Action Division Three

by Perry Rhodan

  Ez Rykher was a remarkable man. He had a vast knowledge concerning lumber, grass, chickens, cows, milk and all those other things that one would expect him to be familiar with, but in addition he was also very well versed in galactology, astronautics and mathematics-which no one might expect him to know about. He went into discussions on a variety of problems in which Richard should have been the better expert but which didn't turn out to be the case. Of course Rykher didn't make him sense this since he had a pleasant and conciliatory way of intimating that of course he might be mistaken here and there. Ez Rykher turned out to be one of the most unusual and agreeable acquaintances that Richard had ever made in his life.

  Even now he came forward to watch the landing manoeuvres that Tony Laughlin was making. The corporal brought the ship on a flat curve into the highest layers of the atmosphere in order to brake their speed by friction as much as possible and to save fuel. The craft still had an ample amount of fuel but it was an unwritten law of astronautics that fuel should never be wasted if there was some other way to reach the desired destination-and by this manoeuvre Laughlin was avoiding the use of the retropulsion.

  They had time. They would have to fly around Ghama several times before the craft would have reduced its entry rate to the speed required for an actual landing. But at the same time this had the advantage of giving them a chance to watch for the Terran station.

  At least that was the way they had planned it. But just as they started their second circumnavigation of the planet the ship suddenly received a violent impact of some kind, causing it to whirl about a few times before it tumbled downward into the depths below.

  Nobody knew what had happened. The whole action looked like the result of a meteor impact but there was no trace of such damage. Tony Laughlin was only able to right the ship by means of his airflight controls and to bring it a bit higher in altitude so that it could lose some of its still dangerous velocity.

  But even that failed. The small spacecraft dropped like a stone. The engines did not respond. The antigravs had also broken down and as they fell the five passengers floated weightlessly through the cabin. Laughlin and Silligan finally desisted in their efforts and merely stared at the viewscreen in which they could see the blue-grey surface of the ocean rushing toward them with alarming speed.

  They feared that the approaching impact would kill them all.

  • • •

  Larry Randall looked up when he heard the high shrieking sound. The weird noise was emanating from somewhere above in the cloudless blue sky but he couldn't see who or what was the cause of it.

  With a sigh he pulled in his fishing line and tossed it behind him into the boat. It looked as if he wasn't going to catch any moon rays today. He looked up again and placed his hand on the starting lever of his small, soundless motor, in order to be ready in case anything serious happened. By now the howling sound had increased in pitch, sounding like a strong wind whistling steadily around the corner of a house. He had never quite heard anything like it. He was puzzling over it when he finally saw something. It was a small, glittering speck that was dropping like a stone from the sky and heading for the water. It's a Springer ship, he thought, and it's going to crash. Glord, maybe I shouldn't be so malicious about it but it would be alright with me if they all crashed together.

  When the glittering object came within a few hundred meters of the water it seemed to come under control for a moment. The previously steep descent angle flattened out, which again altered the pitch of its sound. It described a tight curve and managed to gain a little altitude, which served to lessen its speed. When it reached the highest point of the curve it finally began to drop again. It swerved just once more from its falling course but didn't quite make it. Then it plunged into the water a few kilometers away, producing a high, foaming splash in its wake.

  Randall set his boat in motion. Alright, so these were Springers who had been unlucky enough to crash and all Springers could go to the devil. But one couldn't just simply let them all drown. If any one of them should manage to climb out of that thing he'd be paddling around out there in the water somewhere and in about an hour or less he'd be eaten up by a Lidiok. That was a death that Larry couldn't wish even on a Springer.

  As he increased his speed the boat lifted partially out of the water. No other sound than the rushing water was to be heard. Larry glanced quickly behind him and noticed that the long flat coastline of Killanak was slowly sinking behind the horizon. He became aware of the fact that he was venturing out farther than he had ever gone before. He made a check of the sun's position with relation to the coast so that later he could find his way, yet he thought the whole thing ridiculous. Here he was, equipped with a soundless field-propulsion motor, and yet he didn't even have a primitive compass for navigation.

  After awhile he began to meet the waves that were spreading out from the crash site and they started to shake the boat roughly. Larry reduced speed and kept his eyes open. He raised up to get a better view but as far as he could see there was nothing but water. Nowhere could he see the head of a swimmer or any part of the spacecraft that had gone down here.

  For an hour or so Larry crossed back and forth over the spot, searching visually and calling out from time to time. He finally became convinced that there had been no survivors and he started to turn back toward home.

  It was just at this moment that he heard a gurgling sound nearby. He saw a surge of large air bubbles coming up out of the depths, followed by a grey shadow. At first he thought it was a Lidiok and he prepared to get going in a hurry because a Lidiok was big enough and powerful enough to even endanger the boat itself. But the grey object rose higher so Larry could see that it had a trapezoid shape, Lidioks did not answer, that description. He waited.

  Finally the thing reached the surface. A few seconds before, Larry had recognized what it was: a piece from the empennage. Apparently it had broken off at a transverse rib in such a way that its camber slot was bent shut, thus preventing the air from escaping. So the control elevator was lighter than water in spite of being made of metal and thus it had returned to the surface. The only thing Larry wondered about was why it had taken so long to come up.

  But he wondered a great deal more when he saw the name on the metal surface: Carolina 2.

  Suddenly he sensed a need for haste. Whoever may have crashed in the Carolina 2 was now beyond his help but Terra had to be advised of this incident as quickly as possible.

  Larry made another check of the sun's position, turned the boat in the right direction and pushed the engine's throttle all the way open.

  4/ THE GHAMA GAMBIT

  Relay 14 to cruiser ROYAL IRISH: RHH IT... Over...

  (Crypto decode: Return immediately to home base!)

  Cruiser ROYAL IRISH to Relay 14: UXD... over and out......

  (Crypto decode: Wilco.)

  • • •

  Nobody could imagine the meaning behind this order, least of all Ron Landry. A return to Earth partially contradicted the instructions he had received during the hypno-schooling. But there could be no doubt that this latest order came from Nike Quinto himself, which left Ron no choice but to comply with it.

  So it was that six days after its take-off the Royal Irish landed again at the spaceport of Terrania. Ron Landry realized the importance of his new assignment when he saw that Nike Quinto himself had come to pick him up from the ship.

  Nominally Nike Quinto headed the Intercosmic Social Welfare Development organization, which was strictly a non-military operation.

  He normally had better things to do than to let himself be seen in the vicinity of a heavy cruiser. It was necessary to avoid even the slightest hint that Division 3, which Quinto was personally subordinate to, was totally unconnected with 'Welfare and Development'. Thus it appeared that something very unusual had happened to cause Nike Quinto to overlook normal security measures this time.

  Ron soon found out what it was all about it.

  Lt. Randall on Ghama had f
ished a piece of lifeboat Carolina 2 from the ocean near the Terran station there. Randall himself had witnessed the crash. A quite graphic report had been submitted concerning the incident. The salvaged portion of the spacecraft was a part of the aerodynamic controls. Randall had tested it. He found out that just before its crash the lifeboat had encountered a tremendous energy shockwave. The molecular grid structure of the metallic crystals in the stabilizer material had been powerfully distorted. Randall had subjected it to a process of retrogressing the distortion so that by knowing the relaxation period which was typical for such metallic crystals he could arrive at a time of the energy impact.

  What it all meant was that the lifeboat had been shot down.

  The natives of Ghama did not possess energy weapons. Therefore the Springers had shot down the auxiliary craft.

  The Springers would not simply shoot down such a ship when under normal circumstances they could not know, at the time of firing, either where it came from or to whom it belonged. This meant that the Springers on Ghama were familiar with the fate of the Carolina and that they were afraid any report from its passengers or crew might lead to identifying the treacherous attackers.

  "So finally we've got a clue," said Nike Quinto in his high-pitched voice. He was somewhat out of breath. "I don't need to tell you," he continued, "that now we have to proceed with special caution. In case you don't believe me I'll let you see it on paper later-the order from Solar Marshal Mercant. Ghama's important for us, first because of its galactic position and secondly because of certain raw materials we obtain from the indigenous inhabitants. The natives are still dependent upon the Springers and that's why they've remained loyal to them. So far the Springers have taken pains to play a clever game of politics on Ghama. We may not count on the Ghamese for any resistance against the Springers.

  "Naturally we can't simply let the Springers get away with the Carolina's destruction. They have to be punished for it. That means we need to have the responsible parties here on Earth so we can bring them before the Court. They won't choose to do that of their own free will so we have to force them to it. That's your assignment. If you get the natives into an uproar in the process, that won't be taking care of the assignment to Marshal Mercant's way of thinking. In that case he'll designate the operation a failure. Just remember that, it seems to be the most important thing of all."

  "And now sit down again in that chair in the other room. Let yourself be brought up to date on the rest of the intelligence we've gathered."

  • • •

  Larry Randall was not surprised when the monthly supply ship to Ghama came in from Terra a few days earlier than expected. He had figured that his dispatch concerning the crash of lifeboat Carolina 2 would elicit some kind of reaction. The accelerated arrival of the supply ship must have something to do with it.

  Larry sat at his desk and looked out the large window across the island's flowered grasslands and along the dull-gleaming grey surface of the street. The latter led to the low buildings of the small spaceport where the ship was just now descending. It was the Empress of Arkon. She was equipped with one of the new field-propulsion engines so other than a distant humming during the landing there was no other sound to be heard. Larry always found it fascinating to see a colossal metal ship like that come down effortlessly out of the silent sky.

  He wondered whether or not he should go out to the field. Usually he did not do so on such occasions because he well knew that the officers and crew of the ship would keep the small settlement on Killanak in an uproar for a couple of days anyway without his help. So he decided that today he wouldn't go out there either. Something was up. It would be better not to alter any of the accustomed patterns because even the slightest hint of suspicion had to be avoided. The smooth-skinned natives on Killanak had sharp eyes. Larry didn't care to risk having one of them swim the 250 km distance to the main Springer station and perhaps report: "Terra man... go to ship... not always go... but go today..."

  So Larry Randall remained seated where he was and waited.

  Suddenly one of the native inhabitants was standing in the doorway. Small, smooth-skinned, with large, protruding eyes, his skin had a bronze-like hue which gleamed with oil that came incessantly from his pores. The small dark slits behind his laws were gill openings which at present trembled slightly as though he were excited.

  It was Zatok. During his first few weeks on Ghama, Larry had experienced difficulty in differentiating between these people. The only difference he could be sure of at that time was that which existed between male and female. The Ghamese wore nothing more than skin-tight loin cloths and their bodily build was very similar to that of Terrans. Since then, however, Larry had not found it hard to distinguish them as individuals.

  "A stranger comes, my friend," said Zatok gutturally.

  Larry nodded. "Have him come in," he answered in the same language. "He probably is looking for me anyway."

  Zatok returned the nod. "I think so too," he said.

  Larry frowned. "You mean he's out there already?"

  Zatok drew up his features to reveal his splendid white teeth in a sort of friendly grin. "Yes, I think so."

  Larry got up. "Then tell him to come inside, you rascal!" he ordered him with a smile.

  Zatok turned and went out. His movement consisted of a sort of graceful waddling, which was typical of a creature who was more accustomed to moving through water than 'walking' on solid ground.

  Seconds later another man stood in the doorway. His breadth and width almost filled the door frame. Larry's first impression was that he wouldn't care to tangle with this fellow if fists were the only weapons available. The stranger didn't seem to be more than 30 years old; but the look in his eyes revealed more experience than that. In spite of his impressive size his movements were graceful, self-assured. The man was dark-blond. Larry had never seen him before, but he knew his type.

  Division 3!

  "I'm Ron Landry," said the stranger. "If you are Larry Randall and you have something for a dry throat, I'd say I've come to the right place."

  Larry smiled. "Correct on both counts, Mr. Landry," he said, pointing to a chair.

  Ron lowered himself into it and stretched his legs way out in front of him, yet in spite of this he seemed to be bigger and more powerful-looking than before. Larry fetched a bottle with glasses and did the pouring.

  Ron started talking without being asked. "Larry, they've sent me here because they have an idea that you could use some help. In view of the growing influence of the Springers here the work of Welfare and Development on Ghama has to be pushed ahead. Please understand that my being sent here does not mean in anyway that Terra is dissatisfied with you. It's just that the workload stacking up here nowadays is too much for you to handle alone."

  Larry idly listened. He merely nodded when Ron paused. He knew he was not expected to retain anything of what the other was saying. It was more or less improvised. What Ron really was here for he'd have to learn in another way. He was sure it would be in a way that would not allow any Springers to eavesdrop.

  Ron took a second glass as he continued. "On the Empress of Arkon I have a whole heap of new instructions I've brought along. They're in the form of a sort of guidebook. I haven't studied it yet myself, but it would be best if both of us went over it together. The Chief is of the opinion that by use of appropriate methods it should still be possible to gain some ground against the Springs."

  Larry was suddenly attentive. Here was something that sounded rather specific.

  "The Chief believes we can offer the natives just as much as the Springers can, if not more. The trick of it is to change one of their old customs around here. For centuries they have looked to the Springers for their needs. All it takes is to convince a few of them that they can do even better with us. The news will make the rounds and the Springers will start losing points."

  Not too significant, Larry decided, wondering when the real hint would fall.

  "Above all we
must consider one thing: the welfare of the Ghamese is our first concern. Whatever we undertake around here we must never conflict with the natives. Otherwise everything is in vain."

  Aha!-thought Larry. Now he's planting something.

  At this moment Zatok reappeared in the doorway. Since Ron's back was to the door and he was about to continue speaking, Larry gave him a signal.

  Ron turned around. "What's on your mind, garma (Friend)?" he asked in the Ghamese tongue.

  His easy fluency in the language astonished Zatok. As was typical of his race, the latter demonstrated his reaction visibly.. The hairless brown bulge of his forehead moved. upward, widening his eyes even farther, while he executed three or four jumps that came within less than an inch of knocking his skull against the door frame.

  "Garma-you speak my language!" he cried out in the strange sing-song tone that expressed his joy. "You make me happy so that my heart floats and my hands swim!"

  "I'm glad to know that, my friend," replied Ron. To Larry's surprise he noted that he handled the singing lilt of the language without a trace of accent perhaps then you wouldn't mind if I were to stay for awhile on the beautiful world of Ghama?"

  Zatok clapped his hands together very forcefully, which was a sign of decisive negation. "Not in the least, my friend! That only floats my heart the more!"

  Ron made a ceremonious gesture, stretching out his right arm before bending it as though to embrace someone. It was a signal of agreement and confirmation, serving to ratify the theme under discussion. Ron seemed to execute it with consummate elegance.