by Perry Rhodan
For a second nothing happened. Then the answer ensued: "You have said yourself that no more than one mortal may know the secret. If several know it, they must die. Do you wish to die?"
"Just let me worry about that, Master," PS5 responded derisively. "You had better answer!"
"As you like. I am the personification of the will of your ancestors and transmit this will to the Commander. He is nothing more than a mediator between the dead and the living. His task is to maintain the existing order and to choose a successor. Then he dies—and with him the secret. That is all."
PS5 nodded. If he was disappointed he did not show it.
"So that is all? And what about the guards? They are mechanical constructions selected to dominate human beings. On whose instructions are they acting?"
"On mine!"
"That means on behalf of the ancestors, right? I want to tell you something: ancestors who require machines to enforce their will are not worth being remembered. We shall forget them and create new laws! We shall banish violent death from the laws and cease to end our natural life prematurely. We shall rule ourselves and see to it that the machine again becomes what it originally was: the servant of mankind!"
It took an entire second before the face changed horrifyingly. Fury, anger, disappointment and terrible hate flashed in turn over the features of the unknown one.
And then, when the voice spoke again, it was just as expressionless and icy—as before. But it was also melodious and even pleasant to the ear. The contrast was so baffling that it prevented any conclusions about the actual thoughts of the speaker.
"You underestimate the value of the machine and its positronic aid. Machine and positronics not only replace the human being, they are superior to him. The ancestors knew that when they created and employed the guards. To ignore their will signifies the end of this civilization."
"Then let it come to an end!" PS5 cried in outrage and absolute determination. "It would not deserve more than ending now if it didn't defend itself."
"That is what others have tried before you. They all ended in the converter."
"Yes, the converter! Another machine! That will be a joyful day when we throw all the robots to be found on board into the converter. That will supply energy for countless generations."
Once again hate distorted the face of the unknown one. His red eyes gleamed like fiery coals.
"Your life is forfeited, mutineer! Commander, call the guards!"
The Commander's face took on a deathly pallor. "He will kill me, sir! Who will instruct my successor?"
"I will, coward! At least die like a man, if it must be! But first do your duty and inform the guards!"
PS5 held the weapon. His hand was not trembling. "Before you'll have taken one step, Commander, you will be dead! How do you intend to inform the Death Squad?"
Despite his desperate situation, the Commander smiled somewhat. "That, at least, you will not be able to prevent, psychologist. Look at this little case in my hand." He lifted two fingers and a small object came into view which he had previously concealed in his hand. "I have had it for quite awhile. Even if I were to die this very second the guards would appear within minutes. When my hands let go of this case the stopper is released and an electrical current closes. That signals the Death Squad. So now you may fire, psychologist."
The Commander had become very sure of himself. He knew that the three conspirators would not simply kill him impulsively in this situation. They were too cautious for that. If his life could gain the slightest advantage for them, they would spare him.
His conclusions were correct.
"Will you alarm them if I do not shoot?" asked PS5 warily, his weapon still trained on the Commander. "If you obey that guy on the screen, you are done for. He will see to it that you are killed. He said so himself. But why do you want to die if it is not for the benefit of the people? Have you still failed to realize how we are being betrayed? Isn't it time to take our fate into our own hands instead of following the laws of a past generation that have no validity any longer—simply because the present has overruled them?"
The Commander seemed undecided. The voice from the loudspeaker spoke with no particular emphasis: "Follow my order, Commander! Call the Guards!"
But the seed planted by the psychologist had already taken root. His entire life the Commander had accepted his violent death because it had been the precondition for his life. Now, all at once, he was offered the prospect of living on until he was old enough to die a natural death.
He did not look at the face on the screen as he said: "You will guarantee my life if I do not call the guards?"
The psychologist breathed a secret sigh of relief. The battle was decided. "We give our word," he nodded and lowered the barrel of his weapon.
He pointed at the door. "Let's go to the Command Room. It is not necessary to discuss our next moves in the presence of this phantom."
He turned back to the screen. "We shall inform you of the results of our negotiation. Until that time we must ask you to be patient."
"For the last time, Commander—sound the alarm!"
PS5 took the Commander by the arm and led him out of the room. Without a word D3 and R75 followed, closing the door behind them. The order of the unknown being ineffectually faded away: "...give that command, Commander! Sound an alarm..."
Then the voice ceased.
PS5 drew a deep breath.
"It is good, Commander, that you thought it over in time. You are honorable and conscientious in character, there is no doubt about that. What moved you to change your mind? Was it just the prospect of living longer? Speak openly—but perhaps it would be better if you got rid of your alarm device beforehand."
The Commander nodded, pressed his index finger on a barely visible button of the small case and carefully placed it on the table. Then he sighed in relief and sat down in his chair. He gestured to the three men.
"Sit down. I shall be frank with you but allow me to begin at the beginning. I was still very young when I was called to the Commander, who instructed me in my duties. I brought him to the converter as my duty prescribed and then assumed my office. Ever since I have been lonely. Believe me, my life is more monotonous than yours, which knows companionship and work. I am not even granted the year of vacation and I have no offspring. My only diversions are the daily conferences, composing the death list and following the orders of the Master, as he wishes to be addressed."
"Who is the Master, C1?" asked the psychologist. "Do you have any idea of where he lives, in which part of the ship he is hidden away?"
The Commander shook his head. "Unfortunately I don't. He only appears to me in the form you have experienced. That screen is my sole contact with him."
"How could he gain such enormous influence on you?"
"That is easy to explain, PS5. Ever since my youth I have known only that face on the screen. I received my instructions daily and was threatened with the most gruesome punishment if I did not obey. However, the constant reference to the legacy of our ancestors was the most impressive of all. The Master emphasized time and time again that it was their will that we place our lives in the service of the people until the ship has reached its destination. What that destination is, I never learned. I have never met the Master personally but his greater than life image harbors such suggestive powers that it is impossible to evade his influence. Moreover—who has the courage to break with tradition that has lasted for thousands of years?"
"We do!" answered PS5 coldly and nodded grimly. "I can understand you but it is peculiar that the Master was not capable of making such a deep impression on me. Something about him bothered me. I don't know what it was but somehow the picture did not seem real and lifelike enough. And there was a certain discrepancy between the picture and the voice, as if the transmission wasn't functioning perfectly. I don't know if that makes sense technically."
"I know what you mean," the physician interjected. "I had a similar impression but I cannot explai
n what struck me, either. Still I am convinced that something isn't quite in order. What do you think, R75?"
"I can only agree with you. It's too bad that I am not an electronics specialist but the men in the Mechanic Sector should be able to supply us with an answer."
"The Mechanic Sector, the machinists..." D3 mused. "Yes, that might be a good idea..."
"You are thinking of your contact, of M4, aren't you?" The psychologist guessed the thoughts of his friend. "Indeed, we should ask him." The Commander had followed the discussion without comprehending. It must have required a tremendous adjustment on his part to regard the picture of the Master, hitherto his absolute ruler, as a faulty technical television image whose synchronization no longer functioned perfectly.
"I am not sure that we should pay this much regard to that matter..." he began hesitantly. "Oh yes we should!" PS5 instructed him emphatically. "In fact, I consider it extremely important. We must find out if it is a defect at all. You see, it is possible that the transmission apparatus is in perfect order."
The men looked bewildered. They did not grasp what he was driving at but the, psychologist did not have the chance to explain as the intercom buzzed at that instant. Someone wished to speak to the Commander.
"Should I answer?" PS5 nodded. "Naturally. We must not arouse any suspicion until we are definite about our actions. Perhaps it is a routine matter."
The Commander depressed a button in the viewscreen panel after he had arisen. The left outermost screen lit up. It was the liaison officer. "What is it, O2?"
The young man with the white hair gestured distractedly as if to apologize for the intrusion. "O1 insists on speaking to you at once, Commander. I explained that you were in the daily conference but he refuses to be turned away. What shall I do?"
"He has to wait," the Commander replied with a questioning glance at the psychologist. "I'll let you know when you can send him to me."
"Alright, C1," O2 asserted and seemed relieved.
The screen darkened.
"Who is this O2?" the physician inquired. "He makes a good impression, don't you think, PS5?"
"You mean we could use him as an ally?"
"Doesn't he look that way? I even think that not just he but almost all the men will be our allies when they learn the truth—I mean when they know what we intend to do."
"I am positive of that," PS5 nodded and turned to the Commander. "What about O1? Will he cooperate?"
"I can't say for sure. He is waiting to replace me. You can see he wants to talk to me. I am convinced that he not only wants to talk but that he wants to do away with me right now. He can hardly wait any longer."
"Hmmm." PS5 sank deep into thought. Then he raised his head. "When is O2 due for destruction by the converter?"
The Commander seemed astonished but he didn't ask any questions. He got up and went over to the wall. There was a block standing there that had a diagonal panel on which electronic controls were mounted. The finger of the Commander began to play with them until a plastic card fell out of a slot. He lifted it and read the data on it. Then he said: "O2 has one-fifth of a generation left to live."
"So he would be thankful if we were to prolong his life span. But O1 is a different story. He wants to become Commander, even if he must one day die by the hand of his successor. He prefers the temporary power, which makes him our enemy."
"That's how it is," nodded the Commander. "What do we do next?"
"Why don't we officially announce our decision," D3 asked eagerly. "It should be easy..."
"It is not easy," PS5 shook his head. "You forget that there are the guards. They are armed. Our people are defenseless. And we do not know what measures our friend next door has undertaken. We can defend ourselves here in the Command Room, it was equipped for that. Therefore none of us can leave this room without taking the risk of being killed out there. The guards will strictly uphold the old laws, for that is all they know. They obey their 'Master,' whoever that might be. No, we must find some other way to end the rulership of that unknown being. Not force but cunning will help us. We must inconspicuously put the guards out of action, one after another. Our friend M4 will help us with that."
The physician beamed. "You are right, PS5, as always. I shall have M4 summoned. Can we do that from here, Commander? Perhaps through O2..."
"Better not," PS5 interjected. "We must do it directly. You connect us, Commander."
"I'll talk to him myself," the doctor volunteered. "He will bring tools and food provisions with him. I'll instruct my medical sector accordingly." He grinned. "Orders from the Commander."
Thus it came about that the four conspirators received reinforcement a half-hour later.
Only then was the second officer called and briefed. He unconditionally joined the side of the friends and promised to do everything towards realizing the determined plan of action. They decided to send him back outside to recruit additional confederates. The two machinists were given the task of eliminating individually posted guards and bringing the dismantled weapons to Central Command. They would wait until there were enough rayguns collected before making a frontal attack upon the actual rulers of the ship.
Thus far nothing had occurred that might have justified suspicion that the Master had undertaken countermeasures. It seemed he was biding his time. Or was it possible that he had no connection whatsoever with the people other than the screen behind the Command Room...?
That was an important question yet to be clarified.
Still and all, project 'natural death for everyone' was in progress.
And nothing could stop it.
• • •
And yet the relentless machinery, once set in motion by the ancestors and never interrupted, was still running as well.
The death commands issued by the Commander long in advance were carried out by the special squad of guards punctually to the minute. That type of order had never been retracted, that was almost unthinkable.
The six robots marched in their droning uniform step, approaching the technical sector. A certain T39 had lived long enough. Today he must die so that with the energy of his life he would repay the community what he owed it. It had clothed and fed him and now he would give everything back. Nothing was presented as a gift in this ruthless world, not even death.
T39 did not know that the time had come. No one knew. They all could guess the deadline of the elimination, as they knew their approximate life expectancy, but the actual date of the execution remained secret until the last moment.
T39 was not alone in his cabin.
He had been astonished when he recognized the visitor who wished to speak to him. It was not an everyday occurrence that O2 called upon the technical personnel, even if T39 was the man in charge of the section.
T39 pointed at an empty chair. "Have a seat, O2. I hope your visit has no bad significance."
"Don't worry," responded the young officer, who had already informed the heads of other sections of the changes in progress. "I am seeking you out today with a friendly message and with a request to help us. It's a long story... and yet a short one."
T39 listened in silence without interrupting him. He thought of the Death Squad that would appear any day to fetch him. The end awaiting him was so taken for granted that it held no terror for him. But now, all at once, the opportunity presented itself to live on without ending in the converter. From one moment to the next the picture he had made of his future shifted. He could live instead of die! Death, hitherto something all too self-evident, suddenly became a nightmare.
He snapped to his feet. "I am with you, O2! What can I do to help you and your friends? The guards..."
"They must not find out anything until the very end. Everything must proceed as it always has. We must avoid arousing suspicion, T39! You inform the people that you trust and do not hesitate to eliminate any possible traitor immediately. We can only declare war upon the guards when we have sufficient weapons."
T39 recalled his own situatio
n. He did not want to disclose to O2 that he had himself in mind when he asked: "What do we do if the Death Squad comes to get someone? Should we attempt to rescue the unfortunate man?"
"By no means! That would be wrong. The six guards of the Squad would react immediately and contact their Command Central. And that, my friend, has nothing to do with our Commander. No, we must sacrifice those due for the converter in order for the rest of us to live. That cannot be changed."
"I understand," nodded T39. He suddenly felt a choking lump in his throat but he tried not to let the Second Officer notice anything. "Nothing must happen that could arouse the attention of the guards. The existing routine must not be interrupted..."
"...Not yet!" O2 said with peculiar emphasis as he got up. "I shall have to go now. Do your duty—and you will have to admit that it is a brighter and better duty than the one we knew until now. Life and the future lay open and danger free before us."
T39 watched the door close. It seemed to him as if he were suddenly alone in the world or in that ship. He had never before felt that lonely or in need of help.
Where should he begin? With his own crew, naturally. He would inform them and prepare them for the great moment when the resistance to the guards would begin. Then it would be decided whether their race was worthy of beginning a new life.
Footsteps...
T39 listened intently and all at once he turned pale.
There were steps outside in the passage. Regular steps with a metallic ring. Guards!
At least six guards...!
The technician's blood curdled in his veins, as he comprehended the significance of what he heard. There was still the possibility that they had come to fetch someone else from his section and not him. But who else lived along this corridor? Only T18, who had only taken over his post a few weeks previously so that one day... At that second T39 became conscious of the fact that T18 was his successor. It had never occurred to him when he had trained the young man and made him his assistant.
His successor...
The footsteps stopped abruptly.
