The Target Star

by Perry Rhodan

  Telepaths John Marshall and Pucky tried in vain to pick up a clear and definite thought-impulse. Although it was now certain that there were millions of thinking entities both on Sphynx and on Rameses, their conscious radiations did not have the required clarity to be comprehensible.

  The mouse-beaver finally retreated to a contour couch in exhaustion and rolled himself up on the foam-cushion upholstery. Breathing heavily the little fellow covered his eyes with his delicate hands. Even John Marshall had to give up. Pale and wearied, he walked over toward Rhodan, who had been silently watching the efforts of his most capable mutants for an hour. Marshall sat down in a nearby flight seat, stretched out his legs and looked up thoughtfully at the panoramic viewscreens.

  "Well, John?"

  Marshall swept the back of his hand across his sweating forehead. He looked over at Pucky concernedly because the mouse-beaver's frail little frame had been severely shaken during the uncontrolled spinning of the ship.

  "It's a confused situation, sir," said Marshall guardedly. "I can't make anything out of the psi currents from those alien brains. Everything is blurred and distorted. I get hazy geometrical figures that seem to be scintillating with all the colors of the spectrum—but that's not a very satisfying pickup, nowhere near enough to give us a handle. In fact I'd even go so far as to say ..."

  "Yes, what?"

  "The aliens have screened themselves from us. It's not inconceivable that they could have detected the telepathic probes that Pucky and I were sending out"

  "That presupposes a great deal of knowledge concerning paranormal phenomena and the pertinent physical faculties that go with them, wouldn't you say?"

  "Right, sir, but—" Marshall interrupted himself to look uncertainly at Rhodan.

  "Yes, John?"

  "Sir, if you asked me it would be my advice to make an immediate retreat. Something's pooky about all this. Why don't they answer our radio calls? They're advanced enough both culturally and technologically to comprehend the universal principles of mathematics, so they must be able to recognize radio-impulses carrying intelligent information. Let's turn around, sir."

  Rhodan was silent a moment before he replied. "John, it's a bit too late for that. The Administrator of a still young stellar government can't afford to let intelligences of this advanced state go unobserved simply because they seem to be pooky."

  "They don't know where we've come from," interjected Bell.

  "Right—but we know they're here and that's enough. I must at least find out who they are and what we're dealing with. Col Claudrin ... !

  The Epsalian straightened up from his flight seat. His deepset eyes gleamed in the lights from the control console. "Sir?"

  "Prepare for a landing manoeuvre. We'll just take a look around down below. Bring the Fantasy down near those, strange light patterns we've been puzzled about. Combat readiness remains in effect. Have the landing commandoes stand by. Lt. Sikhra..."

  The Nepalese answered over the ship's intercom.

  "Check your troops' equipment. Put on your Arkonide combat suits. I'll be going with you. This moon's air is breathable and the temperatures are tolerable. That is all—thank you."

  Sikhra switched off. In another section of the ship the combat-ready robots received their first programming inputs.

  Brazo Alkher noticed that his palms were sweaty. Moments later there was a rising whistle of wind to be heard outside the hull. Claudrin was making a steep downward curve toward a landing. The air molecules were being shoved out of the flight path by the powerful collision screen.

  The light patterns they had seen came nearer. Shortly before they landed the first sighting was made of life forms. On the giant viewscreens of the Control Central the optical magnification system conjured up the tall, human-like figures. Even this would not have been extraordinary had it not been for the fact that not one of the aliens had found it necessary to even glance upward at them. They certainly could not have been deaf to the thundering of the engines. However, down there everybody was calmly going about his business just as though nothing were happening.

  At an altitude of two km the First Officer extended the landing struts. Again the alien intelligences failed to show a reaction. They acted as though the Fantasy were not there at all.

  And so the landing took place within about one km from a group of massive official-looking buildings. When the engines died down and the last shock-waves of their arrival whirled sand and gravel over the desert-like surface amidst thunderings as though from a passing storm, 300 Terranians stared perplexedly at the numerous screens connected with the outboard camera system.

  The warp-sensors came to life again but this time in such volume that they finally had to be turned off. The energy-detection instruments revealed the presence of power sources of such mighty magnitude that even Arno Kalup turned pale. The current generated in the area would evidently suffice to power 100,000 major spaceships of the Imperium class. This was only one power plant whose component machines appeared to be installed in the great halls and skyscrapers of the nearby city.

  Otherwise nothing happened. The unknown inhabitants seemed to be neither friendly nor hostile. No one came out to meet them at all.

  Bell laughed grimly and gave the best appraisal of the situation: "For these gentlemen we seem to he some kind of vermin that no one pays any attention to. They see us alright; but who's going to bother about a few buzzing gnats-unless they start to sting a little?"

  "So we're just bugs, is that it?" asked Rhodan. "Maybe your comparison isn't far from wrong. I think that we ..."

  "Excuse me, sir!" Rhodan was interrupted by the hurried entrance of Dr. Con Nkolate. The dark countenance of the tall, lean man revealed his excitement as he swiftly crossed the deck of Control Central. In his right hand he held several large film negatives which he hastily spread before Rhodan on the flat top of the flight console.

  "X-ray photos?" Rhodan inquired in surprise. "Well now, whose bones might these be?"

  Nkolate was not his usual laughing self. He ran a hand nervously through his crinkly hair. He was known as the leading specialist in galactic adaptive surgery. His heart and limb transplantations were famous.

  "Those weren't taken of anybody on board, sir," he explained quickly. "Just before the landing I made a few long-range photos with the X-ray cannon, that's all. So now—don't you notice something? The skeletons of the aliens should tell you everything."

  Bell came closer. Officers and scientists suddenly besieged Rhodan's chair. Perry only needed a second or so to grasp the state of affairs.

  "I'm losing my mind," he said almost tonelessly. "There's no doubt about it—the skeletal pattern is Arkonide! Just the solid thorax and back plates where the ribs should be—that's enough! Or did you mean something else, Gorl?"

  Dr. Nkolate shook his head. "No sir, that's it! I'm familiar enough with Arkonides to be able to state with confidence that these intelligences are of the same breed, at least from the standpoint of their physiological structure. Up to a point. They don't have the typical white hair of the Arkonides nor their reddish eyes. Also their complexion is not as clear as we're used to seeing among Arkonides. In spite of that, though, these unknowns are from the same stock."

  Dr. Carl Riebsam, the research team's mathematician and logician, pushed his way between the tensely listening men. Without saying a word he reached for the X-ray photos. Rhodan glanced down at his instruments and then looked up again to watch him. Riebsam's peculiarly fixed stare was the result of optical surgery but it was always somehow disconcerting, as it was now. Finally the logician replaced the negatives on the console.

  "Well, Carl, What do you think?" inquired Rhodan.

  "Not much to think about. The facts speak for themselves. The only question that bothers me is—who has descended from whom?"

  "...and his razor-sharp mind found the answer in seconds!" said Kalup mockingly.

  Riebsam ignored him. "It's a matter of whether the Arkonides we know are descenda
nts of the intelligences who live here or if these people have originated from early Arkonide colonists. Which culture is older? Who has emigrated from where? Which race was it that had to adapt itself to a new environment? The Arkonides—or the natives here? You find that out, sir, and you'll know a lot more."

  Rhodan cleared his throat. Finally he got up from his seat. "Alright, then let's try to cast some light on the subject. Of course if the Arkonides have descended from these inhabitants that would be a very significant discovery.

  "May I ask in what way?" interjected Bell.

  Rhodan laughed humorlessly. "In a way that wouldn't be too reassuring where we are concerned. The history of the Arkonide expansion policy proves in every case that later descendants of early resettled colonists never appear to retain the technical and scientific ability of their forefathers. It seems to be a natural law that intelligences uprooted from their original environments are more susceptible to symptoms of degeneration. Looking at it from that standpoint I'd say that the Arkonides have originated from the race of people living here and not the reverse."

  "That's a very shrewd observation," said Nkolate tensely. "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely. The terrible degeneration of almost all present Arkonides supports it. Their white hair, the reddish eyes, their weakening bodies and their lack of interest in anything practical in life—all of that is further evidence. On the other hand if you take a look at the obviously superior technology of these people you don't get the impression that they've also fallen into decadence. I even believe that in the course of millenniums they've developed far enough to be able to dispense with manned space travel."

  Bell sought a place to sit down. Suddenly he was looking at the viewscreens as though with other eyes. "Now that could be very interesting!" he said, nonplussed. "How did you run across a theory like that, anyway? How come they could bypass space travel? I don't quite follow you there."

  Carl Riebsam answered him. His reasoning seemed to be unassailable. "The power sources we detected ought to explain that to you, not to mention the terrific warp-shocks we registered coming in. Those point to a complete conquest of the 5th dimension. I think we should have a closer look at those light-pattern phenomena. I have a certain suspicion."

  Rhodan had two crewmen help him into the cumbersome combat suit. Meanwhile he returned a thin smile. "Oh, so you also have a suspicion? I, too, my friend. If you happen to be thinking that this big moon is nothing else than a gigantic transmitter station, I'll shake your hand. That would be a concrete explanation for all those spacewarp shockwaves."

  Riebsam silently stuck out his hand and Rhodan took it. Prof. Kalup hurried away as fast as his portly frame could take him. He had turned very pale.

  Only Bell sat there in a grimly ironical mood. "Now ain't this just grand! So with no invitation we barge in here and land on this kind of world? Probably these unknown masterminds are starting to wonder what to do with us. Have you gentlemen of the Fantasy's top command forgotten, perchance, that when we came into this system we broke through some kind of energy screen?" Bell took a look around. Rhodan's face was uncommunicative. Bell continued. "Alright, then you haven't forgotten. I can see it in your faces. If I were one of these pre-Arkonides the first thing I'd ask myself is how the research ship Fantasy managed to penetrate the most colossal defense screen in the galaxy—especially since it's probably been considered impregnable until now. No doubt it wouldn't sit well with me at all to see strangers landing here and snooping around the place. I think I'd rap your knuckles for you and maybe even punch your nose while I'm at it. Any race that's so far advanced it can replace space travel with giant transmitters is so far over our heads that they can just ignore us entirely if they want to—or at the most we're nuisances, insects of some kind that they can shoo away in a very exotic manner whenever they're ready to. Do you gentlemen find my explanation logical?"

  Bell got up and stuck his hands in his pockets again. He walked over to where Rhodan was busy putting on his backpack containing the micro-generators for his antigrav and deflector screens. With these items the Arkonide combat suit was complete.

  "Almost too logical," Rhodan told him distractedly. "There's just one thing you overlooked or forgot to mention."

  "Oh? What is that?"

  "The question of why these so-called pre-Arkonides—and that's a handy name you thought up—are so weirdly patient with us. If I had as much to conceal and protect as these people do, I'd certainly not allow a few curious Terranians to land here. So where's the body buried? why do they simply ignore us without making a single attempt to give us that punch in the nose you mentioned? If I were the head man around here, that wouldn't be allowed, I can tell you. I'd have ordered the Fantasy off to any place else but I wouldn't permit it to land right here in my own system... what's the matter, John? Thought-waves?"

  It took a few more seconds for the telepath to shake himself from his motionless position. Dazedly he passed a hand over his eyes. "Somebody out there opened his thought screen," he explained swiftly. "Sir, I picked up clear conscious impulses and it's hard to grasp—but they apparently think that we're Arkonides who have come here to visit the original home of their forefathers. Now I don't get anything because they've shut off again."

  The tension among the crew was becoming unbearable. Only Rhodan appeared to be calm and collected.

  Bell shouted at him: "If you're going to tell me now that you were already thinking that, I'll go through the roof!"

  Rhodan put on the weapons belt with its heavy hand-beamers. With exasperating preciseness he checked the load indicators on the guns. While so doing he spoke without looking up. "You'd better explode then, but spare the roof. It is what I had in mind."

  "Kerd! Not even you are omniscient!"

  "Naturally not, but I can think, can't I? In the entire known galaxy there was only one race—until recently—that built spherical spaceships. The Arkonides, my friend. As latecomers we've been doing the same, of course, but what would give the people here any reason to think we weren't from the Arkon System—how could they know we're from a place called Earth? Apparently they haven't maintained any contact there for many thousands of years. They have no idea of what's transpired on the Arkon worlds, which are more than 40,000 light-years distant. On the other hand, here we come in a spherical spaceship and discover the Blue System. What would be more logical for them to assume than that we're the descendants of the pre-Arkonides who emigrated from here about 20,000 years ago?"

  "I agree with you, said Riebsam. "They probably assume that we've found the position data for the Blue System in some ancient star data. So they don't attack us because they're thinking that we are of their own race. Of course when they find out the truth they just might remove the welcome mat!"

  "But since we're only thick-skinned barbarians we might not understand such a refined gesture. Col. Claudrin, you will remain here on board. Maintain battle-readiness. Keep the ship in standby mode for emergency takeoff. Don't worry about us, we're only going to take a quick look around. The longer they take us for Arkonides the better it will be for us. But should they find out that we only have the outer physical form of their colonial descendants in common with them—then it will be time for an immediate retreat."

  Bell called for a combat suit. In the machine control room the transformers were humming and in the power bays the reactor generators were running again. The engines flashed green on the indicators. The Fantasy was ready for emergency takeoff. Only in the Fire Control Central there was not much to do because everything had already been taken care of.

  The robot commandoes under Stant Nolinow were not sent to the exit lock. Only a small portion of the human crew disembarked. For this mission Rhodan employed three of the shifts which the research ship had brought along. These were all-purpose armored personnel carriers, capable of travel on the ground and in the air.

  Only 30 men stepped onto the surface of the alien world. The two-headed mutant Ivan Goratschin remained on
board. The only mutants who went out the ground lock with the commando team were Pucky, John Marshall and the other telekinetic expert, Tama Yokida.

  A handful of men thus ventured boldly forth, impelled by their very nature to solve a riddle once it dangled before them. They were about to investigate the secret mystery of an apparently very ancient and highly advanced civilization. It was a foolhardy undertaking—but for such things the members of this research team had been selected.

  • • •

  "...to Auris of Las-Toor: determine origin of aliens. Also find out how they succeeded in penetrating the time screen."

  The young woman took the instruction container out of the com transmitter cage and after removing its contents she replaced the empty container in the sender slot. When she pressed a contact button the capsule disappeared in a flash of light, only to reappear at once in the com central's return transmitter cage.

  Auris turned her attention to the written orders of the Governing Council.

  "They are being very presumptuous," said an older technician who was pointing to the viewscreen. "Now they are coming out of their ship in a landing party. It seems they have lost sight of proper custom and protocol. Another indication of their deterioration and inferiority. You should let them know that they are not wanted here and see to it that their ship departs as quickly as possible."

  Auris of Las-Toor turned to look. With the pragmatic detachment of a scientist she watched the clearly-visible strangers who were just now flying over the first of the reactor stations.

  "They don't seem to show any signs of deterioration!" said the old technician. "Amazing! But you must put them back in their proper place—they go too far!"

  Auris ran both hands through her long, coppery-red hair. She put on her protective screening and after picking up her short shoulder-cape she went over to the security door of the transporter station, which glided up soundlessly at her approach.

  Two more steps brought her into the focal area of the transmitter field. The older technician watched as her tall, slender figure dematerialized.