spoke into the mike. "Alright, Radler, come back when you've checked everything. Seal off what you can, for salvage areas. Maybe there are still some quarters that remained airtight. Proceed cautiously."
"You can depend on us, sir!"
Sikhra switched off while still looking at Rhodan. "We can't do any more than that at the moment, sir."
Rhodan only nodded to him. He experienced a terrible sense of emptiness. Did he himself bear the blame for this catastrophe? Or was it merely a statistical law that demanded sacrifices from tests of new discoveries? But could he perhaps have avoided such a sacrifice?
He turned around and headed back the way he had come. While en route he almost fell over Pucky the mouse-beaver who materialized directly in front of him. As a teleporter, Pucky always found it easier to merely 'jump' from one location to another. Apparently he had located Rhodan telepathically in this case, so here he was.
"You couldn't have kept the disaster from happening," said the mouse-beaver in his high-pitched voice. "Stop beating yourself over the head! Nobody's responsible for that explosion—not even Kalup!"
"I'm not blaming anyone but thoughts can't be helped," returned Rhodan as he continued onward. Pucky waddled along behind him.
"Do you know how many men were killed?"
"I don't know yet, but I do know there's only a single space-jet that's usable. All the others were destroyed. They were directly in the path of the blast as the expanding gases broke through."
The space-jets were improved versions of the Gazelle scoutship class and were also disc-shaped. With a diameter of slightly more than 30 meters they didn't offer much room but in an emergency every compartment would have to be crammed full of survivors.
"We have to assemble all the survivors, Pucky. The main mess hall is still intact. Can you organize that operation?"
"Count on me, Chief!" nodded Pucky who was proud to be given an important assignment. He smiled briefly and then disappeared.
Rhodan headed for the Communications Central. He was thinking about sending out another distress call over the hypercom but unfortunately the idea was several minutes too late.
When he was within 20 meters of the door to the Com Room the deck seemed to rise up under his feet and he staggered wildly. As he reached out for support against the wall, the lights went out. Under his hands he could feel a familiar vibration dying out. The power reactors had ceased to function.
After that—an uncanny silence.
Rhodan collected himself and hastened onward. Being familiar with the corridor he was able to find his way in the dark. His groping hand found the bulkhead hatch and he pressed the release that opened it. And in that moment the emergency lighting came on which was powered by a bank of batteries. At least they had remained intact, apparently.
He was astonished to see Dr. Carl Riebsam, the mathematician. What business did he have here in the Corn Room? Rhodan had thought he was back in his cabin where he had left him.
"You here?"
"You took off, sir, and nobody knew where you were. I figured we'd better get off a hypercom signal and we had just set up the call when the power reactor went out. I was just a minute too late."
Rhodan's flickering hopes suddenly faded. "So you mean you weren't able to beam it out?"
Riebsam shook his head sadly.
Rhodan glared around at the radio panels. "You can't make it on battery energy?"
"Only normal radio traffic, sir. And out here there'd be no purpose for that."
Rhodan considered the point. "Why not? Our picket cruisers also patrol this section of the galaxy. Maybe one of them might just be in the area. So come on— let's get on the air!"
Rhodan left him, knowing he could rely on Riebsam; he had other tasks of a more urgent nature to attend to. He had to make a last attempt to save the lives of the surviving crewmembers.
When he came into the Control Central, Pucky also made an appearance. Bell was already there, talking to Col. Claudrin. When he saw Rhodan he interrupted the conversation and hurried toward him.
"What's the score, Perry? Is there any hope?" Rhodan nodded slowly. "There's always hope, as long as we are alive and can still use our heads." He turned to Pucky. "Well, did you have any luck?"
"They're collecting in the mess hall as ordered. So far there are 50 men.
"50?" Rhodan blanched. "Just 50 out of 300...?"
The mouse-beaver made no reply. Having lost his usual ebullience he looked very sorrowful and forlorn.
"There have to be more than that," interjected Claudrin. "I'll get Nacro working on it. Many of the men may be in shock from the explosion, or maybe even paralyzed from fear. They have to be brought to their senses."
"Tell the men to proceed directly to hangar B. We'll take off in the space-jet-in half an hour."
Claudrin repeated the order and it was announced a minute later over what remained of the P.A. system. Rhodan had Pucky teleport him to the mess hall.
The officers, crewmen and scientists appeared to be confused and troubled. They were the survivors of a type of catastrophe which was not uncommon on the far star roads of interstellar space; in fact it was a disaster which few men ever lived through. They were among the few but the star road to safety was still an unknown way.
"We've blown some of the main bulkheads," Rhodan told them. "Many of the airtight hatches have been damaged. Slowly but surely our air supply would either escape or go foul, because in the latter case the batteries aren't strong enough to also handle the recycling system. So there's no alternative but to abandon ship as soon as possible and there's just one space jet left. We'll take off in 25 minutes. Everyone will proceed to hangar B. You will put on your spacesuits—specifically the emergency suits, mind you. There are plenty of weapons and provisions on board the scoutship itself. So hurry it up, men, don't waste any time."
After that, Pucky and Rhodan also donned their suits. When they closed their transparent plastic helmets their air systems started to function immediately.
"Le
t's take a last look at the machine rooms," said Rhodan. "Maybe we can still find somebody."
It was simple for Pucky to transport Rhodan with him in a teleport jump. All that was necessary was contact between them. The mouse-beaver took hold of Rhodan's hand—and 'jumped'.
Five minutes prior to the stipulated time for takeoff there were 80 men assembled in hangar B. They were the only remaining survivors with the exception of Rhodan and Pucky, who came in last. Although the space-jet normally accommodated a crew of four there was still room for a number of men in the cargo holds and in the engine and power rooms. It had been a stroke of luck that the hangar B area had remained intact. Without the one remaining space-jet Rhodan and his men would have joined the legions of others who had never returned.
The quartering of the men on board the scoutship was accomplished without too much difficulty. Col. Claudrin also took over the pilot position here. He got into the main flight seat immediately and waited for Rhodan's starting order. The giant hangar hatch swung open. The air rushed out at once, leaving them in the vacuum of the void.
Just as Rhodan nodded to Claudrin in a signal for take-off there was another explosion on board the Fantasy. The blast shock was so powerful that it shook the space-jet itself. Then the disc-shaped scoutship moved on the wide-gauge launch rails of the hangar and shot away into the blazing sea of stars. And not one of those glittering points offered a known point of reference.
Only the nearby yellow sun seemed to justify a lingering sense of optimism. There had been too little time, however, to make any instrumental observations of its specific nature. And even the theory that it might possess a family of planets was poorly supported by any known facts.
Prof. Arno Kalup maintained a reserved silence but his mind was working overtime. It was clear from his troubled expression that he was wracking his brain in a vain effort to explain the catastrophe that had occurred. Rhodan could sympathize with his situation but he gave him no words of consolation. He reasoned that the scientist had to wrestle with the problem first by himself.
The key men of the command and research staffs plug the mutants on board the Fantasy were fortunately among the survivors. In the twisted fate which had befallen them, Rhodan at least felt grateful for this. But as Claudrin made a course adjustment it was suddenly discovered that the ship only responded sluggishly to the controls. The colonel glanced quickly at Rhodan.
"Alright, Colonel," said Rhodan, "speak your mind. What's wrong with the jet?"
Claudrin answered with a shrug of his mighty shoulders. "I don't know but it looks as if this bird isn't as intact as we thought she was. I don't like the feel of her..." He fell silent for a moment while his practiced hands moved over the flight console. His deft, powerful fingers touched buttons and moved switches. Meter needles jumped, vibrated in place or fell back to zero. He looked up again. "Something's fouled up somewhere. Sir, we can't risk a hyperjump. We'll have to stay under light-speed. But maybe there's a Terran ship around here somewhere close."
"Perhaps," replied Rhodan pensively. He knew that this unknown part of the galaxy could be as much as 20,000 light-years distant from Earth, that is if the Fantasy's course indicator had been accurate. "I wouldn't depend on it," he added finally. "How about sending out an emergency call?"
The Com Room was directly adjacent to where the communications team had already set to work. However, a young lieutenant near the open door overheard Rhodan's question and countered it with a new piece of information.
"The hypercom is out, sir. Normal bands are all that's left."
Rhodan felt like gnashing his teeth. Was everything going haywire all at once? No hypercom! It was just about a foregone conclusion that no ship would be close enough to pick up a normal light-speed transmission in under a hundred years.
"Try it anyway," he finally ordered.
Claudrin managed to veer the course enough so that the ship was heading straight toward the yellow sun.
Within about five hours they would be close enough to it to tell with any certainty whether any planets were there, which so far was only a supposition. And what would happen if they found none? Rhodan didn't care to pursue the thought of this possibility.
• • •
"Four planets, sir." The announcement was made by Hunts Krefenbac, the First Officer.
"Thank you, Major. Do any of them show any promise?"
"The inner one is molten. The two outer ones are methane giants. The second planet seems to be favorable. Breathable atmosphere but no continents or oceans. It's just a single land mass without vegetation."
Rhodan turned to Claudrin. "Head for the second planet and try for a landing. We have no other choice."
During the past five hours Rhodan had had time to become convinced of this fact. The space-jet was far too small to carry the 82 survivors for long. Of course the provisions and water supply would hold out for some time but men needed room to move around in. The final blast on board the Fantasy had caused damage to the scoutship which could not be ignored. The navigation controls were a case in point. At least it had come as an unexpected surprise.
The young lieutenant in the Com Room finally succeeded in getting out a short distress signal on the hypercom but even after a few seconds the transmitter's power was somehow shorted out. The beam pulse had been very brief and of low intensity. Only the most sensitive hyper-receivers would be able to pick it up—if at all. That is, if anybody was anywhere nearby. But not all ships of the Fleet possessed the special type of super-sensitive receiver that would be capable of detecting their signal. So although it gave them a spark of hope it was nevertheless a faint one.
The yellow sun was to their right as they approached the second planet. On the viewscreen they could now make out some of the surface details.
Bell appeared to have recovered from the shock of the ship disaster. "Looks pretty barren and monotonous down there," he muttered. "No water, apparently— everything grey, without any forests or grasslands at all."
"You're asking for a lot," retorted Rhodan. "We can be thankful if we're able to land without a crash. This ship's propulsion unit needs repairs. Maybe we can find the trouble once we're safely down there. At least we'll have solid ground under our feet."
They circumnavigated the planet twice at low altitude without discovering any unusual features. There were no mountains or valleys nor any outstanding formations or any particular landmarks at all. The surface was a continuous, gently-rolling barren plain, a grey desolation without relief.
"That's a funny kind of planet," murmured Bell in a strangely husky tone of voice.
Rhodan was of the same opinion but he failed to comment. He did not wish to distract Claudrin from the imminent landing manoeuvres.
The colonel must have read his thoughts. "Actually it makes no difference where we land. One surface is the same as another. Shall we give it a try?"
Rhodan nodded but he spoke to the First Officer. "Make preparations for landing," he ordered. "The planet appears to be uninhabited but distribute hand weapons. Give each man a heavy energy gun. The first troops on the ground will be Lt. Sikhra's special commandoes. The other men will not leave the ship until he signals an all clear. We don't want to risk having any more disasters."
"You mean, sir..."
"I mean there's even something wrong with the jet. The first thing we'll do is to remove the main body of men far enough away from the ship. Then the technicians can take a look at the propulsion system. They may find out what's wrong with it."
In spite of his sluggish controls, Col. Claudrin succeeded in making a soft, smooth landing. Actually there was something too soft about it. It was almost as if the ground had offered a springy resilience to their contact. The viewscreens revealed the surrounding surface world in every detail. As indicated previously it was grey and devoid of any sign of foliage. Whether or not it was nothing but bare rock was not quite determinable on a visual basis alone.
Lt. Sikhra disembarked with five of his co
mmandoes. They maintained contact with Rhodan and the others by radio. A native of Nepal, Sikhra had a reputation for his daring and bravery, yet he never made a move that wasn't cautious and well-considered, especially when he wasn't sure what he was facing. And such was the case today.
When the outer lock door opened, the air of the planet was found to be fresh and cool. The sun was high in the sky but did not seem to be exceptionally bright or hot. Its rays were apparently not strong enough to warm the surface very much-or at least the ground wasn't reflecting the kind of heat that might be expected. Perhaps the surface absorbed most of it...
Sikhra was the first to descend the landing ladder and set foot on this new world which was as yet unregistered on any Terran star maps. Although it had no name it was soon to receive one. The ground seemed to be strangely soft but he still didn't suspect anything. It gave him a firm footing and he saw nothing threatening in the area. For the time being that was good enough. He signaled his men to follow him.
As they marched a small distance away from the ship, Sikhra had the impression of walking on the smooth, petrified swells of an ocean. The terrain was gently undulating like this clear to the horizon without any variation or special markings. Like a level sea, it was without contour and monotonous.
"Air is good," he signaled to Claudrin. "No life so far. Not too warm out here. The ground... hm-m..."
He stooped down and touched the surface with his hand. Instead of feeling cold it was faintly warm. Although it seemed hard it was not rock by any means. It was more like leathery skin.
Skin...?
"Nature of surface is undeterminable," he reported. "It's neither earth nor rock. Maybe we need a specialist out here, sir."
"Have a further look around, Lieutenant."
Shortly thereafter when Sikhra turned by chance to glance toward the ship, he was startled. Was the scout-ship standing in a depression of some kind? Or had it sunk that far into the ground? He also felt that his feet were sinking into the surface when he stood still and that's when he became alerted.
