Between The Galaxies

by Perry Rhodan

  He stopped his work and pondered over it. There was a dead silence in the Com Room. At least to Art's ears it was silent because the soft humming of the equipment was something he had long ceased to be conscious of. While lost in thought his gaze wandered along the rows of switching panels, indicators and decoder equipment to his right. During this he noted that one of the main control dials was moving.

  Startled, he looked at it closely, suddenly keenly alert. The dial was still turning slowly but methodically. It was the power control for the main transmitter and somebody was turning it to maximum.

  Art jumped up, realizing that the present equipment setup wouldn't take, the full-power load. Just now the main transmitter wasn't connected. They had been using a smaller auxiliary line for communications with the Joann . If the invisible idiot really needed so much transmission power to beam out his message, why didn't he put in the main transmitter first?

  He made an angry leap and attempted to stop the motion. If one of the phantoms were close by he must have drawn to one side because he didn't feel any contact with anyone. He gripped the dial firmly and tried to turn it back. He was prepared to desist at the first sensation of pain because he knew what Eric had experienced. But the expected resistance wasn't there. He turned the dial back to its previous setting so as not to overload the other equipment. Releasing it he heaved a sigh of relief but continued to observe.

  Apparently the unseen presences had given up their try. The dial remained in its place. No one attempted to turn on more power. Art wondered what they had probably had in mind. Also he wondered what had caused them to give up so quickly. He finally relaxed and was about to take his seat again when everything changed. That was the moment when he learned that the phantom invaders were not about to change their plans because of a little resistance.

  Before he reached his chair, something struck him on the head. he fell forward but simultaneously fought against unconsciousness with more strength than anyone would have attributed to him. A dark mist formed in front of his eyes. When he heard the hum of the equipment again the sound seemed to come to him through a long, narrow corridor. He was trying to support himself on his arms but they felt like clay. He could do nothing to prevent them from collapsing under him. He finally lay there on his stomach and it didn't seem likely that he would ever stand on his feet again.

  Breathing deeply, he subdued his vexation and anger as he lay there on the deck and forced himself to relax. Whatever had hit him had paralyzed part of his nervous system, and as long as it wasn't functioning there was nothing he could do. He needed a few moments of rest.

  He tried to look around but from his angle of vision he could only see a section of floor. There was really nothing to be seen but the floor since there was no visible trace of the invisible aliens. After some time had passed, Art tried again to support himself on his arms. He knew the strangers would see him move if they were still present but he didn't care. He had to get on his feet. They were about to destroy the transmitter equipment. He had to inform Eric Furchtbar. After that, they could do what they wanted with him.

  His efforts succeeded. He tested out his muscles for a few seconds and knew that he was functional again. Then he suddenly lunged upwards and felt a surge of triumph when he stood solidly on his feet. They hadn't hit him hard enough—he was still in one piece! He sensed a trace of weakness but knew that would go away if they left him alone for a few minutes.

  He could still hear the hum of the equipment but it didn't sound the way he was used to hearing it. When he turned around he suddenly knew what was wrong. All the equipment was straining under an overload of power. Sharp, blinding lines danced in confusion on the oscilloscope screen. The illuminated indicators on the meters were trembling at their maximum positions and the distribution box Art was standing in front of was radiating dangerous amounts of heat.

  He glanced at the power dial and saw that somebody had turned it to its full position while he'd been lying on the deck. All of the output of the generators for the Com Room was being fed into the equipment. It was actually enough power to operate the entire 25 transceiver stations on board the BOB 21 but just now only three of them were turned on. Art could mentally visualize the deck plates bending and melting. He could imagine the meters exploding and the circuits blasting to pieces. He realized that in a few seconds the BOB 21 would cut be off from all contact with the outside if he didn't take action.

  He ventured a second time to reach his seat. He only had to turn on the intercom and inform Eric Furchtbar. Eric would see to it that the invaders were held in check. On his second step, Art halted on his own volition. The intercom mike on the console was showing a wisp of blue smoke. The power overload had burned it out.

  The only way left was through the door. Art plunged toward the door, hoping to yell out to the first man he saw what was going on in the Com Room. Whoever might hear him would have to get to Eric and tell him. He himself would have to stay at his post to keep an eye on the invisibles.

  He didn't quite reach the bulkhead hatch. Within 2 meters of it he suddenly had the feeling that somebody was coming at him. He weaved to one side and the blow grazed his shoulders this time driven by much more force than the first one. He only staggered, managing to keep on his feet this time. But he knew that he had to face this menace alone now. They were blocking his way out and the intercom wasn't working. The fate of the station lay in his own hands.

  He took a few seconds to think. Why were they doing this? Why were they overloading all the equipment with full power? Did they simply want to destroy all the instruments? They could do it easier by just smashing the main control panel. If cut off from the outside, the BOB 21 would need half a year to get repaired. So that couldn't be it. What the devil were they trying to do?

  He didn't find out. He only knew they were in the process of demolishing his equipment—all his shining equipment on which he had lavished more care than his own person during all these months. They just came on board uninvited and without asking. They kept themselves from being seen or identified and acted as if the station were theirs. And now they were starting to destroy Art's most precious possession—his com equipment.

  Art's anger got the better of him. He threw himself forward toward the power control. He knew this try was going to cost him trouble but he gripped the dial and with a hefty twist brought it around to zero. The loud humming died down swiftly. The lighted indicator needles fell back, and even the intercom mike stopped giving out smoke.

  Art looked around him in triumph. "Alright!" he shouted. "Where are you now?"

  Something was coming toward him. He could sense it. He couldn't see it but he had a clear impression of approaching menace. He jumped to one side and something struck full force against the top of the distribution box which he had been standing in front of. Art laughed scornfully. Apparently the invisibles were slow to react. He took a step back and again had the feeling that he had only missed a hefty blow by a few millimeters.

  He wondered about that. Didn't they have any weapons other than knives and fists? If that were so then his chances weren't quite so bad. He had his instinct which seemed to sharpen every time he was attacked. How many invisibles were in this room? Art was certain one of them was standing by the door to prevent him from leaving. Another one must have been occupied with the power control. That made two. Were there any more of them?

  For a second time he approached the door. He moved slower than before so that his, instinct would have time to warn him. When he was 2 meters away from the exit he sensed that somebody was standing close in front of him threateningly. He moved to one side and just then heard the loud humming of the equipment again.

  That was all he had wanted to find out. One of them stood at the door while the other one worked the power dial when his way was clear to do so.

  Art drew back but thought he could sense that the alien by the door didn't follow him. Now he felt more sure of himself. Not too hurriedly, so that he would arouse no susp
icion, he moved toward the small metal cabinet next to his control console. No one stopped him from opening its door. His hand darted swiftly inside and his fingers closed around a cool piece of plastic metal. He suddenly jerked the heavy thermo beamer out and turned, ready to fire.

  The cold metal against him and the weight of the raygun gave him a feeling of having the upper hand. He didn't know if these phantoms would be sensitive to the concentrated energy of a thermo shot. The field around them might protect them from any kind of radiation but the beam of this kind of weapon also packed a wallop in terms of the transmitted mechanical energy. It was like a lightning bolt in a storm. If it didn't burn the thing it hit it would at least knock a hole in it.

  Art knew they would observe him but perhaps they didn't know what he was holding in the crook of his arm. He approached the power control for the third time, walking carefully one step at a time while watching for the right moment. He had to know exactly where the alien was standing. With his finger on the trigger he sort of listened with an instinctive ear in order not to miss the slightest warning. Step by step he came closer to the distributor box. It almost seemed as if they were not going to hinder him this time. Clutching the weapon tightly in his right hand, he reached out with his left hand toward the control dial.

  Then he sensed it!

  The alien came at him from the left and behind him at an angle. Art swung the heavy barrel of the beamer around and pressed the trigger automatically.

  A brilliant sharp beam of energy darted from the muzzle of the weapon. He saw it split close in front of him and bend in two streams to the right and left as though it were going around an obstacle. So he hadn't been wrong. The field around the aliens also made them insensible to the effects of a thermo gun—except for the physical impact. He could see that the point where the beam parted was receding from him. His instinctive sense of having someone close to him faded as the invisible alien was pushed back farther by the impact of the beam.

  Art released his finger from the trigger when the stranger was about 5 meters back from him and then he turned swiftly and with his left hand he reset the power dial. While so doing, he held the weapon ready in his right arm.

  Now his way was free because he knew what his weapon was able to do. He didn't take any more time to search for instinctive signals of warning be cause the approximate location of his second opponent was known to him. He pressed the trigger and fanned the brilliant beam widely next to the exit hatch.

  In the blinding flood of energy there was suddenly a blank spot like a hole. The beam was parted again and was going around the obstruction created by the protective field that enclosed the alien. Art tightened the beam and kept the weapon aimed at the hole. Immediately the powerful thrust repelled the unseen enemy. The apparent "hole" moved to the bulkhead wall beyond the hatch door and then swerved to the right into the middle of the Com Room.

  Art had to turn to keep his opponent under fire while he backed toward the exit. The beam's impact kept pushing the alien farther from him. The latter could no longer keep him from going out into the passage to yell for help. He heard the hatch behind him start to open. The blinding flood of energy still spewed forth from the barrel of his weapon. It was set on short range so that it would not damage the instrument consoles along the opposite wall. The air began to get heated. Successive waves of heat beat against him and he knew it was time to get out of the place.

  The blue-white illumination from the corridor fell into the room as the hatch slid completely open. Art stepped back. He released the trigger of his weapon and prepared to run. He had to get to the main control room and let Eric Furchtbar know what was happening down here.

  But suddenly they were all around him. Not just two as before but this time at least a dozen of them. They came striking in at him from all sides. He tried to raise his weapon again but hard blows struck against the barrel and Art had to drop it. He figured that if that was gone at least he could use his fists. So he began to swing out. It wasn't any task to guess where his enemies were. They were everywhere around him. Where the devil had they all come from and how had so many of them managed to get on board the BOB 21?

  Nevertheless, here they were, and Art soon perceived that he was be coming exhausted. They were pummeling him from every direction. Mean while, he kept on shouting everything he knew about them. Somebody had to be somewhere nearby, one of the crewmen who would hear him and under stand. All through it he kept striking blows to his right and left ahead and behind, and above and below. He even kicked out with his legs to defend himself more effectively.

  But he was expending his strength. After a while that seemed like hours he was too weak to even clench his fists anymore. He flailed about him with open palms, and finally he couldn't even raise up his arms.

  He stood there defenseless and they must have seen their opportunity. A blow landed simultaneously on his chin and his neck. Art fell to the deck, at last depleted of all his frenzied violence and rage.

  • • •

  Eric Furchtbar wasn't alerted until somebody reported that he had heard some wild shouting in the main M-Deck corridor. He sent down an orderly to see about it and minutes later he learned that Art Cavanaugh had been found unconscious. His face was swollen as though he'd been heavily beaten and he was bleeding from various wounds.

  Eric knew that Art had been on duty alone in the Com Room. He had transferred Ken Lodge and Warren Lee to other posts. As long as the Com Room was manned, the operator there had direct control over the equipment. Eric had no idea of what could have happened to Cavanaugh in the meantime. He threw in a switch that channeled the IFPM portion of the Corn Room equipment into the main performance monitor. It was a routine move. He hadn't been hoping merely with that to find out anything about Art.

  But he quickly saw what had happened. The only thing left in the Com Room that showed any functional activity was the power distribution box. But it really wasn't distributing anymore. It was just a channel now for one tremendous current, which was going somewhere that his instruments weren't indicating.

  Eric sent a detail of 4 men down to the Com Room and also ordered Doc Johannesson to look after Cavanaugh. The 4 men later reported that all equipment was knocked out in the Com Room and that somebody had turned up the main power to maximum. Eric told them to cut off the power, which was done immediately.

  He kept watching his own indicators, expecting the straining needles on his meters to drop back to the normal range" but this they failed to do. They remained trembling against their top pins, still registering a tremendous flow of current. For only a few seconds, Eric was at a loss to explain it but then he began to see what was going on. He knew his station well enough to know what one would have to do to put a master circuit out of commission.

  They had been able to turn on a full power source from the Com Room, and while they held the dial open they had made sure also that the generators in the power room didn't stop working. The circuits controlled by the dial in the Com Room were no longer intact. It didn't matter now how you set the dial there—somewhere the invisibles were now able to tap off the maximum power they needed.

  Needed? For what?

  He asked himself the same question that Art Cavanaugh had brought up a while before but he didn't lose any time over it. He ordered the 4-man team to remain in the Com Room and then sent 10 more men to the generator section. He ordered them to arm themselves and to shoot at anything that moved down there. The generator room wasn't manned at present so there was no risk in giving such a command. If there were anyone down there it would be the aliens. And Eric did not intend to have any more patience or consideration for the enemy.

  Like the Com Room detail the 10-man group was equipped with wrist telecoms which were constantly in contact with the main control room. In spite of his broken arm, Lt. Hynes had insisted on leading the latter group. And Eric had let him go because he wasn't sure where he was going to get all the men he needed at the moment.

  On the way
to the power room everything was quiet. If there were any aliens in the station's corridors and companionways, they did nothing to hinder Ed's force of men. Unmolested, the 11-man detail reached the lower deck and the big room where the powerful generators of the BOB 21 were located. This was the main power source of the station.

  Ed Hynes' wrist device transmitted a clear picture of the large room. Eric was able to observe it on his smaller telecom screen. He could see that the indicator lamps on the control panels were all green, signifying that everything was in order. Hynes let his pickup device scan the whole installation and everywhere was the same scene of order and calm.

  "Alright, Ed," cut in Eric in a gruff tone. "shut down the Com Room's generator."

  After Hynes confirmed the order, Eric saw him go with one of his men between the towering machines until he finally stopped in front of one of them. He looked around him cautiously. The man next to him held his weapon ready to fire. Hynes lifted his good arm and reached out his hand to the switch lever.

  That's when things went wrong.

  Eric couldn't see clearly what happened. He was only aware that Ed Hynes suddenly flew to one side. His companion swung around and fired, even though he couldn't see anything more than Eric, who was now leaning close to his screen. But Eric's eyes widened incredulously as he watched the flaming bright beam of the thermo weapon and saw it make what looked like a hole in nothingness, as if the flow of electromagnetic energy were flowing around an obstruction. He could see that the hole started to recede from the muzzle of the weapon, at first slowly and then faster. He caught on to what was happening as quickly as Cavanaugh had, a half hour before.