The Target Star

by Perry Rhodan

  A FLIGHT OF "FANTASY!"

  A SPACESHIP so fantastic that it is rightfully christened Fantasy.

  A new spacedrive is quietly to be tested, a method previously unknown. If successful, it promises a whole new epoch in space travel, an unprecedented blossoming out into the unknown vastness of the cosmic realm.

  Perry Rhodan and his men prepare to leap farther out into the universe than they have ever gone before.

  How Auris of the emerald eyes and coppery hair glinting with metallic highlights figures in the exploratory trip of the Fantasy will be revealed, along with other aspects of this beautiful alien, on your way to–

  Perry Rhodan

  Posbis #92

  —————————————————

  THE TARGET STAR

  —————————————————

  1/ SPY ALERT ON LUNA

  "MISTER, I wouldn't do that if I were you!"

  Alfo Zartus froze in a cramped position. He gripped his upper dental plate in one hand as though it were the handle of a dangerous weapon.

  "Turn around, hands over your head—and drop that dental plate!" said the same sinister-sounding voice which had startled Zartus in his furtive activity.

  He tried to determine the speaker's location by the sound of the voice. Directly in front of Zartus was the wide conveyor belt of the fully-automated feeder station 18. It glided noisily past him on its glistening roller track. The assemblies on the belt were component parts of a remote-controlled weapon swivel. All were part of a secret design series (LA-185-GEZO-3) destined for use in the outer gun turrets of heavy cruisers of the Terra class. The new feature was the field-cushion slide channeling which had finally overcome the dangerous problem of lubrication under vacuum conditions.

  Alfo Zartus looked around like a hunted criminal. His eyes darted into every shadowy alcove but there was no one to be seen. The long, narrow conveyor corridor did not offer much concealment for anyone, except perhaps for the uprights under the roller racks.

  Zartus followed his instincts and moved his hand swiftly, shoving the upper dental plate into his mouth. For a moment he felt the sharp pressure of the micro-film container which had been shoved out of place in the haste of positioning the plate. Desperately he worked the thing with his tongue until it fell into place on its suction base and aligned itself with his facial contours.

  The man with the slight build straightened up with a sigh of relief and turned around, smiling uncertainly as he raised his hands.

  "Pretty clever, mister!" said somebody sarcastically. "You missed your calling—should have been a shell-game artist in a circus!"

  Zartus knew that he was a goner if he were to be captured in this sector of the automatic assembly line. During the last 57 years the Earth's Moon had been changed considerably—in fact it had been converted. The end product was a satellite changed into one big integrated spaceship building-dock along Arkonide pattern and dimensions. This planetary factory, having the greatest productive capacity in the history of humanity, had been completed only a few months ago. Since then the Moon's vast assembly lines had been operating under remote control of relatively few automatic stations.

  Zartus figured that he had been spotted by a vidicam because the place was heavily equipped with surveillance systems. But even so—and Zartus saw no other possibility—they couldn't have seen what he had hidden in his upper plate. Still, he had checked for remote cameras and hadn't noticed any. How had they been so well informed about his operation?

  He took another look around him. He thought of his assignment, of the micro-camera under his wristwatch, and also of the Lunar Security organization, which was part of Solar Intelligence. If he were to be picked up now in possession of the camera and the film, his career as a planning engineer for automated feeder systems would be terminated! Also there was the threat of the 3d degree, trial procedures, demotion, certainly a long penitentiary sentence or even maybe forced labor on some remote and airless satellite.

  Perry Rhodan as First Administrator of the Solar Empire had reserved the right to preside over trials pertaining to cases of espionage which affected Solar security. When Alfo Zartus realized that his present act came under martial law, the fear of a Court Martial made him lose his rational control. He looked about himself again, this time ignoring the shout of warning. With a half-choked cry he exerted all his strength to swing up onto the feeder belt where he immediately fell flat, unable to crouch or stand. He was carried at high speed toward the narrow opening in the rock wall.

  Beyond lay staging room 136 where components on multiple feeder lines from all directions were joined into a larger final-stage assembly.

  "You out of your mind?!" he heard the unknown speaker shout. "Get off of that thing, do you hear me? Jump! That's fatal, man—jump, I say!"

  Zartus laughed involuntarily. His fingernails clawed at the grip-tread of the synthetic conveyor-strip as he groaned painfully due to the jolting rollers, while at the same time he was trying to figure how to escape from staging room 136. The unknown observer was still yelling at him but the words had become unintelligible.

  Zartus was just thinking that he's better destroy the incriminating data on him when he went through into the other room and was grasped and jerked upward by the steel tongs of an automated swivel mechanism. He cried out in panic as he realized the warning of the unknown observer had not been a trick. As in some detached reality he saw the onrushing opening of a spray isolation chamber where the larger semi-completed assemblies were given a synthetic coating that was acid and heat resistant. Behind the looming steel gate was a bright red glow. In there the thermoplast material was kept in a liquid state at close to 23000° Fahrenheit so that it could be sprayed on through high-pressure jets.

  The robot carrier tongs were merciless. They were unable to distinguish between inert matter and a human body.

  • • •

  Alfo Zartus, Planning Eng., b. 6/22, 2062, Lowman, Idaho ...

  Col. Hildrun, Lunar Security Chief in Section F-81, laid the personnel dossier to one side. He raised his sombre gaze to the sergeant standing in front of his desk, surveying him deliberately from head to toe. A deeper frown appeared between his brows when he noted the guard's shock-gun in its open holster. He pointed to the weapon, his voice ringing sharply.

  "And what do you call that! Did you assume we gave you that thing to use on mice or something? Why didn't you stun Zartus with it? He was close enough to you—or wasn't he?"

  The young sergeant turned pale. He stood stiffly before his superior while the other officers of the Sector Guard looked on without a word. He knew what had happened was not at all as simple a situation as Hildrun seemed to think it was. "Oh yes, sir, that part's true," the Security man stammered. "I had my invisibility deflector turned on so that Zartus couldn't see me. I didn't want to knock him out Regulations prohibit the use of shock-weapons if it is not absolutely necessary. And to me it did not seem to he needed. The spy was small and only had a slight build. I could have overpowered him easily. Why should I injure him with a stun shot?"

  Col. Hildrun got up so quickly that his desk chair glided resoundingly against the wall behind him. With hands clasped behind him, he strode across the room toward the beverage dispenser. "Oh, so you didn't wish to injure him! Instead, you let him go to a certain death, didn't you?"

  "Sir, I had no idea he'd jump onto the belt, of all places! It happened too fast. Once he was on the conveyor I couldn't shoot!"

  "Why not?"

  "Because the supply belt moves faster than I can run, sir. If I had stunned him he wouldn't have been able to jump to save himself. That was his last chance. I shouted at him and told him that the spray chamber was beyond the wall. He didn't listen t
o me. What else could I have done, sir?"

  Col. Hildrun turned from the drink machine holding a steaming hot cup of coffee. "Can you prove that yon shouted this warning to him?"

  The sergeant looked around helplessly at his colleagues. A lieutenant from the observation group came to his rescue.

  "We have the audio tapes, sir. When Sgt Rodzyn sent the alarm signal over his helmet transmitter we locked in the remote pickup. He actually did yell like he said—in fact quite loudly."

  Hildrun stomped back to his desk. He set down his coffee cup so abruptly that it slopped over. "Lucky for you, Rodzyn! You just lucked in! What gave you the idea, anyway, to follow the spy alone into the tunnel?"

  "I've had my suspicions of Zartus for some time, sir, but I needed proof. That's why I followed him under the deflector screen. He took some pictures with the camera in his watch, not realizing that I was standing close to him. Finally he took out the microfilm and before I knew it he had his upper dental plate out and was putting the film roll into a container that fit into the upper gum plate. That's when I spoke to him and started to make the arrest. He froze on the spot and seemed to be completely helpless. That's why it was such a surprise when he suddenly jumped on the moving belt. I couldn't get hold of him then."

  Hildrun looked at his staff officers. Sgt. Rodzyn waited breathlessly.

  "Alright, turn in your statements for the record log. For the time being you're relieved of duty. Are you aware of the fact that I must report this case to the Chief of Intelligence?"

  Rodzyn nodded uncertainly. Moments later he left the Chief's office. In an anteroom he found a chair and sat down in a state of nervous exhaustion. He could not get the terrible scene out of his memory. The little man's twisted face loomed insistently before his mind's eye.

  "It was an accident, Rodzyn." a passing officer told him. "Go to your quarters and prepare your statement for the record. You look awful!"

  "I feel awful, sir," replied the S-Man through dry lips. "Sir, may I ask you something?"

  "Yes, what?"

  "What's going to happen now? I couldn't help what happened."

  "We know that. Well, unless you're lucky this thing can spread into bigger circles. There's a service regulation that says cases like this have to be reported personally to the Administrator. You probably know that this Lunar plant is blue sky to his eye."

  Sgt. Rodzyn caught his breath as he stared in new fear at the officer. "You ... you mean, Perry Rhodan, sir?"

  "Do you know any other Administrator? If you do have to appear before him, just describe everything frankly and openly. You can hardly be charged with any offense. It was an accident, as I told you. Get going now and for goodness sake get out of that suit!"

  The officer touched two fingers to the peak of his cap and exited the small room, which was several hundred meters below the Moon's surface. The noise of the sector power plant could be heard nearby.

  2/ THE 3D EPOCH BEGINS

  For the past several hours, Lt. Brazo Alkher felt that he had entered a madhouse. Since his landing on the Moon he had been questioned by the Security Troops eleven times concerning his departure point and his destination. They had even queried him about his personal history, his background, his parents and grandparents. Finally they had asked him what his future plans were. But having been transferred under secret orders to Luna Base, the shavetail lieutenant could tell them nothing.

  This was his first chance to marvel and gape at the mightiest fleet base of the human race. He knew that during the past 57 years the Moon had become a celestial shipyard and massive weapons factory as the Earth's satellite had been hollowed out with the most modern technology at tremendous cost. There was little indication of this mammoth industry on the surface itself. It had all been installed beneath the lifeless crust, leaving the pockmarked surface undisturbed.

  Only the great spaceports lay open to observation—as well as the armor-plated domes of the cosmic defense fortresses.

  It had taken Brazo thirteen hours to get to his destination. A tall lanky youth of 23 years, Brazo Alkher gripped his few belongings more tightly as a gleaming, silvery hood sank down onto his skull. He patiently endured the torture of the brainwave analysis, which was a major part of the robotic examination. If the human guards happened to miss something, the robot would find it

  "Set down your gear!" came a crackling voice from the loudspeaker.

  Braze remained stiffly at attention. In his confusion he opened his clenched hands and his duffle bags noisily hit the floor. His face reddened as he looked around in embarrassment.

  "Excuse me!" he said hastily, smiling uncertainly at the soulless machine before him. It did not react to his words.

  He heaved a sigh of relief when a green light appeared and the ID-strip glided out of another slot.

  "You have permission to enter, sir," rattled the loud speaker. "You are expected."

  "Thanks a lot!" whispered Brazo.

  While hastily ducking down to retrieve his gear his head struck a red-tipped lever and a bell started to ring inside the dome. Brazo caught his breath. He quickly decided to vacate the metal platform with a few wild, ungainly jumps.

  Brazo Alkher had already been branded in the Space Academy as a hard-luck Charlie with two left hands and feet. In this case he had over-exerted his bony frame and now the force of gravity brought him to the floor in a swan dive with his arms and feet flailing about in the process, his helmeted skull collided with the frame of a man who stood in the way.

  According to his friends, Brazo was normally as meek as an aging St. Bernard, but not now! It took awhile for his groping hands to straighten his helmet and set the knotted straps of his gear in order. Still gasping from the ordeal he straightened up to encounter his next shock. He stared up into the grinning, grease-smeared face of a tall man in the undecorative uniform of the maintenance personnel. The man wore a crumpled, almost unrecognizable peaked cap on his dark blond head. He wore no visible rank insignia, which was perhaps why Brazo wasn't polite about expressing himself.

  "Are you bolted to the floor, you petrified donk? You look a mess, y'know?" He surprised himself with the outburst and finally added with embarrassment: "Sorry friend, no harm intended. It's my fault as usual. Would you give me a hand?"

  The tall, lean man with the icy grey eyes nodded. "Certainly. You know the way you jumped off of that platform you looked like a 3-legged Pavian."

  "Is there such a thing?" asked Brazo wonderingly. The stranger laughed heartily and gently brushed off Brazo's dirtied uniform. "Now, that's better, isn't it, Lieutenant? May I ask where you are assigned?"

  Alkher began at once to search desperately for the papers that he had been collecting from everywhere while being processed through. The lean man waited patiently as the lieutenant appeared to become more nervous but finally the latter managed to locate his transfer orders in a knee-pocket of his suit.

  Brazo didn't know whether to take offense at the man's laughter or to hold onto his patience. He finally decided on the latter. Besides, his experienced eye had been attracted by what lay beyond. A giant cavern opened up before him in which there was an unusual number of armed guards and combat robots. Above them arched the gleaming spherical shape of an obviously sparkling new heavy cruiser of the Terra class, measuring some 200 meters in diameter.

  Brazo knew by now that he was in the heart of the secret security area of the Moon's shipbuilding industry. Only a restricted few were permitted to know what was going on here. It took him only a moment or two to realize that the cruiser's equatorial ring-bulge was of special design. The propulsion ring-skirt was larger than on standard ships of this class, with a more sharply cambered rim. But that was all he could see at first glance that was unusual.

  The grey-eyed man had stopped laughing. He glanced quickly through the young lieutenant's travel orders and seemed to be studying him intently. Brazo's soft-looking boyish face had hardened suddenly, appearing to be more decisive and manly.

  The
technician smiled almost imperceptibly as he bent down to pick up the heavy duffle bags. "let's go, sir. We've been waiting for you."

  Brazo nodded absently but in a few seconds he was wondering at the smart and exemplary manner in which the soldiers and technicians greeted him. Even the guard robots started saluting and calls of "Attention!" rang through the general noise of the armament station. He began to feel uneasy.

  He came to a stop and turned hastily to whisper to his companion: "Hey listen man—do they snap-to like this for every shavetail lieutenant here? They must be rocked off!"

  "Just putting it on a bit thick, that's all," answered the tall one good-naturedly.

  Brazo laughed uncertainly. A Fleet colonial passed them, jutting out his chest and raising a hand to the peak of his cap. It was too much. "Did you see that? The guy salutes but almost guns me down with his look! Listen buddy, what's going on? Is this some kind of Donk Domicile? Hey—you know you look awful. Why don't you wash your face? Good thing you're not in my command. You'd really be on the carpet!" He shook his head and inspected the stranger critically, finally touching the other's face testily. "That Kerd's a foot thick!" he said reproachfully. "You look like you've been in a pig-pen!"

  A frightening bellow was heard, causing Brazo to feel weak in his knees for a moment. He whirled about in startled dismay. Obviously the horrible sounds were emerging from the open airlock of the special heavy cruiser. They ended on a heavy bleating note like the drowning gurgles of a dying dinosaur.

  "Glord, what was that?" moaned Brazo.

  "The Commander was singing," he was advised. "Haven't you ever heard a native Epsalian sing before?"

  Brazo gave up. He felt drained and baffled. Nobody around here seemed to be in his right mind—neither the security guards nor the robots nor even the Commander. He staggered along next to his guide until he saw the approach of a corpulent bald-headed man. The civilian had blue-veined pouches of flesh on his face and he came puffing and panting toward them with such a piercing look in his eyes that Brazo expected some new disaster to befall him. However, the Colossus paid no attention to him.