Enterprise Stardust

by Karl H Scheer

  Introducing

  PERRY RHODAN

  AND HIS ELECTRIC PERSONALITY

  By

  Forrest J Ackerman

  As Tom said to Jonathan, “The race belongs to the Swift.”

  Or are you too young to remember Tom Swift? (In the Land of Wonders, his Planet Stone.) And Roy Rockwood and his Clarke’s Tours of the solar system. (Air Express to Venus-air?!–By Space Ship to Saturn.) The Carl H. Claudy classics, including The Mystery Men of Mars. These boys’ sf books of a less sophisticated generation never won any Hugos (and not just because they were published prior to the establishment of the annual science fiction “Oscar” awards) but they did generate a great deal of entertainment.

  Then there was Gordon, who was flashy, and Rogers, who was always bucking the baddies. You probably heard of Buck and Flash in the movie serial or comics or TV re-vivals or camp posters.

  Now comes, roaring into the 70’s–PERRY RHODAN … earth-tamer … planet adventurer … star-seeker … Peacelord of the Universe!

  America, for once has lagged behind–we are 8 years behind the Germans in discovering the world’s greatest spaceman. In the pulp era of our past we have had many great continuing characters: Doc Savage, the Shadow, Captain Future, G-8, et al. Savage started in ’33 and ended in ’49 and is, 20 years after his disappearance, enjoying a renaissance in paperback. But the 16 years of Doc Savage’s exploits cannot possibly compare with such an impressive record as Perry RHodan’s because Doc, most of the time. appeared only monthly, sometimes bimonthly, whereas Perry, since the beginning, has been published weekly!

  Ain’t that outasite? (I hope I’m hip to the mod slanguage because I’m so old that I remember when people blew their noses instead of their minds.) Over 400 adventures of Perry Rhodan, Thora, Gucky (the mouse-beaver), Atlan and all the characters you will come to know and who will grow on you–over 400 have already been published abroad!

  Every week in Germany a new Perry Rhodan plot appears and sells out an edition of 130,000 copies (No American science fiction periodical equals that record even on a monthly basis.) Germany–with a population of only one-third that of the United States! If Germany had our population it would mean that approximately 400,000 people would be reading Perry every seven days!

  A second, reprint, edition of the earlier episodes now runs 50,000 copies a week in Germany.

  And the third time around on the republication of the earliest ones, they’re printing 20,000 copies–to make an incredible total of 200,000 copies of Perry Rhodan’s cosmic conquests being read each week! (By U.S. population comparison, 600,000!)

  Plus! Pocketbooks (wholly different adventures) … hardcovers (revised from the magazines) … comics.

  Perry Rhodan has appeared for three years in France, is now in Dutch!

  Over 500 Perry Rhodan Clubs flourish in Germany, Switzerland and Austria, complete with membership pins. Regional and national Perry Rhodan Conventions are held annually!

  The first Perry Rhodan film, S.O.S. FROM OUTER SPACE, has exploded on the screens of Europe.

  To satisfy the demand, a corps of half a dozen or more writers is kept busy creating new plots from the master history–more complex than anything ever dreamed of in the future histories of Asimov, Heinlein or Doc Smith–masterminded by Walter Ernsting (Herr Science Fiction of Germany) and noted sf author K.-H. Scheer.

  In Germany, all serious sf buffs claim to hate Perry Rhodan, but somebody (in unprecedented numbers) is certainly reading him. When I went to the Science Fiction Film Festival in Trieste in 1965, I also took a trip to Frankfurt, Germany, and when I got off the train at the station, at the depot magazine stand the first thing I saw was an ordinary looking middle-aged businessman buying (you telepathed it!) a copy of PERRY RHODAN!

  The PERRY RHODAN series may never win a Hugo. It may be panned by both professional critics and in the fan magazines, USA. But if Perry’s American reception parallels that of the land of his origin, you are holding in your hands a collector’s item that will be sought after by those who, like you, will be hooked on Perry and reading him ten years from now. Which means, if we can get production up to one a month, by 1979 about 130 Rhodan adventures will have been published-and the Germans will be 800 adventures ahead of us! (This could cause an increase in the USA in the studying of German.)

  Can we ever catch up with Perry Rhodan? Well, there’s no time like the present-and no place like this pocketbook–to start. Ahead lie innumerable encounters with alien intelligences, robots, invisible men, monsters, survivors of Atlantis, zombies, giants, micro-men-all part and parcel of the infinite panorama of the most colossal space opera series ever conceived!

  CHAPTER ONE

  At the northern entrance to the center’s main underground building, the heavily armed sentries saluted sloppily. Lieutenant General Lesley Pounder, commander of the Nevada Fields Air Base and Chief of the Department of Space Explorations, passed them by, satisfied. Under unusual circumstances like these, he was not greatly concerning with being given an exact military salute. He was interested only in seeing that his men were alert and on the job.

  At precisely 1:15 A.M., according to plan, Pounder entered the main control room in the center. With him were Colonel Maurice, chief of staff and F. Lehmann, scientific supervisor of the project. Lehmann was known primarily for his position as Director of the California Academy of Space Technology.

  Pandemonium seemed master inside the center’s main building, which housed the electronic “nervous system” of the spaceport; but this apparently senseless commotion was, in fact, a series of last minute preparations for Zero Hour. The general’s sudden appearance caused no interruption in the beehive activity of checking, and double checking. The general had arrived; that was all there was to it.

  General Pounder, square of body and mind, was well-known for his uncompromising talent for getting things done his way. This was cause enough for the admiration of his colleagues and the dismay of those in the Capitol in Washington. Now he proceeded to the control room’s huge closed circuit TV screen.

  A view that had not been clearly discernible in the press room glistened here at close range on the slightly convex glass of the tube.

  Pounder leaned heavily forward with both hands on the back of the swivel chair, motionless, staring intently at the screen. He remained like this for several moments. Professor Lehmann nervously fingered his rimless spectacles. He was boiling inside with impatience. Here the Big Boss was reinspecting all the unimportant little details that had been checked out repeatedly before his arrival, when there were far more urgent things to attend to. He shot imploring glances in General Pounder’s direction.

  Colonel Maurice shrugged his shoulders almost imperceptibly in a wait-and-see gesture. Pounder was as well informed as any of the team of esteemed scientists, but he obviously still had a few questions that bothered him.

  “Beautiful! Breathtakingly beautiful and overpowering,” Pounder murmured, gazing at the big video screen. “Something inside me persists in asking if we might not be going too far. The experts in the department still consider it madness to risk a blast-off here from Earth. Not only must we overcome atmospheric resistance, but in addition we must struggle to attain a speed we could have achieved naturally had we departed from a space station.”

  “You’re referring to the orbital velocity of our manned space station, sir,” added Professor Lehmann hastily. “That is not the determining factor in this case. It you will only consider the tremendous problems that would present themselves if we should try to assemble prefabricated parts in empty space under zero gravity conditions.… Experience along these lines has proved very unsatisfactory. It is easier by far to construct a spaceship here on Earth than to do so so
me 1100 miles above the surface. Why, the savings amount to more than 350 million dollars per unit!”

  “They found your statistics very impressive in Washington,” said the general with sarcasm. “Well, it’s too late to change anything now. Let us hope that the splendid results of our trial run justify today’s effort. Professor, my four best people are going to be on board that ship. If anything goes wrong, you won’t hear the last of it.”

  Lehmann changed colour under the general’s icy stare.

  Colonel Maurice was a cunning strategist at handling the ball tossed eternally between the warring fronts of “scientific concerns” and “military interests.” Now he steered the conversation away from such unpleasant possibilities with his usual suave diplomatic skill. “Sir, may I remind you of our press conference? Our foremost reporters are no doubt awaiting you most anxiously. I’ve passed out no further information.”

  Pounder suddenly raged like a mad dog. “Is this really necessary, Maurice? I have other things to worry about.”

  The colonel smoothly eluded him. “Sir, I would strongly advise—”

  The astrophysician, Dr. Fleet, shielding his mouth with his hand, coughed spasmodically. He was responsible for the affairs of space medicine and therefore for keeping the test pilots in perfect health.

  Pounder smiled abruptly. “All right then, let’s go. But only by way of the video intercommunications system.”

  The disaster, Maurice felt, had grown even worse. The technicians who were standing around suppressed a grin. Wasn’t it just like the old man?

  “Sir, for heaven’s sake! The people expect your appearance in person. I promised them!”

  “Then unpromise them,” returned Pounder, unimpressed.

  “Which one of these speakers shall I use? Make the announcement, Maurice.”

  The chief of staff implored him, “Sir, they’ll make mince-meat out of us in their editorials. You know that.”

  “I’ll keep these guys under lock and key until they’ve cooled of again. We’ll see. Switch on, please.”

  In the sparsely furnished observation bunker, the loudspeakers came to life. Pounder’s face appeared on a TV screen. He greeted them with a sickeningly sweet smile and, “A beautiful good morning to you, gentlemen!” (It was shortly after midnight, local time.) Then the general became more matter-of-fact. He overlooked the grim faces of the reporters.

  Very briefly, in a tone more appropriate to the reading of a recipe for chocolate cake, he said, “Gentlemen, what you’ve been seeing on the screen in your bunkers for the last few minutes is the familiar three stage rocket, in which, however, individual units have undergone considerable innovation. The final preparations are under way, and blast-off will follow in approximately three hours. The four test pilots are still asleep. They will not be awakened until two hours before blast-off.”

  So far, the reporters remained uninspired. Manned space flights were no longer a rarity. His eyes narrowing somewhat at the thought, Pounder enjoyed dealing his trump card in a startling manner.

  “In view of past experience, the Space Explorations Command has renounced assembling the spaceship in orbit. The difficulties and failures of our earlier attempts are well known. Therefore, the first rocket to land on the moon will be launched from Nevada Fields. The ship’s name is Stardust. The commander of the first lunar landing expedition is Major Perry Rhodan, thirty-five years old, test pilot for the space force, nuclear physicist with a subsidiary specialty in ion reaction engines. You will recall Major Rhodan as the first astronaut to circumnavigate the moon under the auspices of the space force.”

  Pounder was silent again. He noted with satisfaction the uproar of voices that gave proof of a very high degree of excitement.

  Someone shouted for silence, and it became quiet again in the bare room.

  “Many thanks,” said the general with a polite cough. “You were a bit noisy. No-please, no questions now. My information officer will see to your questions immediately after blast-off. At the moment, I can give you only very brief hints. My time is limited. The Stardust will be launched with a select four man team. In addition to Major Rhodan, Captain Reginald Bell, Captain Clark G. Fletcher, and Lieutenant Eric Manoli will participate in the expedition. You are no doubt familiar with all these names. We have here a special military scientific team. Each test pilot has a degree in at least two additional fields, and these men are among the greatest experts in the western world. It is what we call a complementary team. They are adjusted to each other psychologically and in the coordinated employment of their diverse specialties. For them, space has become a home away from home. Photographs and fact sheets concerning the astronauts may also he obtained from the information officer.”

  General Pounder seemed unwilling to favour his audience with a long speech. He was already glancing at his watch. Rudely interrupting the noise, he said, “Please, gentlemen, your inquiries are fruitless. All I can give you are basic facts. The Stardust has been equipped for a four week stay on the moon. We have designated a research program for the landing team. After the successful remote controlled landings of unmanned space probes, today we risk the lives of four men in the attempt. Let us hope that we have made no mistakes. You know, of course, that this Earthbound launch will devour a huge sum of energy, particularly since the final stage must land on and lift off again from the surface of the moon, under its own power. With our conventional engines, this would not have been possible for a three stage ship of relatively limited dimensions.”

  “Technical data!” someone shouted excitedly into the microphone.

  “You will get your data,” growled the general. “The full length of the ship is 275 feet—the first stage being 109.5 feet, the second 74.5 feet, and the third, the spaceship proper, 91 feet. Starting weight, with full tanks and the payload, will be about 6,850 tons. Nevertheless, the moon rocket looks hardly larger than an ordinary supply ship. The reason for this? Only the first stage runs on liquid chemical fuel. Stages two and three are, for the first time, operating with nuclear power.”

  That was Pounder’s second bombshell. He had let it drop quite unexpectedly. Undaunted, he continued, “You will receive further data shortly. Gentlemen, the Stardust will blast off at three o’clock. It will land near the Newcomb Crater, close to the lunar South Pole. We are interested in finding out something of the dark side of the moon; but owing to the limitations of radio communication, we must remain with one foot (so to speak) on the near side of Luna. Radio waves unfortunately require a direct line of vision in space. Our four men will nevertheless undertake extensive ground travel on the lunar surface with a new kind of exploratory vehicle. That is all, gentlemen. Further information, particularly technical data, will be released by the information officer, following the launch.”

  General Pounder laughed grimly as he interrupted the audio-video collection with the quick flip of a switch. The babel of voices from the loudspeaker ceased abruptly.

  Now all eyes were on the chief. Pounder had spoken with such calm and confidence that one might have thought that hundreds of ships had landed on the moon before the Stardust. Yet no one knew better than Pounder himself that the optimism he had demonstrated was entirely unfounded.

  He glanced at his watch. It was countdown hour forty-eight, 19 June.

  His voice sounded somewhat less excited now as he said, “Dr. Fleet, would you please awaken the men.”

  At exactly one o’clock, Dr. Fleet stood before the four sleeping men. For the last fourteen hours they had been resting under the effects of psychochemical narcosis. It was the only means by which mind and body, particularly mind, were afforded total relaxation. A mind encumbered by worry and anticipation, even in sleep, would be most undesirable.

  For a few moments, with a feeling of undefinable pity, he hesitated. Then he administered the antidote. With this, consciousness would return with this, thought would be reborn; and with this, all those things which one had sought with greatest effort, to ward off would return t
o haunt the men.

  A sleepy and irritable, physically and mentally restless astronaut would be of little benefit here, as partner to soulless computer and nuclear reactor, both running at full tilt. The human mind would have to remain clear, because in the long run, it alone would have to be master of the situation.

  Dr. Fleet was waiting. Beside him, with bated breath, stood the men of his medical team. Of course, there still remained the usual tests and examinations. These would take approximately an hour. The last hour, then, would belong to the systems engineers. The astronauts would be permitted to board the Stardust a mere ten minutes before blast-off. Once within the command center, they would have nothing to do but stretch out on their contour couches with the least possible effort, excluding any mental strain.

  Once the launch had begun, however, any relaxation would be totally out of the question. Everything would follow in rapid succession. Then would begin the ultimate test, which would strain mind and body to the limits of endurance. Then would begin their torture in the narrow body of this roaring monster of molybdenum steel and synthetic fibres.

  A gentle light haloed the four flat couches. Millions of pores in their foam rubber mattresses inhaled and exhaled like the alveoli of lungs. These were the last comforts for men who soon would have to endure horrendous stress.

  Major Perry Rhodan, ace astronaut of the united States Space Force, opened his eyes. Instantly, almost without transition, his sleep became a state of acute wakefulness.

  “You’ve treated me first?” he asked. It was less an inquiry than a statement. With delight Dr. Fleet observed the commander’s ready reflexes. Without a doubt, Rhodan was “all there.”

  “Exactly as planned, young man,” he confirmed softly.

  Deliberately, breathing very deeply, the test pilot sat up. Someone removed the thin blanket that seemed itself to breathe. Rhodan wore a lose cut hospital gown that spared his resting body any constricting limitation.