Red Eye of Betelguese
Page 4
On the videoscreen, the surface below was clearly visible. In natural color, it drifted slowly over the convex surface of the screen. Then Lamanche also saw the low dome-shaped elevations on the edge of the broad plateau that lifted toward them out of the plain below. The small structures glistened with a reddish reflection of the sun, as though made of metal. Their obvious fabrication was evidenced not only by their individual shapes but also by their overall arrangement.
The Centurion started to land...
• • •
A great hullabaloo of shouts and greetings went up as Marshall and Pucky entered the wardroom of the Mutant Corps.
"Wow, what a surprise!" came a happy cry from Ras Tschubai, the Afroterranian teleporter. "So maybe you're the secret weapon in this operation?"
"He's a secret, alright," grumbled Marshall with ominous undertones. "The little scamp sneaked on board and simply came along—against explicit orders from Rhodan."
The smile of the Africa-born mutant faded in sudden shocked concern. "Oh oh! In that case, I wouldn't want to be in your skin, Pucky!"
"I don't know about that!" giggled young Betty Toufry. "He seems to have a pretty thick pelt on him!" She bent down to stroke Pucky, who submitted to it with visible signs of comfort. He was very fond of the little telepath, who was very much on rapport with him in the sense of paranormal faculties because Betty was also a telekineticist. "Rhodan will forgive you, Pucky!"
"He will if you put in a good word for me, I'm sure," Pucky nodded with renewed confidence.
The Japanese 'listener', Doitsu Ataka, shook his head. "You're talking about discipline. Let him do whatever he wants. I'm inclined to agree with him. At least things aren't going to be dull around here any more. Pucky is always a lot of fun."
Marshall glanced disapprovingly at the Japanese. The fellow mentioned discipline in one breath and violated it in the next.
But Pucky knew how to turn the situation to his advantage. "Right you are, Ataka!" he called out happily. "Who knows how much time we have yet to live— why shouldn't we make merry? Anyway, Rhodan would just have us all die— naturally, in a figurative sense—so let's die figuratively—but at least let's do it merrily. What I suggest is an endurance scratching contest and I'll be pleased to place myself at your disposal..."
Marshall deemed it expedient to change the subject. "Everybody listen closely!" he called out, putting a stop to the general laughter. "On this planet, which the Commander has baptized with the name Akvo, we've just discovered the first signs of intelligent life. We are going to land. No one knows what we will find but one thing is certain: it has nothing to do with our actual assignment."
Unfortunately it was an illogical closing phrase but Marshall realized it only sometime later—as did everyone else. Now, for the moment, there was no time
left to think.
The emergency alarm shrilled through the ship.
Marshall stood for a moment as though paralyzed. He seemed to be listening inside himself and then a shock ran through his body. "Deringhouse!" he groaned. "What happened? Your thoughts! They're muddled and confused..."
A buzzer sounded. The viewscreen lit up on the intercom, which connected to all departments of the ship. The commander's face appeared, perplexed and troubled.
"Attention, all hands!" he shouted in hard, almost brittle tones. "This is a top alert! Man all weapon stations at once! Somebody has taken over the controls of the Centurion! We're landing!" He paused briefly as though considering. "Marshall! Keep your mutants on standby. We may need their help!"
"What's the matter with the ship?" cried Marshall. "Have you already tried—"
"It's useless. We've been trapped in a powerful tractor beam. It knocks out all our controls. Frankly, Marshall, I'm not intending to strike back at the aliens. I want first to wait and see what they want from us."
"Don't you think it's amazing that a race would be here with the technical development and means to take over a ship like the Centurion when we didn't see the least sign of their activity on the surface of Akvo?"
Deringhouse attempted a weak smile. "That's exactly what I want to find out. What we are experiencing is paradoxical and impossible. No, I wouldn't be too much surprised if an advanced civilization existed here on this world. But..."
Marshall felt the deck tremble under his feet. Then came a harder shock which almost toppled him over. And finally—silence...
On the viewing screen, Deringhouse was seen to glance off to one side before he turned back once more to his audience. "Yes," he said tonelessly, "we have landed. We are in the middle of a rocky plateau. Shining metal dome structures surround us but I can't make out any weapons. Also, neither humans nor any other kind of life forms are discernible. We have to wait it out until the unknown people are ready to establish contact with us. I want everyone to remember this: we are not defenseless, gentlemen. At the first or least indication of hostile action on the part of the opposition, we will strike without compunction but we will not be the ones to start the war. You will not open fire without my orders."
Marshall listened as the various weapons positions reported their readiness and went on alert standby. He gave a few instructions to his mutants and then left the wardroom in order to proceed to the control room, where a better overall view of the situation could be obtained. And if necessary he could also direct any required mutant action from that point.
Deringhouse stood erect and ready before the panorama view gallery and observed the Centurion's surroundings. He gave Marshall only a quick glance and did not permit his presence to interrupt his thoughts. Lamanche hunched a little to one side over the controls of the energy screens, which were not yet activated.
Deringhouse murmured aloud to himself, uncertainly: "There's just no chance that they'd know where we came from, even if they turn out to possess hypersensors. The Centurion and the Terra are equipped with the necessary hyper-compensators. Nobody can track our transition jumps. At least that's a consolation."
"In spite of all that, they still dragged us down out of the sky," warned the telepath.
"So what if they did? We submitted to it, Marshall. All right, I'll admit that for the moment we were powerless and had to go along with it. I would say right now that we've got the stuff to destroy their installation. On the other hand, why should we? I want to know what they look like and who they are." He looked again at the viewscreen and Marshall followed his gaze.
The heavy cruiser rested on a broad plateau. The first of the metal dome structures stood at a distance of 300 yards, obscuring the edge of the forest behind it. On the horizon shimmered the tops of distant mountains in the heat of noonday. The second dome lay farther to the right—then the third, the fourth and so on. They formed a circle in the middle of which the Centurion was located.
Lamanche awoke from his lethargy. "It's a veritable trap—an invisible spider's web," he declared sullenly. "We're sitting right in the cross-hairs of the captive beam that's holding us down. I wouldn't have thought these islanders could come up with something like this. Why don't they show themselves?"
"They probably have their reasons," replied the Commander. He stared intently at a specific point on the edge of the forest. "But I believe our curiosity is about to be satisfied. There comes a ground vehicle."
Now the two other men saw it. A grey-colored object separated itself from the shadow of the strangely formed giant trees and rolled out slowly onto the plain. Deringhouse activated the magnification of the viewing screen and now they saw it more clearly. It was a type of armored vehicle, even though it was without a gun turret. In the place of the latter was a curved cupola composed of transparent material. This type of transport equipment often used to explore unknown worlds, especially where the atmosphere was considered either unsuitable or dangerous. Behind the transparency of the cupola, the hazy outlines of several figures could be seen. The distance was still too great to be able to pick out details.
Deringhouse turned around and looked
at Marshall. "Well, what do you say? Still no thought impulses?"
"Some, but they are insignificant. They are screening themselves, so it appears they have already had contact with telepaths. They may be telepaths, themselves, and understand the necessary security measures they have to take, to restrict the radiation of their own brain waves."
Deringhouse fingered the vernier adjustment knob on the magnifier and said nothing. There was a sudden new gleam in his eye as he observed the approaching
vehicle. For a moment it seemed that he wanted to express something but then he thought better of it and remained silent.
Marshall noted that the Commander's hands trembled slightly. He sent out a telepathic command: Pucky! Teleport immediately to the Control Central!
The mental command was hardly finished before the air shimmered in the middle of the room—and the mouse-beaver suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He had heard Marshall and had come immediately.
"What's, up?" he twittered, as ready for action as ever.
"We are just now making contact with the alien people, Pucky. Unfortunately, their thoughts are being screened off. We have to know with whom we are dealing. Could you perhaps—?"
"Could I perhaps, he says!" piped Pucky enthusiastically. But he added with an impudent grin, "But how about you putting in a good word with the Chief, if I—"
"That's blatant blackmail!" put in Deringhouse without turning around. "But you're on! Even I will protect you if you can succeed in telling me, within the next 10 seconds, who it is that's coming at us in that ground vehicle. I may be mistaken but somehow there's something familiar in those blurry figures..."
Marshall started visibly. "Familiar—you say? I had the same impression from those weak thought impulses. Could it be coincidence?"
"Why argue about it?" asked Pucky. "I only have 5 seconds more. Until then..." The air shimmered once more. The spot in which he had just been standing was empty.
Two seconds later he was back. His face reflected unbounded amazement. With his ears held rigidly high and the nape of his neck bristling, he sank down on his broad hind parts and utilized his wide beaver tail as a support. "Wow! Who would believe it?!" he groaned, then let out a shrill whistle. "Who would have thought that the world was so small? What am I saying—the world? The universe is small!"
"What's the matter with you?" scolded Deringhouse. He tore his gaze momentarily from the viewscreen. "Stop driving us up the wall! What do they look like?"
"Speak up, Pucky!" urged Marshall also. He could no longer suppress a very strange presentiment. He began to suspect that they were in for an unpleasant surprise. "Did you see them?"
The mouse-beaver nodded slowly. "I materialized right between them in the ground car. Out of precaution I held my breath, because you never can be sure whether the atmosphere in a strange place like that is good for the lungs. But my fears were groundless. They breathe the same air as we do and they sure looked amazed when they saw me..."
"For God's sake!" roared Deringhouse, suddenly reddening with impatience. "I want to know what they look like! Are they water people or not?"
"Whatever gave you that idea?" Pucky rejoined with irritating calmness. "Do you believe that intelligent fish could have set up a defense base here on the land? That's quite a nonsense!"
"Pucky! ! !" Deringhouse stretched out the name with a note of dire warning. "Perhaps you don't realize how important it is but I beseech you once more to answer my question—once and for all! What do the aliens look like? And what do you mean by your remark that the universe is small?"
The mouse-beaver did not change his manner; he only shoved out his incisor tooth slightly to show that he was still cool and collected. "I don't know if you're going to be ready for this—but they look like the Topides. And if I may express myself more clearly, without disillusioning you too much: I'd like to swear that they are Topides!"
–Topides...!
To Deringhouse and Marshall, it was as though an icy hand had grasped their shoulders. It was true that almost 10 years had passed since they had encountered these highly developed and extremely intelligent reptiles in the system of Vega but the skirmish with them was still fresh in the memory of both men. The human-sized Topides possessed two legs and two arms, which they knew well how to use. Their hands were equipped with 6 agile fingers. The body was covered with a scaly, brownish-black skin. The head remained that of a giant reptile. Dark, protruding, chameleon-like eyes appeared to see everything within an angle of 180°.
"Topides!"
What were Topides doing here in the Betelgeuse System?
Deringhouse took a deep breath. "That's just about all we needed! Do these crocodiles have to stick their snouts in everywhere?"
"They have their own little stellar empire," reflected Marshall tensely. "If I'm not mistaken, somewhere in the constellation of Orion. And so, even in this region..."
"Yes, more than 800 light-years distant from Earth. That's still a considerable distance from here."
"What difference does that make?" retorted Marshall. "In any case, it's in the same direction. I wouldn't be surprised if they had a defense base here."
"On an uninhabited world? Why?"
Pucky had listened to the conversation with bowed head but now he shook his head wonderingly and piped up with a shrill voice, "Why cudgel your brains about it? Ask them yourselves what they're doing here!—Here they come!"
Deringhouse swung around and looked at the viewscreen. The domed vehicle had come to a stop less than 100 feet from the Centurion. Undoubtedly the reptiles had already concluded that this was an Arkonide battleship. Perhaps the circumstance might be put to some advantage.
The cupola of the ground vehicle opened and 3 reptilian creatures stepped down from it. They wore a kind of uniform which only partially obscured the scaly bodies. Not one of them was without his raygun, fastened in holsters on their belts. Their manner of approach reflected a certain arrogance. Apparently all sides in this encounter were depending heavily on their own superiority but Marshall knew only too well that the Topides, by their nature, did not know fear, and even in the most hopeless situations were accustomed to fight to the last drop of blood. The driving fear of their own dictator was greater than the fear of death itself.
"They certainly have nerve!" marveled Deringhouse, who had come to know the Topides when he was commander of a detachment of more manoeuvrable space interceptors. "They simply take up a stand right under our gun muzzles and wait to see what we're going to do. We could convert them to atoms..."
"...which wouldn't be much use to anybody," Lamanche permitted himself to observe.
"Do you want me to send those lizards running?" volunteered Pucky, eagerly.
"Are you out of your mind?" inquired Deringhouse. "I want to know what they're up to on this planet and what they want from us. Marshall, you will accompany me. Let's take a look at these characters. Hopefully, there's no one among them who will recognize us."
"That's improbable. We look as much like each other in our own race as they do to us in theirs. I wouldn't be able to differentiate between them. But what will we tell them if they ask us who we are?"
Deringhouse slowly nodded an acknowledgment of the problem and then issued a few instructions to Lamanche, while he walked to the door with Marshall. "Under no circumstance must they find out that we are Terranians. We will explain to them that we belong to one of the Springer clans. Hopefully, they will believe that, even though the Springers normally don't use spherical spaceships. Besides, I think it might be favorable to us, because they aren't on good speaking terms with the Arkonides and they know that the Springers don't particularly qualify as particular friends of the Empire either."
Pucky hopped along behind the two men and was heard to remark, "I suspect that the plot is beginning to thicken. Now, the way I see it..."
Lamanche watched them go and said to himself, "Gene, my boy, if this thing works, I'll eat 3 fighter robots for lunch—without mustard!"
3/ LORDS OF AKVO
As the main exit lock of the Centurion opened, more than 150 feet above the ground, John Marshall felt an unpleasant tingling up and down his spine. He knew, of course, that at this moment more than 200 pairs of eyes were fixed on the Topides and more than two dozen hands were at the controls of the heavy-caliber pulse-beam projector cannons.
But he also knew, with an equal certainty that this could be of little use to him if he were dead.
The silvery glistening escalator ladder emerged from the lock and extended downward. Deringhouse placed his right hand testingly on the butt of his weapon, as if to convince himself that it was loose and ready. Then, with a slight nod of his head, he stepped on the first rung of the ladder, which began to glide downward automatically.
Marshall followed him.
The 3 reptilian creatures stood motionlessly before the giant ship and waited self-confidently for the two men whom they apparently considered to be their prisoners. Their black, round eyes gleamed with an insidious expectation. The physical appearance of the men hardly seemed to surprise them.
Marshall recalled what happened that time in the Vega System. There the Terranians had their first encounter with the reptilian race. Rhodan had taken the great Arkonide battleship from them, the Stardust 2, which was a half-mile in diameter, and gradually they had succeeded in driving off the Topides. From then on there had been peace.
And now here they were faced with them again, although in another role. At least that's the way Deringhouse planned it.
The talon-like hands of the Topides also lay upon their weapons. Marshall probed their thoughts and read only a mixture of curiosity and keen alertness. They appeared to feel very sure of themselves.
As Deringhouse sprang lightly from the descending ladder rang and walked toward the waiting reptiles, an invisible wall of rising tension seemed to erect itself between humans and Topides. The Major came to a stop within 10 yards of the Topides. His right hand still rested on the butt of his portable pulse-beamer. A thin smile played about his lips. He was sufficiently acquainted with the mentality of the reptilian creatures not to have to fear an attack at this time.