The Earth Dies

by Perry Rhodan

  At first, however, the space surrounding the ship remained empty. The 3rd planet was a bright star off the bow.

  The small hypersensor equipment was activated and began to register the first enemy transitions. The arrivals were spaced out but in a few moments it was obvious that they had all originated from the same starting point.

  The fleet of the Springers. It had arrived a few moments off schedule.

  • • •

  The Topides waited in their subterranean fortresses.

  These extensive installations had been set up with a feverish haste in order to divert the enemy from the more valuable 4th planet. If a world was going to be attacked, it would be better to offer up the 3rd planet as a target, for there was nothing there worth defending, outside of endless primeval forests and stony, high plateaus. No intelligent form of life existed in this jungle world.

  Nothing, naturally, other than the Topides.

  Al-Khor maintained a permanent network of communications with all command posts. He was continuously updated in regard to all defense preparations and other relevant events. A permanent hypercom channel was set up between himself and the dictator of the Topide system, 543-light-years distant.

  "Reconnaissance cruiser MV-13 has an important message."

  Al-Khor nodded to the speaker on the viewscreen. "Send it through," he ordered. The scaly, serrated crest on the back of his neck hung limply to one side, demonstrating the state of his fatigue. His scaly body was partially covered with a uniform. In his wide belt, the handle of a portable raygun was to be seen.

  The face disappeared from the screen. For a moment the silhouette of an elongated vessel was visible and then the hard features of a Topide appeared. "Cruiser MV-13. Commander Ber-Ka. Important message: 2 light-minutes from here we have detected the first transition space warpages. The Springers are beginning their attack."

  "Try to establish a count," ordered Al-Khor. "Report all further transitions at once and give their positions. I will dispatch a number of fighting units in your direction immediately. Attack, Ber-Ka! Only individual in-fighting can confuse the enemy!"

  "I will attack!" confirmed Ber-Ka. His face disappeared swiftly from the screen, which immediately brightened again and revealed another Topide.

  From here on, there was no rest for Al-Khor.

  The attack against the Betelgeuse system began.

  But patrol cruiser MV-13 had just received its instructions. Ber-Ka did not hesitate to carry them out.

  Ber-Ka was still young and ambitious. Only a few years ago he had held the commanding position on a larger warship, a cylindrically shaped vessel 600 feet long. Its excellent armament had given him a sense of security and also it had given him the courage to attack stronger opponents than himself. He drew his slender figure to his full height and ordered his officers to him.

  "My friends," he said firmly, "Al-Khor has given us complete freedom of action. We are to attack the Springers wherever we find them. You know as well as I that there can be no better opportunity than this to distinguish ourselves. Long live the Dictator!"

  "Long live the Dictator!" murmured the officers, with varying degrees of enthusiasm. To many of them, their own life was somewhat more valuable than a posthumous decoration but disobedience to the Commander meant instant death. So the chance of living through a battle was considerably greater.

  On the viewscreens of the MV-13, wandering blips of light represented the attacking Springers. Here and there, these points of light simply appeared out of nothingness and indicated that more hypertransitions were still occurring. After a careful study of these patterns it became clear to Ber-Ka that the Springers were interested in no side engagements but had instead singled out the 3rd planet as their main goal.

  This was of course astonishing because after all it had originally been the 4th planet that had served the Topides as a base of operations and presumably it should have been that planet that would be attacked.

  Why was it then that the Springers did not concern themselves with the water planet but instead were making such a concentrated rush toward the 3rd planet?

  For Al-Khor, also, this was the burning question of the moment, which no one seemed to be able to answer.

  In outward appearance the Springer ships were almost identical in appearance to those of the Topides but they were considerably faster, more manoeuvrable and more heavily armed. Also, the Mounders were the proven battle elite of the Galactic Traders and had always lived by war. To attempt living by peace had not yet occurred to them.

  Ber-Ka searched until he found a lone, wandering point of light far enough away from the others not to represent a trap for himself. Then he gave his instructions to the pilot while he hurried to the battle command post in order to lead the attack personally.

  The selected target was a comparatively small ship of some insignificant Springer clan. Its commander had of course heard of Perry Rhodan and his home planet Terra. However, he considered all reports concerning them to be greatly exaggerated. And because of this, his present attitude was to be the cause of the destruction of himself and his crew.

  Ber-Ka continued to stalk his prey. The unsuspecting Springer held steadily to a course that would bring him to the 3rd planet. The reptile's well-trained hands were poised over the firing keys of the rayguns. Deep within the cruiser the necessary power was building up and being stored for the moment when it would be released in one lightning blow.

  "They're still one lisek away," murmured one of the officers uneasily. He wasn't especially enthusiastic at this moment although he had already served on many a punitive expedition against defenseless subjects. However, this was another matter: they were going against an enemy who was at least equal to themselves.

  At least!

  "Distance, ½ lisek!"

  The distance continued to decrease and then became constant as the Springer discovered his attacker and flew in a sharp, evasive curve.

  "Pursue—and fire!" shouted Ber-Ka and he felt the deck tremble under his feet as the salvo raced away from the bow.

  It was not difficult for the racing fingers of energy, traveling at the speed of light, to overtake the slowly moving Springer, even before a single move could be made in his own defense. Colorful flashes of lightning surrounded the small ship, whose defense screen collapsed instantly and offered no further protection against the pursuing heat rays. Its generators detonated with a blinding flash. The hull bulged outward and melted away. The resultant debris spewed forth with a seeming indolence in all directions of space. Here and there, massive figures in pressure suits could be seen, whose own propulsion mechanisms instantly fired and attempted to take the survivors away to safety.

  One of the Topide officers stared with narrow eyes after the fleeing Springers. "Should we finish them?" he asked.

  "No, I'm a soldier, not a murderer."

  "But they have attacked us, Ber-Ka!"

  "Considering the overall situation, you may be right but we are the ones who attacked this one. Let's give them their chance and not bother ourselves about them." He turned back to the Control Central.

  He was the Commander. His order was law. The Springers in their lifesuits moved away in all directions and swiftly became lost in the emptiness between the planets.

  Ber-Ka turned his attention once more to the viewscreen. The blips wandering across his field of vision had increased in number but at this great distance it was difficult to determine whether Topide ships were among them or not. Of course Ber-Ka knew that the main striking force lurked below in the cliffs of Betelgeuse 3, or, as it was called in the Topide catalogues, Lyrad 3.

  MV-13had wandered far from the 3rd planet and was approaching the orbit of Akvo. Under no circumstances must the attackers be permitted to concern themselves too closely with the water world on which perhaps the abandoned defense bases might attract unwanted attention.

  The wandering points of light finally disappeared. There was only a single blip to be seen. It appeared to be
a vessel that had no desire to be destroyed in the first assault wave... After bringing it under magnification and probing it with a coded ship call, Ber-Ka's suspicions were confirmed that he was dealing with a Springer. And this Springer was heading straight for the planet Akvo.

  "New course—operations sector CO-17-dk," he called to the navigation's officer, while ordering the weapon stations to stand by to open fire. It was necessary to intercept the Springer before he could get suspicious. "Increase velocity."

  He pursued the wandering light-point with a tense expectancy and was soon forced to the conclusion that this was a battleship of the Mounders and there wasn't any doubt that the patrol cruiser was outmatched by it.

  In Ber-Ka, ambition struggled with the instinct of self-preservation.

  He could always veer off of the course as though he had not noticed the enemy. The majority of his crew would have maintained silence on the matter, out of personal interest for their own preservation. But if there were just one among them who happened to have it in for him and wanted to deal him a blow or seek a promotion, he would be finished. Cowardice in the face of the enemy was punishable by death.

  Actually, therefore, it was more a fear of betrayal that motivated Ber-Ka to carry the attack forward. He was by no means happy about the situation but he did not have any other choice.

  The light-point came closer and gradually resolved itself into a long shadow on the viewscreen that obliterated a number of distant stars. There was no indication that the Springer had noticed its pursuer. It held unconcernedly to its course. At its present low velocity it would require 2 hours yet before it penetrated the atmosphere of Akvo.

  Ber-Ka suddenly had a new idea. "Radio Central!" he called. "Try to set up a communication with the alien."

  "With the Springer?" asked the operator in astonishment.

  "Yes, with the Springer. The call frequency is in our catalogue. What's so amazing about it? Haven't we been in contact with Springers before?"

  "Yes—but under other circumstances."

  "That's just the point," said Ber-Ka, and he smiled briefly. "I am curious. It is precisely the circumstances that interest me."

  He re-channeled his monitor equipment. Now he had a closed circuit connection with his own Com Central. Without having to leave his station, he could now observe the operations of the radio operator.

  The ship call went out.

  On another screen the lengthy shadow had grown larger. The MV-13 approached its course at a lateral angle. At a specific point ahead they would undoubtedly meet if both ships' courses and velocities were maintained as at present.

  The loudspeaker and the viewscreen were respectively silent and dark. The Springer did not answer the ship call or else he hadn't heard it, which did not seem probable in view of the circumstances.

  However, Ber-Ka did not give up so easily. "Continue the call," he ordered to the radio officer. "And you can add that we're asking for a parley."

  This was against all regulations. Setting up conferences with the enemy by far outstripped the level of competence and responsibility of a small cruiser commander. Ber-Ka knew this but it made no difference to him. He harbored a vague suspicion and he wanted to know whether his instinct was valid. It was worth the risk. He did not know that he was about to make history, no more than he knew who the commander of the alien vessel was...

  • • •

  When the first ships of the Springers penetrated the upper layers of the atmosphere of Betelgeuse 3, Al-Khor ordered the counterattack.

  Everywhere heavy armor plate hatches opened up and the muzzles of impulse cannons glided out of the ground and pointed skyward. Subterranean hangars disgorged the waiting battle fleet, which at a single command rose vertically to meet the attacker.

  A deadly battle ensued, imposing heavy losses on both sides. The first atom bombs began to fall and destroyed a portion of the fortress installations. The robot-guided defense rackets of the Topides pursued the Springer ships until they reached them and destroyed them. The ships selected as rocket targets could only escape the threat of destruction by making a blind transition into hyperspace.

  Al-Khor sat deep underneath the rocky surface and listened to the reports. He winced bitterly whenever he heard of losses caused by the attacker but his countenance brightened whenever he was informed of the destruction of an enemy ship.

  In spite of this, he could not escape the realization that it was only a matter of time until the Springers would be able to destroy the 3rd planet in a single blow with the help of an Arkon bomb or perhaps even a gravitation bomb.

  He began to wonder with amazement why it hadn't already happened. "Connect me with the home planet!" he shouted in the dimly lighted room, just as a heavy detonation was felt nearby and the main lights went out. "The Dictator, quickly—before its too late!"

  There was nothing for a few moments and then he heard the voice of the chief radio officer. "The main power has failed. We'll try the emergency equipment!"

  "I'm waiting!" Al-Khor shouted back. Then he supported his weary head in his almost human hands and thought of the certain death that waited him at home if the Springers should be victorious.

  But—was it his fault, after all, if he didn't have enough ships at his disposal? Had he not warned the Dictator and begged him not to underestimate the Springers?

  And now, since he was justified, was he to die after all?

  Al-Khor straightened up. His eyes began to gleam dangerously. He dispelled such thoughts from his mind.

  He would sooner surrender to the enemy and become a traitor—and then perhaps remain alive.

  Well, there was still a little time for such a decision...

  "We have your connection," called the communications officer. "Turn on your set, Al-Khor!"

  A chill came over Al-Khor. For a short moment he wavered over what he had to do but then he got hold of himself. "Al-Khor here. Lyrad 3. The Springer attack has begun, Dictator. The enemy forces are superior to ours. Without help, from home base, we are lost!"

  "Then fight!" said the Dictator coldly. The face of the Dictator was rigid and aloof on the screen. The cold eyes bored into Al-Khor as though they could read his most secret thoughts. "I will send you another 200 ships but not a single vessel more. Fight and conquer, Al-Khor, or—it would be better for you never to return home!"

  "But..."

  Al-Khor became silent. The Dictator had already cut the connection.

  The Commander of the reptile forces leaned back and breathed a deep sigh. "Fight and conquer... How easy that is to say! Outside, a world is falling to pieces and we're supposed to fight. What else is there to do? Our ships are putting up a defense against a superior force but they don't waver. Before giving in, they permit themselves to be destroyed. And the Dictator? Does he have a word of approval or recognition to spare for us?"

  A sound behind him jerked him to alertness with the suddenness of a whiplash. Footsteps approached. Then an icy voice spoke to him without the slightest tremor of emotion. "How can we win victory if our Commander is already beginning to lose his resolve? What's the matter with you, Al-Khor? Are you tired—perhaps tired of living?"

  Al-Khor controlled himself sufficiently to turn about slowly. His scaly, claw-like hand rested on the butt of the raygun in his belt. "You, Ra-Gor! I could have suspected as much! Why aren't you at your weapons command post and seeing to it that the enemy ships are being decimated? If you want the actual truth of the matter: what you are doing is high treason!"

  The young officer standing behind the Commander also had his hand on the butt of his weapon. He smiled coldly. In his eyes was a storm of ambition mixed with hate, of fear mixed with reckless courage. "And what have you done, Al-Khor? You have doubted the wisdom of our Dictator. You demand recognition from him for merely doing our duty. That is mutiny!"

  Al-Khor slowly turned back to the control console and observed the darkened viewscreen before him. He could plainly see the reflection of the young officer be
hind him in the smooth glass. "I have only been thinking out loud, Ra-Gor, nothing else. And I might add that I have kept my thoughts to myself and shared them with no one."

  "Except me!"

  Al-Khor nodded. "Without intending to, my young friend. By your own choice you seem to have burdened yourself with a knowledge that may be a little too heavy for your young shoulders to bear. So I will help you to carry the load."

  "That won't be necessary, Al-Khor. I can handle it myself. The Dictator will be thankful to me when I explain to him what kind of a coward his Commander-in-Chief was..."

  "What?"

  "Yes, because you are not going to return home alive. The courageously fighting officers will be spared your disgrace. Or would you prefer to be publicly executed?"

  Al-Khor realized that he had no choice in the matter before him. He had always been a true subject of the Dictator, even if he didn't always sanction his methods. But now to be denounced a block-headed young opportunist like this? No! That was going too far!

  He drew his weapon unobtrusively and released the safety catch. In the reflection on the viewscreen glass he could see that Ra-Gor was still hesitating to carry out his intent. Had he suddenly gotten cold feet? When now it was too late and Al-Khor did not experience the slightest twinge of sorrow or compassion as he swung around with lightning swiftness and aimed his gun at the surprised officer.

  "Mutiny is punishable by death, Ra-Gor. As Commander I have such powers under my jurisdiction, so I hereby sentence you to death. That sentence is to be carried out immediately. I will even permit you to keep your own weapons and to..."

  But the victim did not have a chance to take advantage of the slim margin of opportunity offered. He died even before his raygun moved from his belt,