by Perry Rhodan
He nodded tiredly. “Must this be, Captain?” he said weakly.
“Capt. Ighur, Your Eminence, commander of His Regency’s Battleship Kon-Velete. I beg forgiveness for my impoliteness, Your Eminence. However, I received the order to report to Floor 14 with my men.”
The combat robots posted around us did not move. Evidently they stood under the old scientist’s command. Meanwhile Rhodan had also appeared. His slight cough told me plainly that he was surprised at the presence of the Arkonide. Since when had the Regent started manning key posts with genuinely living persons? I had been expecting a robot squad instead.
The wrinkled face of the thin old man showed a trace of interest. “Have you had a good training, Ighur?” he inquired.
I bent my head slightly. My conduct was showing its first results. “I dare to think so, Your Eminence.”
“Which school?”
“Galactonautic Academy of Iprasa, Your Eminence,” I lied, hoping this famous and ancient university still existed.
“Oh, Iprasa! That explains your so pleasing behavior. When we have a chance, we must discuss Testro’s philosophic principles.”
I knew that we would never get around to it. Besides, I had never heard of this Testro. “It would be an honor for me, Your Eminence. May I now ask for the assignment to our quarters? My men are suffering under the heat.”
“Heat?” said the old man in surprise. “Oh, these barbarians. Heat, he says! Where is that device?”
He tapped without looking on the broad arms of the chair where the control board was built in and as he did he stared in renewed fascination at the new patterns appearing on the Simultan screen.
“This young Oscer is simply wonderful,” he sighed, enraptured. “The idea of the shadowless design in the floating ball of ice is magnificent. He’ll make a name for himself, don’t you think?”
I nodded my most vociferous agreement. His gaze mellowed.
“Well now,” he said, “take your men into the air-conditioned section. Heat, he says? It’s dreadfully chilly in here!”
Before he could re-immerse himself in his artistic contemplation, reception station A-3 took a hand. The watch robots suddenly moved. The Arkonide did not even notice that his authority had been usurped.
“Follow me,” came a rasping voice from the speaker slit of a heavy battle machine. It was more dangerous than a thousand Arkonides of the scientist’s sort.
Our men made an effort to leave through the security hatch of Floor 14 as quietly as possible. Bell looked at my degenerated compatriot in such a way that I blushed in shame.
I bitterly resolved to do everything in my power to change the condition of my people.
There was no second stop for inspection or admission. In front of the hatch rose the gigantic domed chamber of an underground city. There had been no attempt to construct buildings in the traditional Arkonide conical style. The architecture served only as a means to an end and was therefore timeless.
There were wide avenues with connecting transport bands and so many illuminated directional signs that one could be completely confused by them. The vaulting ceiling of the vast hall had been colored to resemble the natural sky and even here a harsh white atomic sun radiated light, heat and the unavoidable ultraviolet rays in extravagant amount.
I saw intelligent beings from all parts of the galaxy colonized by us. Even so, it seemed that only oxygen-breathing creatures were quartered here. Large signs clearly told us that here an artificial gravitation of .95 Gravos was in effect. That would seem to indicate that the Regent had done everything to provide the subject peoples on Floor 14 with living conditions approximating those they were used to.
I knew that each level had been constructed to fit the needs of the occupants. We ‘Zalites’ evidently belonged to the group of intelligent beings classed as ‘.95g’ and ‘oxygen-helium mixture’.
I felt dizzy when I thought of trying to oversee the enormous number of different tasks necessary to keep the Arkon 3 complex alone in operation without the help of the Robot Brain. It simply could not be done.
It took awhile for it to penetrate but I eventually became aware of a monotonous, all-pervading noise. It was a dull roar that seemed to force its way from every nook and cranny of the underground city, seeming to fill the colossal cavernous chamber with a presence that was almost palpable.
I stopped for a moment to listen. Rhodan too had bent his head and our men were becoming restless.
The source of the droning noise was not apparent. The more one tried to listen to it, the more it was lost in the chaos of loudspeaker messages and conversations of the crowds of non-Arkonides who also seemed to be having a furlough.
The combat robots pushed a group of three-eyed Naats out of the way. Spoiling for a fight, the Naats watched our men march past in formation and threw curses and insults after us. I was happy that it had not come to a confrontation with these constantly nervous beings from the triclopidean planet Naat.
I made another attempt to find out the cause of the monotonous droning and then the logic sector of my extra brain, activated so many thousands of years ago, spoke up.
Power plants… typical noise of thermal converters! Spaceport A-3 is one of the six plazas surrounding the Brain’s energy dome in ray formation.
I gave an involuntary start. Only now did I realize that with every step we were drawing closer to the mysterious regions of the Regent’s immediate vicinity. On Floor 14 we were roughly 1800 meters beneath the surface. If the rumors were correct, the Regent’s most important control elements reached even deeper than that.
That meant we were probably entering the area where the power stations had been installed. Rhodan seemed to have come to the same conclusion and hastened his steps to catch up with me. Here there was no danger of being overheard. For a long time we’d had no way of being able to talk openly with one another. The combat robots marched inexorably onwards. We were nearing a shimmering, pale blue and completely transparent energy curtain. Behind that, different living conditions were in effect than those in this part of the super-Arkonide city.
“Are you certain that these underground cities are situated in a ring around the Regent?”
It was more of a statement of fact than a question. I nodded. Rhodan’s narrow face remained as expressionless as before. Since his wife had died, he seemed no longer able to laugh.
“OK, I only wanted to make sure. We’ll talk about it later. I suggest that we brief the men.”
“Our quarters will certainly be under surveillance!”
“My specialists will find a way to put the pickup equipment out of commission. Unobtrusively, of course. We’ve been given a 50-hour furlough. Two hours of that have already gone by. We’ll strike at once.”
I looked around quickly. The faces of our men showed determination. Bell waved to me. Since our landing his fleshy cheeks had looked tighter and tenser. It seemed to me that he was ready for any risks.
“Terran rashness!” I said vehemently. “Patience is not one of your characteristics.”
“Only 50 hours furlough,” Rhodan said, not changing his opinion. “If we haven’t succeeded by the time it’s over, we’ll be put back aboard the ship and sent to the Druuf front. Then we’ll be back where we started. I’m convinced that the 60-hour stay in the dockyards for the Kon-Velete is for the purpose of putting her hyper-engines in order. This is our opportunity. We’re now as close to the Regent as we’re likely to get. Now or never!”
He was right, although I did not yet want to admit it to myself. I shuddered in the fact of what was to come—not because of the danger connected with it but because of the probable disastrous consequences that the destruction of the Brain would bring with it.
I said nothing about that. Rhodan’s nerves had been strained enough. As a Terran, he did not have the carefully considered caution of men of my kind.
A section of the energy curtain we had seen before opened up. We marched through and from there on the temperature
was suddenly cooler. The first Zalites came into view. A little later, we saw more and more uniformed people, all originating on Voga 4. This seemed to be the area reserved for Zalite crews.
The atomic sun circling the artificial sky burned less harshly here than in the forward section of the city. We went through a broad tunnel and came out into a second hall of equally gigantic proportions.
Men and officers saluted in respectful manner. The lead robot seemed to have received new orders from its control station. It suddenly stopped, stood at attention in front of me and announced: “Block C-436 can be reached by Roll-band 5, Commander. You are advised to seek out your quarters and prepare a health report.”
I saluted and said aloud: “Maj. Sesete, see that this is done. Robot, where do I find the officer’s mess?”
“It is connected to Block C-436, Commander. The automatic controls in your quarters have been programmed. You have the right to allow your crewmembers to do as they wish and to leave their quarters. Special identification papers are at your disposal. You are asked to outfit each individual taking leave with a pass which must include his name, ship, serial number and length of his leave in Arkon Standard Time.”
More I did not want to know. The eyes of a soldier standing nearby suddenly began to shine. It was astonishing but it seemed to me as if the man had all at once developed the ability to reflect the light falling on him. Bell pursed his lips and whistled in his usual meaningful way.
The battle machine walked away. People moved out of its path unwillingly but fearfully. Some distance away, the Zalite commander of another ship saluted over to me. I bent my head with a smile and raised my right hand in greeting. I hoped I would not be forced into social responsibilities. Among the officers of the Zalite fleet there was a peculiar system of friendship in effect, originating in the final analysis from an exaggerated class-consciousness. It was only because of that that I had used such unsubtle words in addressing Control Station A-3. The Regent unquestionably was well aware of the fact Zalite space officers came closest to authentic Arkonides.
Rhodan gave the necessary orders. Meanwhile I strolled down the wide avenue, which at this point was flanked on either side by automatic shops. Here one could buy anything one’s heart desired.
A large sign over a weapons store made me chuckle to myself. Yes, you could buy the best and artistically most valuable products of Arkonide technology—but you were given the gun you had chosen only when you had gone back up to the surface again.
I stopped for a moment in front of the plastic shop window and looked at the selection of wares. In that moment I suddenly regained my internal peace and serenity.
I stood as though paralyzed. At length and with pedantic care, I tried to plumb the depths of my psyche. My memory sector did not desert me this time, either. It was as though I had been plunged 10,000 years of Terran time into the dim reaches of the past.
Yes, at that time, shortly before my first takeoff with the Arkonide elite squadron, I had stood as a young admiral in front of the same store, only then there had not been any special conditions of sale.
One was attended and advised by scientifically trained specialists. Now two plastic-covered robots with smiles permanently engraved on their faces stood before the showcases.
As I stared at them, I noticed my inner transformation. It was as though a 10,000-year-old straitjacket fell away from me, a straitjacket created by 10,000 years of distress, disappointments, humiliations and burning homesickness for my own world.
Once more I looked down at the showpiece of the display: a very expensive thermo-beamer with an extremely thin butt and an attached infrared gunsight.
I had acquired such a weapon before my takeoff. Today it rested at the bottom of a terrestrial ocean where I had lost it during my flight into the underground steel dome.
With heavy heart I turned. Slowly I followed our men, who—probably at Rhodan’s order—suddenly became very exuberant and unrestrained. They stood on the slow transport band and called out to passing Zalites remarks that brought a smile to my lips.
They were rough but honest men. I had already known their early forefathers, who were in no way any different. The ancients had only known less, that was all.
If we should succeed in destroying the Robot Regent, I was committed, for better or for worse, to helping the Terrans. I was firmly determined to be a good and loyal friend to them for they were still in need of help. Together, Arkon and Terra must form an all but invincible team.
He will be suspicious! announced my logic sector without my consulting it.
I felt my eyes growing wet in excitement. Naturally, my extra-brain had analyzed the situation in harsh-sounding—and so all the more logical—form.
When I took over from the Regent—what would Rhodan think? I knew the Earth’s position; yes, I knew the many weaknesses and strengths of mankind better than any other person.
Wouldn’t he have to reach the conclusion that I intended to subjugate him—and with him the Solar Imperium? Or at least make sure in various ways that Terrans would not become too presumptuous?
With rare clarity of vision I realized that one day things would come to a head between Rhodan and me. I pushed the problem away as being one of only secondary importance. If the Robot Regent were not put out of commission, such pondering was ultimately useless.
As I jumped aboard the medium-speed transport band, I glanced back at the gunshop. When I had gone into that shop the first time I had been attended by a young Arkonide girl.
I smiled to myself for I could remember how I had sought for an excuse to meet her again, just before my departure.
What must have become of her? Where were her mortal remains resting now? She had only been a few years younger than I. With crystal clarity I saw her face appear before my mind’s eye. She had held her breath when I came into the shop, for the symbol on the chest of my uniform identified me as the Crystal Prince and future ruler of the stellar empire.
Someone jostled me. A Zalite officer, having fallen on the band, apologized disconcertedly.
I nodded absentmindedly to him and he went off with quick, uncertain steps.
Never before had I so strongly felt how old, how terribly old and forgotten I was. I was an oddity: a young looking being with smooth checks, firm muscles and a tall, exercise-steeled body.
Only internally was I an old man. My lifetime of experience ill-matched my appearance of blooming youth. I had seen great peoples and cultures come and go. I had stood at the cradle and the grave of the Eastern Roman Empire and I had desperately tried to save the lives of Christian martyrs until I realized that they had not needed me.
Tired and internally spent, I had come home, but now my feeling for life was changing in the storm of countless memories.
Greedily and with the fear of advanced age of missing out on the last and the best, I reached for the life that for me was called Arkon. I was ready to end the shameful situation of a robot regime by any and all means.
Perry Rhodan, the young, energetic and never-failing man from Terra, had shown me the right way. I did not dare give up.
I looked at my watch. Three hours of our precious furlough had already gone by. It was high time to do something. On my chest throbbed the mysterious cell activator. It gave me strength and determination as it had all the thousands of years before.
A young Zalite lieutenant moved away from me, staring at me—fearfully. Then I knew that my face showed my feelings. I had probably looked at him with merciless hardness.
3/ MARCH INTO UNCERTAINTY
Our quarters were designed to serve their purpose and nothing else; they were not pretty. We saw clearly that Floor 14 served only as a layover station for crews whose ships were in the docks being made ready for hyperflight.
I was the only one who had been given a room to himself. The crews occupied large, bare barrack-rooms and the other officers had been settled four to a room.
It was all right with us. I had been able to sep
arate the genuine Zalites surprisingly well from our commando team. They were also the first ones to whom I gave passes and sent on their way, just an hour after our arrival. They left joyfully and at least we had some peace to ourselves.
Room 18-B contained 60 stacks of pneumobeds. The air-conditioning equipment made such a noise that one could hardly hear himself speak.
We were not able to find any devices for secret surveillance anywhere. Just the same, we were suspicious as before. When we carried on discussions of a confidential nature, the quickly appointed ‘cover noise squad’ was given a sign. Sgt. Huster, a red-haired Irish giant with a voice to match, then began with a Zalite battle-song that made my ears ache.
Rhodan had been able to smile again for the last hour. Written in his face was relief in the fact we now stood so close to our goal. The mutants had reported their readiness to go into action.
Tanaka Seiko, the slender and now ‘red-haired’ Japanese, had listened in on all frequencies in use, exercising his ability as a radiopath, and determined that the watch robots posted in the entrance hall of Block C-436 had not been given any special instructions. We were not under suspicion and we had heard nothing of the unsuccessful attempt at X-ray inspection that had taken place at the entrance to the underground complex, either.
I had finally sent in the quickly written health report and the control station called in response to it. I was told with laconic terseness not to allow those suffering the effects of the heat to have passes.
Sgt. Huster, who in the upper airlock chamber had so artistically feigned unconsciousness, cursed like an old Turk. He was the leader of the third platoon and not only that he was a specialist in the construction of the hidden reaction bomb. So he had to come along.
10 minutes before, the two teleporters Ras Tschubai and Tako Kakuta had returned from their first special action on Arkon 3. With Pucky’s departure from our group the two men were the last teleporters we had available.
