by Perry Rhodan
The last machinery in the transition sequence switched on. All the energy stations were in operation as well as all the transformers. On the control panel in front of Ostal one instrument light after another lit up in bright green, signifying 'Go'. The major did not concentrate unduly on what was happening before him: Arkonide hypno-training had so ingrained the intricacies of piloting a starship in him that he was hardly capable of a wrong move.
X minus 1...
At zero the Tigris sliced into hyperspace in a burst of unimaginable energy.
The image on the vidscreen of 10,000 near and far stars shining coldly in the void seemed to fly apart—and every man on board the spacesphere ceased to exist, as well. Although hyperspace did not take a man's life away from him, it did take away the usual form of his existence.
And then it was all over. The transition had taken place in an amount of time that could not even be measured as time because during that 'time' it had been in a continuum where the factor of 'time' had no validity.
Moaning, the 33 men who had sprung with the Tigris tried to recover from the shock of transition. Fortunately the effects of the shock were short-lived and the reality of their new situation forced them to their senses with a jolt.
Not one light-hour away, directly in the ship's path, shone a small, yellowish star. The Terran freighter continued towards it at a velocity 90% of light.
Every officer in the control room was feverish with tension. Everyone knew that the Tigris had not emerged from hyperspace in the Tatlira System but rather in the Naral System, 4,536 light-years from Earth.
The third planet, Ekhas, the only one of altogether eight planets which was inhabited, was their destination.
The energy stations, energy storage banks, transitional forcefields and the transformers, all shut down one by one. Finally the structocomp, which had brought the merchant ship through a leap of more than 4,500 light-years, turned off.
In the control room a new counting-off had begun, announcing without interruption the time that had elapsed since the re-emergence of the Tigris into normal space.
Two men sat at the radarscope, concentrating their entire attention on the equipment.
"Three minutes and one second," announced the posichron (positronichronometer).
No human in the control room spoke. No calls came in over the intercom. Each of the 33 men aboard knew that the first 10 minutes after leaving hyperspace could be of decisive importance.
"Four minutes and 30 seconds," droned the chronometer.
At four minutes and 38 seconds, Lt. Manteau called from the radarscope. "Our ship's been spotted—we're right in the middle of a radar beam!"
The officer in the Com Center had been listening over the intercom, as he had been instructed. In the next moment he sent off a hypercom message by way of the scrambler.
The message was short, consisting of only two words: "Ship spotted". The scrambler had compressed those two words into an impulse 1/5,000th of their original length. The officer sending out the message tried to make out the typical curve the two words would make on the oscillograph but he was not even able to see a momentary flash.
The Com officer rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Everything in his department had gone smoothly. He just hoped everything else would go equally well.
Three sizeable structural shocks were registered in the immediate area by the Tigris. A few minutes later three tiny points weakly reflecting the light of Naral appeared on the screen, evidently coming from the nearby star system.
Maj. Ostal called the Com Center on his microphone. "Have they hailed us yet?"
"No, Major."
"Then try to call them on the Arkonide trade-frequency. The usual message, you know..."
The com officer acted immediately. Broadcasting in Intercosmo, he announced the ship's name, class, homeport, destination and so forth. As destination he gave the Tatlira system, giving the impression that the crew of the Tigris did not know they were not in the Tatlira system.
Now he was nothing more than a crewmember of a harmless Terran freighter—certainly not a trained agent of Solar Defense. He did not find the role hard to play and when the demand came thundering from one of the three oncoming spacers for the Tigris to reduce its speed, he began to stutter over the radio so well, and to choose his words so appropriately for the situation, that his colleague with silent gestures ordered him to get his play-acting over with as fast as possible.
In the control room the loudspeaker carried both query and reply. Maj. Clyde Ostal's amusement showed on his face. It was good that no one aboard the three Arkonide battlespacers could see him at this moment.
"Yes sir, Commander... Radio silence, complete radio silence. But if I may ask..."
The com officer of the Tigris could not ask.
The commander of the Arkonide battleships was a rabid fighter over the radio, threatening attack with all weapons and total destruction of the Terran merchant vessel.
Maj. Ostal then ordered the com officer: "Put me on the transmission!"
The screen in front of him flickered and then formed the image of a grim-looking Arkonide commander.
"Clyde Ostal, Captain of the merchant ship Tigris..." Ostal began.
The arrogant-looking Arkonide made an imperious gesture. "Turn off your defense screens. I'm bringing my ship alongside. As soon as you observe that a boarding party wishes to enter your ship you are to open the main hatch. End of transmission!"
With that the first conversation between the three 300-meter Arkonide spacespheres and the small Tigris was at an end.
"Alright," said Ostal calmly, "these gentlemen are going to have their way!" But a slight undertone in his voice promised nothing pleasant. Then, over the connection to the Com Center, the Major asked: "Have you been listening in? If yes, then don't make any permanent recordings of the conversation we just had, and erase temporary tapes. I want the Arkonides to think we're really stupid."
"One of the three ships is transmitting on the Robot Braids frequency, Major. The text of the message has been coded, scrambled and speeded up. The connection has been in existence ever since I told them our destination was the Tatlira System."
Ostal smiled wanly. The Arkonides had fallen for the ruse immediately but it bothered him that they would act so hostile towards a Terran spaceship.
Perry Rhodan and the Robot Brain were officially still allies.
Lt. Peter H. Hasting reported quietly. "The boarding party is floating towards us. They're bringing battle robots with them!"
"The way things have been going, I'm not surprised." Ostal was not to be shaken out of his calm. If this new development had not been anticipated, either, by the same token it would not prevent him from carrying out the mission Perry Rhodan had given him.
An unruffled and unshocked security officer called in from the main hatch. "10 Arkonides and 15 battle robots on board, sir!"
At the same moment a report came in from the Com Center: "The exchange on the Robot Regent wavelength had just terminated. The length of the discussion was 14 minutes!"
Clyde Ostal glanced meaningfully at Hasting. The young lieutenant, who had already proved himself in a number of dangerous missions, nodded slightly from his post at the positronicon. He quietly rested his hand on the Erase switch that was connected to the Spring Coordinate section of the memory banks. However, the officers in the control room well knew that pulling the Erase switch would not completely destroy that important data within the positronicon as a whole. Despite the erasure of the central storage bank, the hytrans coordinates could be calculated with data taken from other memory centers—but the work would take a goodly amount of time.
The heavy control room door opened automatically.
Lt. Hasting of the Solar Defense, now posing as a merchant marine with the rank of lieutenant aboard the Tigris, calmly pulled the Erase switch. A yellow light flickered brightly, impossible to overlook.
"Halt! Let that go!" shouted the first Arkonide to
enter the control room, seeing what Hasting was doing.
"Alright," said Hasting, stepping back from the positronicon control panel. He smiled ironically. "But you're a little late!"
A minute later all the officers in the control room and the Com Center were out of work. They had been crowded into a corner and guarded by battle robots while the Arkonides took over the Tigris.
The Arkonide officer whose face Ostal had already seen on the vidscreen suddenly asked: "Who is the captain here?"
Clyde Ostal stepped forward. "I am."
"Did you give an order to erase the hytrans coordinates?"
"Of course!" Ostal yelled angrily, finding he did not have to playact his rage now. "You were acting like pirates not Arkonides!"
"We are Ekhonides, Terran, and I am commander of the Arkonide battlefleet stationed on Ekhas." If the Ekhonide, a tall proud man who looked about 40 in Terran years, had hoped to make an impression with his statement, he was disappointed."
And we are Terrans, Ekhonide, and I'm a captain of Perry Rhodan's! Perry Rhodan will issue a protest to the Robot Regent on Arkon 3 and you will have to answer to the Regent personally for boarding a Terran vessel with engine trouble in such a high-handed fashion!"
Another Ekhonide came out of the Com Center and whispered a few words to his commander, who grinned approvingly and looked back at Clyde Ostal, even more arrogant than before.
"Weren't you on your way to the Tatlira System, Terran?" he asked mockingly.
Ostal played the unsuspecting innocent. "I don't understand this at all. Where do you get the nerve and the impudence to operate with your battlefleet right in front of Goszul's Planet? You're Ekhonides, you say? Ekhonides...? But the Ekhonides inhabit the third planet of the Naral System and..."
"That is correct!" the overbearing commander interrupted. "That's why your Perry Rhodan doesn't interest us in the least! Because you are not in the Tatlira System—your misspring brought you all the way into the Naral System. Do you think your Rhodan would look for you here? We Ekhonides don't think so. Now go back with your men!"
Wordlessly, Clyde Ostal followed the order. He did not concern himself over the tight, bitter faces of his men. They were playing their parts just as much as he was playing his.
Then they watched unconcerned as five Ekhonides put the Tigris back on course. One of the five turned out to be familiar with the English language and knew all the written and spoken terms having to do with spaceflight.
Terran spaceships, in principle modeled after Arkonide spacers, had retained the practical spherical form. When, two hours of flying time later, the Tigris landed along with the three ships of the Arkonide fleet at the Ent-Than's spaceport, it looked as though a mixed squadron were returning from a patrol flight.
Maj. Clyde Ostal and his officers had seen on the panorama screen what a large city Ent-Than was and that on the spaceport field, which curved halfway around the city boundary like a vast crescent, ships were taking off and landing continuously.
Then after landing, the 33 Terrans were marched across the giant spaceport plaza. Naral, listed on the charts as a small yellow star, seemed from the surface of the planet Ekhas just as large as the Earth's own sun.
A cloudless blue sky vaulted over this world, which had been settled by Arkonides for more than 10,000 years. If during the passage of millenniums they had become also known as Ekhonides they had remained Arkonides at heart—but healthy and enterprising Arkonides.
The Terrans were marched for a distance of five kilometers. For over an hour they had to endure scornful looks, mocking remarks and undisguised contempt.
As they came to the spaceport's huge reception and administration building, they were crammed into a vehicle designed to carry just 15 men.
Clyde Ostal protested. An Ekhonide with an unknown rank insignia on his chest listened to Ostal's protest with an expression of arrogant scorn on his face, then asked contemptuously: "So what do you want me to do about it? You're nothing but a Terran."
Maj. Clyde Ostal felt the blood rushing into his face but he controlled himself. He drew his head back and said calmly in the most fluent Arkonese: "How right you are, Ekhonide! I'm a Terran, not a degenerate Arkonide or arrogant Ekhonide, and for that I thank all my lucky stars!"
Ostal turned abruptly around and left the confused Ekhonide little suspecting he would see him again the next day, and pressed himself in with his 32 men in the transport vehicle.
Guard vehicles studded with weaponry accompanied the transport on both sides. Escape was impossible. The Terrans were taken deeper and deeper into the sea of houses of Ent-Than. The column finally drew up in front of a huge skyscraper hotel. Star Of Arkon read the sign in Arkonese.
But the hotel had a shady side. 1/5th of the giant building, that portion 800 meters high, was a prison.
A special antigravity lift brought them up to a point three feet in front of a transparent barrier of forcefields. Lt. Hasting did not understand the warning a robot gave him and fell against the forcefield, breaking his arm.
He was immediately separated from his comrades. Then the barrier disappeared and the 32 remaining members of the Tigris crew were marched into the prison of Ent-Than.
3/ PROSPECT: BRAINLASH
Even as the crew of the Tigris was still on the way to the prison, which like the hotel in the same building bore the name Star of Arkon, the planetary security service of Ekhas had taken two dozen of its best specialists off their jobs and brought them to the Terran spaceship.
There, these men met three communications scientists.
The specialists assigned to the hypercom equipment of the Tigris were instructed to carry out their investigations with all possible care and accuracy for they were to determine whether or not the Tigris had been able to transmit a call for help to its home solar system which eluded Ekhonide surveillance of the hypercom frequencies.
In the control room, eight specialists busied themselves with the ship's positronicon while others examined the controls of the structural compensator. The latter group then proceeded to that part of the ship where the actual structocomp machinery itself stood, that huge device which up to now had prevented springs through hyperspace from being detected and measured.
Even the radar was not ignored: the remaining two Ekhonides of the two dozen, however, went through the paperwork. They studied the shipping manifests and the waybills and went carefully over the flight orders. The English language and its specialized terms were no problem to them: hypno-training had allowed them to learn this language as well as their mother tongue.
The three Ekhonides detailed to inspect the Terran ship's engines quickly finished their work and reported back to Egg-Or, who was leading the operation himself.
"The engines operated without any trouble, Lord. There must be another reason for the misspring. We've also looked over the ship's energy reservoirs: there's enough energy on hand for 100 hytrans. That's not even taking into consideration the potential of the generators, which by the way are superior to those of Arkonide construction—better, more powerful, yet fundamentally simpler. We—"
Egg-Or, the Ekhonide to whom Maj. Ostal had protested at the vast spaceport administration building about the undignified treatment accorded his men, gestured for silence. "Save your explanations and findings for the written report—and don't forget to make it in octuplicate. Thank you."
Then his pocket communicator sounded. Planetary security headquarters for Ekhas was calling him to report that according to the department assigned to surveillance over all electronic communications in the Naral System, examination of the information stored in the memory banks of the Terran ship's positronicon had revealed the Terrans had sent no distress call or any other messages since reemerging into the normal space-time continuum.
Egg-Or did not even bother to thank his informant for the report. It was not certain enough for him. He required 100% certainty—had the Tigris called for help or had its crew been too surprised by the events?—and tha
t certainty could be supplied only by examination of the memory storage units in the Terran hypercom installation.
The memory center was coupled with the hypercom just behind the microphone and the loudspeaker; beyond them were connected the encoder and the scrambler. The three Ekhonide specialists did not reach what should have been an obvious conclusion: that through a simple flick of a switch the encoder and scrambler could be turned on before the hypercom's storage bank and microphone-loudspeaker systems. Nevertheless they discovered something.
It could not be perceived acoustically; and even with the help of their optical-positronic equipment they were unable to make visible the curve that is typical of a hypercom transmission. Only the Lar Detector, a device that functioned rather like a potentiometer, showed that a maximum use of energy, enduring for an improbably brief instant in time, had taken place in the recent past.
Again the Lar Detector registered the effect but the specialists looked at each other in silence. "Without importance," said the oldest at length.
"Perhaps this is the up-to-now inexplicable Echo Effect," ventured the youngest so doubtfully that Egg-Or noticed and entered into the discussion. He did not know what an Echo Effect was, at least as far as the hypercom was concerned.
The youngest of the three Ekhonide experts explained it briefly: "According to the theory, the Echo Effect should result when two hypercoms at different locations have their receivers tuned to the same wavelength. When one hypercom is transmitting, the second will echo the first and rebroadcast fragments of the transmission at full power. However, this is only theory and has never been proven."
Egg-Or was not ready to take the slightest risk. "Alright then, take this hypercom unit apart and examine every component as minutely as possible..."
He was interrupted. The youngest specialist claimed to have found out now why the Lar Detector had indicated a maximum use of energy. "Excuse me, sir... Please take a look for yourself..." And then he launched into a long-winded explanation that concluded by saying that the Tigris had transmitted no hypercom message since emerging into normal space for the last time.
