by Perry Rhodan
"Yes, that's what I meant. We're too weak and we've realized that only at the last moment. When you take the number of ships alone, the Robot Regent is superior to us by a ratio of 20 to 1. That says nothing about morale, however. Ours is better than that of the allied races serving the Arkonides. That's beyond all doubt. Nevertheless, our situation is even worse than that of Frederick the Great in the Seven Years War. And... naturally we can't count on a miracle like the one that saved old Frederick from destruction back in the 18th Century."
Bell turned and went to the window. "Do you think Tiff's mission will help us any?"
"Tiff is only a small stone in a vast mosaic. From now on the Earth will limit itself to dealing out such small blows. We can reach our goal only step by step. We have to gnaw away at the Arkonide Imperium like mice at a cheese. One day the little mice will have entirely eaten away the big cheese."
"While I don't particularly like the analogy you've used," said Bell, "I think you're right."
He went back to Rhodan's table and picked up the rest of the sheets which he had not read.
2/ THEFT OF A STARSHIP
The man had a swollen chin and claimed to be named Franklin Lubkov, 27 years old. Tifflor could not vouch for his name and age but the fact that the man had a swollen chin was beyond dispute.
Franklin Lubkov was a lieutenant in the Terran spacefleet and now that he had the first, unfriendly portion of his mission behind him, he showed his superior the proper respect. When Tifflor ordered him to take his hand away from his chin and assume a friendlier expression, he obeyed.
"It still hurts, sir," he said. "I wouldn't have ever thought you could hit so hard."
Tifflor changed the subject. "Tell me all you know about this whole business," he requested.
"There isn't a whole lot to it," Lubkov replied. "Sgt. Fryberg and I were given the assignment of picking you up on the evening of 10 December after you had finished supper at Tai Wang's restaurant, and to bring you to a building whose location was described exactly to us. We were also instructed to make the pickup 'gangster-style'. Then our faces were disguised with makeup and we were given shabby suits. We were told how important it was for everything to look genuine."
"Butwho told you to do all this?" Tifflor interrupted impatiently.
Lubkov made a wry expression. "Marshall Mercant, sir. In person and well-identified with credentials and IDs."
Tifflor whistled through his teeth. "And so all you had to do was obey, eh? All right. After you had brought me here... what was to happen then?"
"That wasn't part of our mission, sir," Lubkov answered. "We were to lay you out on the table there, tie you down, and disappear. Marshal Mercant told us that someone else would take care of you."
"And you never had the feeling that what you were doing was unlawful and under certain circumstances could cause no small amount of harm to the Solar Imperium?"
"No sir. For a feeling like that you would have had to assume that Marshal Mercant's brains had gone spaggy (21st century slang for "Flipped His Lid." Spaggy derives from spaghetti.). Besides, when the order was given, Marshal Freyt was present, too. I had no doubts about what I was doing."
Julian Tifflor turned away and paced a few steps to and fro. "Well," he said finally, turning his back to Lubkov, "now what?"
"That I don't know, sir. We were told we would receive further instructions from you."
"Where are the others?"
"Down in the cellar, sir. They're waiting for departure."
Tifflor turned around. "Go down to them and tell them that we're taking off at 20:40 hours. That's an hour and a half from now."
Franklin Lubkov saluted and left. In a uniform and with the makeup washed off his face, he left a much better impression than he had the night before when he and Sgt. Fryberg had waited together outside Tai Wang's restaurant.
Tifflor sat on the edge of the bed on which he had lain during the some hours-long psycho-treatment. The sight of the bed alone called up unpleasant memories but there was no other place to sit in the room.
Lt. Lubkov, Sgt. Fryberg and 12 other men—they comprised the commando team with which he was going to take off for a daring adventure, following orders that had come straight from the top. He knew how he was to go about doing what he had to do. He was familiar with his own situation and that of his men. Right now, at that very moment, the newspapers in Terrania were filled with reports of 14 men under the leadership of a known and highly-placed fleet officer who had turned their backs on mankind and Perry Rhodan's goals and had become traitors. It was believed—or rather the newspapers believed—that the deserters had already succeeded in taking over a spaceship and leaving the Earth. Nonetheless, it was reported, they were still being searched for on Earth.
Col. Tifflor knew now that every police officer had the right to shoot at him as soon as he was seen and recognized. He was an outlaw and the 14 men waiting in the cellar were outlaws along with him.
Everything had been carefully arranged. If the Arkonides had their men on Lubkov's trail, they would come to the following conclusion: originally there had been only 14 men who wanted to leave the Earth behind, being Lubkov, Fryberg and 12 others. They had needed a leader and chose Col. Tifflor. Naturally Tifflor had no intention of betraying the Earth, so Lubkov and his men had to 'condition' him first. They slipped him into their hideout far from the city and worked him over so that he had no choice but to accede to Lubkov's wishes. When the building blew up a few minutes after they left it, some debris from the furnishings would remain behind to convince even the best spies that Lubkov had sufficient equipment to make the most loyal man into a traitor.
So far, so good. Julian Tifflor really had been conditioned. The plan on which the entire operation was based had been imparted to him by mechano-suggestive means. That had taken several hours. Every detail of the plan was now as firmly anchored in Tifflor's brain as if he had thought of nothing else since his childhood. In Tifflor's opinion, the plan was so perfect that absolutely nothing could go wrong. He estimated the number of experts who had worked the plan out conservatively at 100 and the time it had taken them three weeks. Moreover, they had made use of positronic computers.
True, Julian Tifflor took no pleasure in what he was about to do but he was an officer in the Terran Fleet and an order was an order. He also understood that if the plan was to be perfect, there was no other way for it to be carried out than this way. He missed only one thing: a few personal words from any one of those responsible for the mission and who had burdened him with it.
Tifflor had served for more than 60 years in the Fleet. He belonged to the chosen individuals who had received the life-maintaining cell-renewal process on the artificial world Wanderer. He was now about 80 years old but his appearance, the elasticity of his skin and his mental vigor were that of a 30-year-old man. The aging process had stopped cold when Tifflor underwent the cell renewal. He was a wise man with 80 years of experience behind him but even with all his wisdom he still would have felt happy if someone said to him: "Don't worry, Tiff! We're keeping our eye on you!" Or something like that.
He lay flat on the bed and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.
Then he suddenly heard the strange voice. Or rather, it was not really so strange. He had heard it before and knew to whom it belonged. Surprised, he sat up and looked around but besides him no one was in the room, nor did the voice come from a loudspeaker.
It was Perry Rhodan who spoke and the words sounded from within Tifflor's mind.
He lay down again and listened.
"You require an explanation, Tiff," Rhodan spoke, his voice friendly. "I know that and I'll give it to you. Don't be surprised at the way I'm talking to you. You are a deserter and naturally I can't come to you directly and talk with you in person. This message was recorded and imparted to you by mechano-suggestive means. With it came a post-hypnotic order to allow your mind to play it back, so to speak, at a certain time. I assume that you're experiencing the quiet be
fore the storm at this time, so you have the time to listen to me.
"To put it bluntly, Tiff, Terra is in a bad way. We have internal peace but Arkon is in the full vigor of its strength and as soon as the Robot Regent learns where we are, Earth will experience the same fate as Grautier a month and a half ago. Soon the Druufs will be blocked off from coming into our Universe. The overlapping zone is shrinking and moving away. Then the Robot will start to concern itself with the Earth. We must be alert to every chance that we can use to win more time for ourselves and disadvantage Arkon.
"Such a chance is now available to us for as long as the Druufs are not completely cut off from our universe."
"I don't have to tell you anything about the plan, Tiff. You are already familiar with it in every detail. You can depend on the men you have with you. They belong to the elite... even though you have never seen most of them before. They have been conditioned. Even if the plan falls through and they fall into the hands of an enemy, they will not be able to damage the Earth's status—just as you will not be able to, either, Tiff. You could say we've taken out insurance. We had to, because we're standing alone against a power vastly superior to us. The collective being on Wanderer, the only force which could help us, has not been heard from. We have no possibility of forcing it to help us.
"Don't consider this operation as just another routine patrol, Tiff. A great deal depends on your success. That's why we'll keep our eye on you. Two battleships will be constantly in your vicinity. You are still bearing the telepathic signal broadcaster which will enable our mutants to locate your position within a range of two light-years. You aren't going to be lost to us, Tiff.
"Well... that's about it. Break a leg, Tiff! Come back soon and in one piece!"
The voice faded out. Tifflor sat up and said, lost in thought: "Thanks a lot, sir."
It was pointless. Perry Rhodan was not around. Rhodan could not possibly have heard him.
Nonetheless, Tifflor suddenly felt much better.
He smiled and went down into the cellar to speak with the 14 men who were to fly with him to meet the Druufs.
• • •
Besides Lt. Lubkov and Sgt. Fryberg, with whom Tifflor had so recently become acquainted, there were four other acquaintances among the 14 men: teleporter Ras Tschubai, suggestor Andre Noir, telepath John Marshall and telekineticist Tama Yokida. Tifflor was surprised. Perry Rhodan had taken the most capable mutants out of the Mutant Corps for the duration of the secret mission. Together, Marshall, Tschubai, Noir and Yokida were a force that could hold its own against a well-equipped regiment.
With that in mind, Tifflor felt considerably relieved. Mutants were of incalculable worth—especially in this situation for Arkonides and Druufs alike were helpless against paramechanical and parapsychological powers.
From 19:30 hours to shortly after 2,000 hours, Tifflor explained the plan to his men. He especially emphasized that everything had been amply prepared for and that there was nothing to fear so long as they were still outside the overlapping zone, more than 6,000 light-years from Earth. It was necessary to say that, for the first part of the plan was nothing more and nothing less than stealing a spaceship from the repair yard of the Terran Spacefleet.
• • •
At 2,000 hours, Sgt. Cooper relieved the guard who was watching over the space cruiser named Newborn. Normally there was only one guard for the entire yard area, the watch officer up ahead at the main entrance. It was not necessary to watch closely over ships in need of repair, for the very fact alone that they needed repairs was excellent insurance against their being stolen.
It was different with the Newborn. Work on the ship had been finished that day but too late to move the cruiser back to the spacefield. Thus it had been assigned an extra guard.
Sgt. Cooper had not been agreeable to that—especially since he of all people had been assigned to guard duty and now he had to walk back and forth for two hours in the shadow of the ship on a cold pre-winter night. Moreover, the Newborn was an utterly obsolete ship. It was sphere-shaped and had a diameter of 90 meters. These days, ships no longer were built in that size, which fact alone was enough to give an indication of how old the Newborn was. She had weakly-powered engines which supplied an acceleration of a mere 17,000-normal as opposed to the 50,000-normal mustered by modern equipment, so the Newborn needed 15 minutes to bring her speed within the usual .02% of the speed of light for going into transition. True, she had hyper-engines but in this day and age every space yacht had them too. By itself, that was more than enough to make Sgt. Cooper feel his task was of much importance.
Cooper marched angrily back and forth, 20 steps this way, 20 steps that. After awhile he noticed that each 20 steps required 15 seconds. When he had gone back and forth twice, a minute had passed. He began to count the minutes—73 minutes now remained before his shift was finished and he was relieved by Duncan.
Poor Duncan! He came from Florida and would freeze all the more.
Cooper suddenly stopped. He heard a noise that sounded like a large car. The noise came from the direction of the main entrance and surely he would have seen headlights. But he had seen nothing.
Cooper stepped out of the Newborn’s shadow and waited. Whatever kind of car it was, the officer of the watch had let it pass through and so Cooper did not have to concern himself about it.
Finally a personnel transport emerged from the darkness and stopped a few meters away from Cooper. The truck bed was covered and Cooper could not see who or what was to be found there. Someone climbed out of the cab and walked towards Cooper. Cooper saw his gleaming rank insignia. He could not quite make out what rank it was but the man was no doubt a staff officer.
Cooper saluted. To do so he took his hand from the strap of his rifle and brought it against the edge of his helmet The officer had meanwhile come close enough that he could clearly see his insignia, it was a colonel. Cooper felt even more respect.
Then he recognized Julian Tifflor. Sparks blazed in his mind. He remembered having heard something about Julian Tifflor early that morning, something incomprehensible and unbelievable. Now what had it been...?
Cooper needed five seconds to remember it. Or rather, he would have needed five seconds. Tifflor did not let him have them. Cooper was no danger to him as long as he stood there with his hand respectfully on his helmet.
Tifflor unexpectedly struck out, hitting Cooper directly on the chin. Tifflor put enough force into the blow that he would not have to hit the man a second time. Stumbling, Cooper fell to the ground. The gun slid from his shoulder and dropped nearby with a clatter.
All of a sudden Lt. Lubkov stood next to Tifflor. Tifflor saw his white teeth shining in the darkness. "Excuse me, sir," said Lubkov apologetically, "I just wanted to see what it looks like to be an innocent bystander."
Tifflor smiled. "There's been a lot of violence lately," he admitted, "and innocent bystanders have been getting the worst of it. This man won't remember me too kindly when he wakes up again."
"That's the purpose of this undertaking," Lubkov declared.
Then he returned to the transport and banged his hand against the rear covering. "Everybody out!" he called in a muffled tone. "We're here!"
Tifflor was no longer at Lubkov's side. He had gone to open the small man-sized hatch at the south pole of the spacesphere and switched on the emergency lights that would show Lubkov and the others the way.
Lubkov and the others, Tifflor thought with a smile. No doubt Ras Tschubai was already in the control room!
Boarding the ship was a process that lasted no longer than 10 minutes. Julian Tifflor was last to get aboard. First he had lifted the unconscious form of Sgt. Cooper into the back of the personnel carrier, drove a few hundred yards towards the main exit of the shipyards, then returned by foot to the Newborn .
Thoughtfully, he climbed through the hatchway, closed it behind him and took a slow, outmoded antigrav lift to the central deck.
The second part of the plan had su
cceeded: the 'rebels' were in possession of a spaceship. The way to the Druufs stood open.
• • •
The vidscreen lit up blank for that which spoke was nothing that needed to be seen. The mechanical voice was deep, powerful and skilfully modulated. No one who did not previously know that the voice belonged to the Robot Regent of Arkon would have guessed that he was dealing with a non-organic being at the other end.
It was one of the odder facets of galactic politics that the Robot Regent was always ready to receive a message from Perry Rhodan even though Arkon and Terra were enemies and trying to cause damage to each other whenever possible. Even their enmity was rather peculiar, it did not prevent Arkonide and Terran ships from fighting together against a common enemy while a few thousand light-years away an Arkonide robot fleet prepared to bombard a Terran base.
Rhodan believed he knew why the Regent was so willing to exchange messages, messages were sent by hypercom. Hypercommunications offered the possibility that the sender could be tracked and located, and the Robot Regent's top priority at that moment was learning the Earth's galactic position.
Naturally, Rhodan had taken care that the Robot Regent would at least not find it out this way. The conversation he was having with the Regent was transmitted by 12 relay stations before it finally went on to Arkon. From the Earth it went over a directional beam to a station 2,000 light-years away. The hypercom wave-bundle had a diameter of just 40 meters. The opening of the bundle consisted of about three ten-millionths of a second of arc. That meant at a distance of 2,000 light-years the bundle had increased from 40 meters to 30,000 kilometers, a diameter not more than a few percent larger than the planet on which the relay station was located. This in turn meant that the planet had to be precisely 'aimed' at. Indeed, the bundling of the beam and the directional sighting of the antenna was a masterwork of directional beam technique and something that had long been considered impossible. The fact that in hypercom traffic, values other than 4-dimensional distances, in this case 2,000 light-years, were used, did not lessen the achievement of Terran technicians at all.
