by Perry Rhodan
Perry Rhodan
Posbis #93
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VAGABOND OF SPACE
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PROLOG
IT IS THE DAWN of a new era for Mankind.
Since the adventures described in our previous diary, 57 years have elapsed. On Earth it is now 2102 A.D. and much has happened in the meantime!
The Druuf danger has passed since the overlap zone between the two universes has become too unstable to permit further penetrations. Supported by Earthmen, the Arkonide Atlan has succeeded in consolidating his position as Imperator. The treaty between Arkon and the Solar Imperium has borne fruit-especially for the Terrans, many of whom have already taken over important positions on Arkon itself. Atlan has to tolerate this because he cannot rely on most of the members of his own race.
The Solar Imperium has become a major commercial power along the rim of the Milky Way. For the past 22 years a virtual stream of immigrants has been flowing out to suitable colonial worlds. Also, on many of the planets inhabited by other intelligences, Terran embassies have been established as well as Galactic trading settlements.
In short, for many humans the dream of their forefathers has been achieved-the journey to the stars. And the same is true for THE
VAGABOND OF SPACE...
1/ A QUESTION OF-TEDDYBEARS?!
BORDERING the great spaceport of Terrania were row upon row of adjoining, flat-roofed building complexes where shipping firms and trading companies had established their headquarters. Here they were at a vital center and source of interstellar commerce.
Somewhat removed into the background behind the main periphery of these complexes was a small but rugged-looking edifice built of heavy masonry and stone. Although it appeared to be a military barracks-like structure, it was not, as was evidenced by the sign in front. When one came close enough one could read the lettering:
STARTRAMP LTD Space Travel Enterprises Proprietor: Capt. Richard Flexner, Retired
However, on this particular day—March 16 of the year 2102 A.D.—if one were to come this close one would become aware of a thundering voice and a startling string of expletives ranging through several octaves. An uninformed visitor might have paled before such a flood of vituperation and quickly retreated but the young woman who had just arrived by taxi and was now approaching the building with a sure, firm step appeared to be quite familiar with the operation. She wore a light summer dress, a broad-brimmed hat, carried a dainty handbag and currently modish sandalettes. Her features might have been considered soft and gentle were it not for the warning spark of enterprise in her eyes.
Ludmilla Graybound, née McBain, was not a woman to be trifled with, as her wedded husband knew only too well. It was this husband, in fact, who was making all the uncouth commotion inside the Startramp office, little suspecting that his wife was in the vicinity.
Capt. Samuel Graybound had jumped up from his chair as though he had sat down on a bed of red-hot nails. "You're going to have to say that again, Rich— before I'll believe I heard it! The Cosmonautic Retraining Institute...?! Now what kind of undiluted fusil oil is that?. And what do they want with me? Those crazy blockheads—they can go to the devil!"
The man opposite him was the epitome of self-possession at the moment. He was seated behind an old desk that had to be at least from the previous millennium. He was leaning back comfortably with his feet propped up on the pock-marked top. "My dear Sammy, you know that excitement is bad for the blood-pressure," he said in a kindly tone. "Just go see them and then you'll find out what they want from you. I don't know any more than you do about it."
"Cosmonautic retraining...!" Sam Graybound was not to be pacified. "As if there was anything they could retrain me in! These armchair commodores! They can take their retraining and—"
"Just take it easy!" warned the other man, who was none other than the head of the firm, Capt. Richard Flexner, Retired. "Don't you jump the gun! After all, the Institute is under the Solar Administration. We have to give that some consideration."
"Consideration... pah! We're a private commercial company with six of our own space freighters. What's there to retrain about with those? Are we going to all be working for the Government in the future? That'd be about all we need! It might jolt their sensitivities to know what we've stashed away behind our hatches now and then..."
"Be careful!" Flexner whispered in sudden dismay, while looking about as though for invisible eavesdroppers. "Not so loud! You're bellowing loud enough to be heard in Terrania!"
"As far as I'm concerned they might as well hear it in Arkon!" raged Capt. Graybound heatedly. He stroked his matted red beard which did nothing to beautify his bilious countenance. His somewhat bulbous nose fairly trembled as though it were an indicator of his high agitation. His hamster-like cheeks had lost their normal flabbiness, having suddenly taken on hard lines of anger and tension. It was a sure sign that he was close to exploding. "Look! Anybody who doesn't blark (black market) today is his own fool!"
Flexner turned pale. "Sammy, you calm down right now! Are you trying to scuttle us? Our name may not be the best in the business but we can't afford to lose it! You're supposed to be my partner, at least according to the stock shares that your esteemed papa-in-law is holding. We'll both be keel-hauled if you don't secure that trap of yours!"
Graybound was about to retort when he heard foot-steps in the hall. Startled, he swallowed hard and turned to stare as though hypnotized as the old-fashioned door latch began to turn. Flexner was also alarmed. A visitor? Hopefully he hadn't heard more than he should. But then he sighed with relief as he recognized the graceful figure of Ludrilla Graybound.
She stepped into the room, closed the door behind her and turned to face both men with her hands on her hips. "What's all the thundering about in here?" she wanted to know as she glared at her husband. "Come on, now—out with it!"
Sam Graybound was 52 years old while Ludmilla was obviously in her early 20s. Of course since her marriage she had abandoned some of her girlishness but anyone observing the married pair would have been struck by the difference between them at first glance. The old captain feared nothing in the world and bowed to no authority. There was no danger that could deter him from carrying through an objective. With his own hands he would have pulled the Devil's hair out if someone asked him to, provided he knew where to find him. But where his little wifey was concerned it was a matter of unconditional surrender.
"But darling!" he crooned affectionately while pointing to a chair. "Don't you want to sit down first? We're just having a routine business meeting..."
"How often have I told you not to lie to my face?" she snapped at him while pushing his hand away. "Leave me alone, I can seat myself!" When she had sat down she continued quickly. "Since when is mixing my father's name with blarking and smuggling a matter of routine business?"
"We ought to put in soundproof walls around here," muttered Graybound shakenly as he pulled up a chair.
When he placed his weight on it, Flexner said a silent prayer. He was worried about his furniture. Graybound was stocky and had a powerful physique although his paunch was like a keg.
"What's this about smuggling?" Ludmilla demanded. As her eyes flashed at him, Graybound cringed involuntarily.
"We were only speaking in generalities," said Flexner, attempting to save the situation. "What's more important, my dear, is that your husband has received a summons."
"You mean a warrant...?" Ludmilla was genuinely shocked.
"No—a summons to the Cosmonautical Retraining Institute. The document was delivered early this morning. As you're no doubt aware, your man was supposed to take off today in the Lizard,
en route to the Tuglan System."
"Yes, I know. Children's toys and teddybears for the little Tuglans. He told me about it."
"Oh yes, that's right, Mrs. Graybound. And especially teddybears. They're highly valued there and bring a good price." Flexner smiled non-commitally. "Why, teddybears from Terra are among the most popular export items!"
Judging by Ludmilla's expression she was very skeptical about his assertions. Not that she had anything against teddybears but she was certainly wondering why they didn't manufacture the cute little stuffed creatures locally on Tuglan. "And then you received this summons?" she asked, trying to be convinced. She watched Sam Graybound who returned her gaze with obvious uncertainty. "What do they want with you? Have you been up to something?"
For a moment he lost his composure. "How should I know what those ox-heads want?" he shouted but immediately he became docile and meek again. "Excuse me, sweetheart. I mean—I don't know. I can't even imagine what it's all about."
"Retraining?" she queried thoughtfully. "At your age they probably won't be able to change much in you, wouldn't you say...?"
Graybound stiffened. He would not tolerate any aspersions cast concerning his age, especially from his own wife. He controlled himself with a great effort. "Age doesn't make any difference," he advised her sternly. "A man is always as young or old as he feels."
Ludmilla smiled. "I'll have to remind you of that at the earliest opportunity." Then the smile faded. "Well, if you don't know what this summons is all about you should go there and maybe you'll find out. When are you supposed to go?"
"This afternoon—right away."
"I'll wait for you here in Mr. Flexner's office."
"Oh—that will be nice," sighed Flexner, glancing mischievously at his first captain and associate. "I'm sure we won't be bored!"
"That I can believe!" growled Graybound as he regarded the firm's president testily.
Flexner was the same age as he was but because of his leaner figure he appeared to be younger. He was unattached and had the reputation of a Don Juan. Throughout Terrania he was known as a good spender and a charming ladies' man. This wasn't very reassuring for Graybound but where Ludmilla was concerned he wasn't worried. The only thing that galled him was that she always had to be the first to know about whatever came up. Anyway it was none of her business.
"Well, guess I'll blast off. Retraining...! They're completely off their rockers! For all I know they'll assign me back to cadet camp!" He lifted his weight from the overburdened chair and strode to the door.
"Now watch yourself and don't do anything stupid!" his wife admonished him. "Just remember that there are people who are bigger and carry more weight even than you!"
"Pah!" was Graybound's only rejoinder as he slammed the door behind him.
Once through the hallway and out in the open he gave free rein to his feelings. He carried on a monologue with himself and called himself a fool for even answering the summons. After he had gotten a hundred meters or so away from the office his voice became louder. Nobody could overhear him now and it was a big relief. "These lousy rattlebrains!" he cried out. "So maybe they know a few scraps of theory but what's that got to do with practical experience? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! Regulation jockeys! Officials! Pah!"
With resolute steps he hurried to the parking place on the edge of the spaceport where his rental car was located. He unlocked it and threw himself into the upholstered seat, which creaked complainingly under his weight. But before he drove off he looked over toward the hangars.
There stood three ships belonging to the Startramp operation. All of them were somewhat antiquated freighters—spherical spacers, hypertransition types, no more than 80 meters in diameter. Inside were mostly cargo holds, narrow cabins and the engines. There was no room for luxuries. Only the Lizard was equipped with a few little extra items but then that was no one's concern except Capt. Graybound's and his 18-man crew.
"Retraining" he snorted, yet with some tribulation. "Maybe I can make it easy for them!"
Then the car started off in a single lurch and transported Capt. Graybound to Terrania.
• • •
It was a giant skyscraper on the edge of the city. A thousand office suites. Green grass strips and benches all around it. Nearby were the workshop labs and the experimental stations—another complex beyond it that was all fenced in and posted with guards.
This was the Cosmonautical Retraining Institute.
Chief Inspector Col. Ludwig Rammbuggl sat behind his massive desk and rummaged through the stack of papers that had been brought in to him. He was assisted by his secretary.
"Some new selections from the positronic brain—from yesterday and today. The applicants are scheduled to present themselves starting today, sir. I've taken care of everything necessary."
"Very good, Pierre. Do we have any 'draftees'?"
By 'draftees' he meant members of the space and merchant fleets who had not voluntarily applied for retraining but who had been classified by the positronic brain as likely candidates on the basis of all available data.
"Yessir, there's one. A certain Capt. Samuel Graybound." The secretary leafed hastily through the forms and finally pulled one set out that he handed to the colonel. "Here's his dossier."
Col. Rammbuggl studied the papers. Ordinarily serene, his face became clouded with concern. His brow furrowed ominously. With increasing impatience he leafed through the dossier and finally looked up in outraged amazement. "The Brain must have made a mistake," he announced. "Some kind of mix-up, surely!"
"Impossible, sir. You know as well as I do that mistakes are out of the question."
"But that is the question!" retorted Col. Ludwig Rammbuggl disconcertedly. "Why this... this..." He looked at the papers. "This Capt. Graybound would never be suitable for handling one of the new class of ships! I'm even convinced he won't show up at all. A chrako (character) like this fellow..."
The intercom buzzer interrupted him and the secretary hurried anxiously to switch it on. "Col. Rammbuggl's office," he answered.
"A Capt. Graybound is here. He has a summons..."
"Send him in!" interjected the colonel and then he leaned back in his chair. "Can you figure that? He's responded to the summons!"
"Maybe you could be wrong, sir. The man might turn out to be more usable than you suspect. Often these private citizen dossiers aren't as complete as they could be."
"Perhaps," the colonel conceded. "We'll soon see."
In fact they saw at once as the door banged open and Capt. Samuel Graybound stormed into the office. He stared first at Pierre, the secretary, and then at Col. Rammbuggl. His red hair was in a tangled mess and his flanling beard was equally wild and in need of grooming. His cheek pouches trembled with his angry impatience.
"Who sent me this idiotic garbage?" he roared in stentorian tones as he slammed the notice on Rammbuggl's desk. "I have better things to do than to mess around with you ground-tied penzel jockeys!"
The colonel's face flushed red. Twice he gasped almost in vain for his breath. Pierre drew back and stared at Graybound as though a monstrosity had been unleashed in their midst. He had never seen anyone comport himself like this in front of his chief.
"What...?!" stammered the colonel. "I beg your pardon!"
Graybound was momentarily fascinated by the beet-like coloration of the officer's face. He stared as though at a scientific phenomenon. Then he shook his head and looked around for a chair. Not finding any, he was compelled to remain standing, but he leaned forward and braced his bands on the desk, which took his weight without complaint.
"My name is Graybound," he said. "Capt. Samuel Graybound, commander of the freighter Lizard, with Startramp Limited. And who are you?"
Col. Rammbuggl was slowly recovering but the question sounded so contemptuous that he almost exploded and the reddish hue of his countenance acquired purplish overtones. "I am Col. Ludwig Rammbuggl, Chief of Personnel Procurement."
Graybound leaned
slightly closer and stared at the other incredulously. "Rammboogle...?" he said, and then burst out laughing. "By the rings of Saturn—man, what a name!"
"Sir? I—I beg your pardon...!"
Graybound still couldn't believe it. "You mean nobody's ever mentioned it to you—I mean, you aren't aware of it? Then it's high time somebody told you what a screwy-sounding..."
" Sir...!!"
Graybound nodded with emphasis. "You got it right, buddy—and I'll break anybody's neck who calls me anything else!" He drew a deep breath. "Now will you be a good little fellow and let me in on what's going on? Why did you ask me to come here?"
Having slightly risen from his seat, the colonel sank back finally and leafed through the dossier papers. "You are Capt. Samuel Graybound?"
"I think I introduced myself already. What's the matter—you slow on the uptake or something?"
"You will merely answer my questions, nothing more. So are you or are you not?"
Graybound sighed heavily and looked as though he were about to explain the multiplication tables to a child. "Yes, that's me."
The colonel looked at the papers again. "Married to Ludmilla, maiden name McBain?"
"Unfortunately," Graybound grumbled.
"Partner in the firm of Startramp Ltd. and commander of the freighter Lizard, with an 18-man crew complement?" Col. Rammbuggl clearly indicated that he did not wish to be interrupted now, not even by answering confirmations. "As a young man you were an officer in the Terran Spacefleet but because of drunkenness and proven insubordination you were discharged..."
"False!" Graybound contradicted quite calmly. "I turned in my resignation papers before the jerks had a chance to kick me out. Please keep that in mind, Rumboogie."
"Rammbuggl!" exclaimed the colonel, flaring up again.
"That's no improvement," commented Graybound sympathetically. "So okay— it's Rammbuggl."
" Colonel!" shouted the officer at the top of his voice.
Graybound shook his head. "I'm just a captain, if you don't mind..."