"And they’re leaving me behind again," growled an annoyed voice in the rear. All eyes turned to look at the speaker. He was not a big man but rather a stocky one with; red hair and a broad face that at the moment seemed anything but jovial.
Reginald Bell, Rhodan’s second-in-command and best friend, was obviously unhappy with his role.
"But Reggie," said Rhodan reprovingly, "you carry a heavy responsibility here on Earth. I can’t spare you here. With the project we have before us, I need to feel certain while I’m away that things on Earth are being taken care of the way I’d want Do you think that’s not important?"
Bell forced a smile but he was still unhappy. "I’ll see that you get a Nobel Prize for being the best peacemaker, Perry. Alright, I’m not angry…"
"Just jealous!" Pucky interrupted, showing his incisor tooth in pleasure and wiggling his long ears. "You’d be green with envy if you could see me go into action, Reggie! The entire galaxy will tremble and pale when it learns that the mighty Pucky is back…"
"A pale galaxy should be an impressive sight," Rhodan admitted but made a warning gesture toward the mouse-beaver. "And now let’s have some order or well still be here tomorrow. I’m going to announce the names of those taking part in the operation: the spearhead this time will be the Mutant Corps, represented by telepath John Marshall, the telekineticist Tama Yokida, the seer and telepath Fellmer Lloyd, teleporter Ras Tschubai, teleopticist Ralf Marten—and Pucky. With them, will be the officers and crew of the Drusus. Men, you probably aren’t familiar with the Drusus yet. It’s a spacesphere of the Titan class, measuring 4800 feet in diameter and carrying a crew of 2000. Aboard are 40 guppies, each auxiliary spacer having a diameter of 180 feet. The Drusus has a hytrans range of 30,000 light-years and all other data match the Titan. Finally, the Drusus was built on the Earth: it isn’t stellar booty of any sort. I think we will impress the Regent considerably with it."
"Hm," murmured Bell but otherwise remained quiet.
Rhodan continued, undisturbed by the slight interruption. "I’ve had this super battleship designed and built exclusively for the purpose of demonstration. Nevertheless, it is equipped with our best and most effective weaponry—and that includes the tele-transmitters. Liftoff is set for tomorrow morning and I’ll issue the final instructions on board. Any questions?"
Ras Tschubai, the powerful Afroterranian, raised his hand. "I have one sir. Does the Robot Brain on Arkon know we’re coming to visit it?"
"Of course not," Rhodan smiled. "Tomorrow we’ll make a short spring through hyperspace—the structocomp will be in operation, of course—and then contact the Regent. It can then get a fix on our location as it likes, without endangering us. Its logic will tell it we would never transmit a hypercom message from the Earth."
No further questions were asked. Each of the men present knew that Rhodan would tell them all they needed to know in his own good time.
"Alright then, till tomorrow," said Rhodan, closing the conference and leaving the room. Bell followed as he still had some questions.
The mutants watched the 2 men leave.
To them remained but one more night on Earth.
2/ RED ALERT
The structure-sensors of the Arkonides were positioned everywhere in the Imperium and up to 30,000 light-years beyond its frontiers. The purpose, of the sensors was to detect and register every transition made by every spaceship within their range. Thus was the Regent at the centre of the empire informed of all movement in and out of hyperspace and from the data could draw its conclusions.
The first transition of the Drusus took place under cover of the structural compensator. The jump was rendered thereby ‘silent’, leaving no trace. No one in the depths of the galaxy learned that a huge ship left normal space somewhere and reentered in an entirely different location. No one learned the position of the planet Terra.
But everyone knew, hours later, that the ship did exist and who its commander was.
The stars materialized and appeared on the vidscreens aboard the Drusus.
Lt.-Col. Baldur Sikermann, first officer of the spacesphere and a thickset, swarthy individual, sighed in relief. He sat next to Rhodan at the controls and tried to keep from showing that this flight was his first serious mission.
"Specified position has been reached, sir," Sikermann announced. "Distance from the Earth, precisely 300 light-years, 90° towards the galactic centre. Present speed is 98% SPEOL."
"Thank you, Sikermann, The course and speed will be maintained." Rhodan nodded encouragingly to the first officer, stood up and left the semicircular control central with purposeful strides. Each step, he knew, brought him closer to the moment of decision—and it would be a tough one.
Someone was waiting for him at the door of the communications centre. His slender figure was slightly stooped, betraying the man’s age. His snow-white hair gleamed in the light from the ceiling lamps and his 2 golden-red eyes revealed that he was an albino. All pure Arkonides were albinos and Khrest was no exception.
"The Regent’s call has not stopped yet, Perry," said Khrest, smiling a bit timorously. "We’ve let the Robot Brain wait a long time."
"It’s got plenty of time," Rhodan smiled back. "So we have to make it look like we do too."
Together with his friend, Rhodan entered the spacious com centre, in which the hypercom had been installed. Although there were various ways of protecting a hypercom signal from being tracked to its source, Rhodan had decided it would be better not to contact Arkon from the Earth. No one could know what discoveries the awakening Arkonides might have made over the years and, in any event, Khrest had advised Rhodan to transmit his message to the Regent only after he was well away from the Earth and into deep space.
Lt. David Stem, a dark-haired and medium-sized Israeli, saluted rigidly as he saw the Chief and his Arkonide ally come in. "Com centre—everything in order, sir!"
"Thank you, Stem," Rhodan answered and pointed to the massive hypercom machinery. "What’s our friend up to now?"
Stem switched on the power. "The Regent is still calling, sir. The text of its message has been altered in the meantime. The meaning hasn’t changed but it seems to me more personal now. Would you want to hear it, sir’?"
"It would be a good idea, Stern. Turn on the video unit, too, in case the Regent is broadcasting any pictures."
Endless minutes ticked by before the oval screen glowed into life. Then the familiar picture of the Arkonide Regent appeared—a huge steel dome resting on its flat bottom. Movable antennae and dials interrupted its otherwise smooth surface.
Quietly and emotionlessly, the message of the largest positronicon in the galaxy emanated from the loudspeaker:
"Perry Rhodan of Terra! I know that you are still alive! Why do you not answer my call and make contact with me? I assure you that we will not speak of the past. Only the future is important, Perry Rhodan. Your future and my future! Please answer!"
"The Robot Brain has been sending that every 2 minutes," said David Stern, "probably for some days now. Should I shut the machine down?"
"Keep the receiver on, Stern," Rhodan told him. "And turn on the transmitter, too."
The great moment had come. Khrest stood somewhat off to the side and attempted to control his emotions. He was an Arkonide and had once belonged to the ruling class. Now a robot brain built by the Arkonides themselves was the ruler—and it ruled, it could be argued, rather well.
Rhodan waited until a green light signifying readiness lit up and the Robot Brain paused. Then, with a quiet and steady voice, he spoke.
"Perry Rhodan, planet Terra, speaking. I have received your message, Regent. We Terrans are ready to make contact with you. I request a confirmation."
The hitherto regularly repeated hypercom message from the Regent did not return. The massive steel form on the vidscreen seemed to be enveloped by harsh light, then the image became clearer and brighter. For his part, Rhodan had not activated his camera, so no one could see him.
&nb
sp; "You are a long way from Arkon, Rhodan," said the Regent, its mechanical voice lacking in either surprise or joy. "I shall he awaiting your arrival."
Rhodan smiled coldly as he answered. "I’m not that ready to surrender myself to you, Regent. I have certain conditions to set first. Will you hear them?"
"I will, Rhodan."
Rhodan was still smiling. "Khrest of the Zoltral clan has suggested the 3rd planet of the star Mirsal. According to the catalogue, that is a primitive world. I will land there and wait for you or your representative."
"I can never leave Arkon, Rhodan."
"Very well then, send a representative. I would suggest Talamon the Mounder, since I know him. It was he, of course, who discovered me first."
"No, Rhodan. Come to Arkon. I have—"
Rhodan interrupted the Regent: "We meet on Mirsal 3 or not at all, Regent. Send Talamon. Agreed?"
"Why Mirsal?"
"It could be another star as well as this one, but—why not Mirsal?"
The robot Brain was silent for a few seconds. Rhodan knew that the giant robot could calculate more in that short time than a human mind could in 10 years.
"Yes," said the Regent suddenly, "I am in agreement on Mirsal. However, I must set a condition of my own: each of us may appear only with a single ship—and that ship must have been built on our respective home planets. Mine on Arkon, yours on Terra."
Rhodan’s smile widened. "Agreed, Regent. There will be only 2 ships rendezvousing on Mirsal 3, then. And will you send Talamon?"
"I will send Talamon as my representative."
"When?" asked Rhodan, throwing a quick glance at Khrest. The Arkonide stood a bit to the side and his face was completely devoid of expression.
"In 10 of your hours, Rhodan. End of communication."
The Regent’s signoff was rather abrupt but what could one expect from a robot brain? That it excuse itself politely with the meaningless phrases that mankind so frequently uses? I agree—end of communication! And that was all.
David Stern shut off the hypercom unit, following the unspoken command inherent in Rhodan’s gesture to him.
Out in the corridor, the Terran turned to the Arkonide. "What now?" he asked.
Khrest shrugged almost imperceptibly and ventured: "One thing is certain, Perry: the Regent is in a jam, if I may use one of Mr. Bell’s favourite expressions. Do you believe it would have agreed so readily to your conditions otherwise?"
"No," Rhodan admitted. "I don’t believe that at all. But what can the trouble be? Everything seems to be in perfect order throughout the Imperium and none of our cosmic agents have reported difficulties."
"Perhaps the trouble is something that no one but the robot Brain is aware of," Khrest suggested calmly.
Rhodan looked at Khrest in surprise. It was something that had not occurred to him. "Yes," he said thoughtfully, "perhaps you’re right." Then he went on down the corridor.
The Drusus hurtled on towards the centre of the galaxy at nearly the speed of light. Even at that speed, 30,000 years would elapse before it arrived.
No one had that much time. Not even Perry Rhodan.
* * * *
The Drusus slid into the vast unknown of hyperspace 6 times, emerging each time at a different point in space. The transitions were made in different directions, always under the protection of the structural compensator, and covered unimaginable distances.
Finally, the 7th and last spring was made without the compensator or caution, bringing the Drusus directly into the solar system of the star Mirsal. If someone had observed the spring and the following materialization, he would have come to the astounding conclusion that the planet Terra was to be found somewhere on the other side of the galaxy.
An understandable error.
The star Mirsal looked exactly like Sol, Earth’s sun.
Mirsal lay 14,480 light-years from Terra, about halfway between S61 and Arkon in terms of distance. However, Mirsal was some ways off what would have been a direct route between the 2.
The star was orbited by 5 planets; according to the Arkonide star catalogue, only the 3rd was inhabited. The manlike race there had developed a certain level of primitive culture but was still far from space travel. The natives were, however, well aware of occasional visits from outer space.
7 hours before the time agreed upon with the Regent, the Drusus materialized and sped on towards Mirsal 3 at SPEOL. The crew had hurried to their battle-stations and stood ready to open fire at any second upon any possible attacker.
Rhodan had assembled the mutants around him in the control central. The rows of vidscreens depicted every cubic inch of the space surrounding the ship and Lt.-Col. Sikermann sat unmoving at the control panel.
The air seemed almost to rustle.
"Structure-sensor activated, sir," reported David Stern from the com centre. Sikermann acknowledged with thanks.
Outside the ship there was only empty space. Other than the Drusus there was not a single spaceship. Or at least no spaceship powered by atomic reactors—and ships powered by different means were not to be found in the Imperium.
"I wonder if the Regent will attack us?" Fellmer Lloyd ventured in the background. "This would be the perfect opportunity for it…"
"No, Lloyd," said John Marshall, shaking his head. Rhodan did not respond so Marshall went on: "Why should the Regent attack us? I’m convinced that our robot-psychologists are right: the Regent of Arkon is in a dilemma and wants us to get it out. Almost as if we were kind of a police force. Like we were once."
"But I don’t want to be a policeman," squeaked the mouse-beaver Pucky from the couch, where he sat with crossed legs. "I’m a respectable mouse."
"And policemen?" inquired Marshall reproachfully. "They aren’t respectable?"
Seeing Rhodan’s admonishing expression, Pucky seemed to shrink an inch or two. Had he gone too far?
"Yes, of course they’re respectable," he twittered, lowering his eyes in shame. "But Reggie told me they’re humans—in fact, that was part of the job requirement. You have to be human to be a policeman. At every opportunity he would tell me that policemen are human, too. But I’m not human, so I can never be a policeman."
Pucky’s mouse-beaver logic was impeccable and Marshall gave up.
They spoke little while the seconds ticked by and melted into minutes. Finally, an hour had passed.
Nothing.
"The Regent said 10 hours," said Rhodan by way of lessening the tension. He paced the control central. ‘We still have 2 hours to go if the Regent intends to be punctual. I’m curious to see what Talamon’s expression will be when he spots our Drusus."
"That gorilla let the Regent know we were still alive," growled Fellmer Lloyd, who himself was indirectly responsible for the event. "I’d like to give him a punch in the nose for it."
"Then you’d better grow some," called Pucky, who found it difficult to restrain his sharp tongue in such situations. "Good old Talamon weighs more than half a ton. If a flea punched you, you’d never notice, and Talamon, would never notice you."
Lloyd regarded the mouse-beaver attentively. "If you’re trying to imply that I’m a flea…"
"Even a flea was put on Earth for a reason!" Pucky, replied quickly in a mollifying tone, elaborating: "Bell said even Adam had ’em. And without them, there would have been no famous story of Jason and the Golden Fleas."
It was in Lloyd’s mind to inform the confused mouse-beaver that his incredible erudition was only exceeded by his abysmal ignorance but Marshall, espering his thoughts, interrupted: "Oh, let Pucky be. You can’t win with him and we’ve more important fish to fly. Right, Pucky? Flying fish!"
"Right!" declared Pucky, oblivious to the fact that his broad tail was being mercilessly pulled. Convinced he had triumphed over the human, the mouse-beaver lay down, curled into a ball and seconds later was in slumber land. Snoring, as he would have been quite capable of putting it, like a mouse on fire…
The 2nd hour passed without event but
then began the 3rd and most decisive phase of waiting.
60 seconds seemed like drops in an ocean of eternity. The indicators of the hypersensor stood against their scales as motionlessly as though frozen in position. The hypercom receiver was silent.
Still a half-hour. 10 minutes. One…
The quaking of the space-time-continuum could only be detected by the sensitive hypersensor equipment. Everything remained outwardly quiet and calm as a gigantic form suddenly materialized not 2 LISEKS from the Drusus and became visible on the viewscreens.
The messenger from the Regent of Arkon.
Rhodan let out a low laugh of relief when he recognized the other ship. It was a spherical spacebattler of the Titan class—hence also of the Drusus class. So the Arkonides had not been able to develop anything new during the past decades. Which was not without its inferences as to their situation.
The Regent had wanted to make an impression on Rhodan but had sent him a type of ship that was already being built on Earth. Naturally, however, Arkon couldn’t know that. Well, the Regent wouldn’t remain in such ignorance for long. After all, Talamon had eyes.
"Slow your course for a landing on Mirsal 3."
The antigravity fields braked their speed and within a half-hour the Drusus landed within less than half a mile from the Arkon giant. Both ships had come down: onto a broad, high plateau.
Unseen by the men of the other spaceship, the crew of the Drusus was in battle readiness. A single word and the energy cannons would concentrate their firepower, on the enemy. Their defence screen could be activated with one slice of a switch.
But Rhodan did not expect a surprise attack.
He observed the other ship. He could plainly make out the name of the Arkonide envoy vessel: Arc-Koor.
"Stern!" he called into the intercom. "Set up radio contact and switch it into Control Central. Make it a direct video hookup."
Tensely he looked to his left at the squarish viewscreen near the navigation console. The grid microphone served simultaneously as a loudspeaker for the telecom circuit.
#58 - Attack from the Unseen Page 2
