by Perry Rhodan
"Completely, sir. May I presume to ask how things are with Mr. Bell?"
"You may," answered Rhodan in a more cheerful tone. "He was especially thrilled over that shockwave you sent us. Otherwise he's doing fine and you can pass that along to the individual crews."
Van Aafen's typical formality remained unshaken. "I'd appreciate it, sir, if you would convey to him my best wishes."
Rhodan merely chuckled but the repartee had only served to prove again what wonderful men and staunch friends he had on board his ships. 10 minutes later our loaded platform rose up from the ground. I guided it through the lens under full power, finally shutting down the auxiliary engines when the mighty curve of the Drusus loomed toward us from the ground.
Rhodan followed closely with the other platform glider. His radio dispatch had just reached the fleet squadrons. I was just opening my pressure helmet with a sigh of relief when the first of the guppies began entering the normal universe. That chlorine world had not been what you Terranians call a picnic!
3/ THE KEY WORD
Teldje van Aafen had submitted a very formal inquiry to me in an attempt to learn what methods were used by the old cruiser commanders of the Arkonide fleet for documenting their mission experiences.
At first I was a bit nonplussed but I finally gave what information I thought appropriate. Even a Perry Rhodan was not able to avoid the great battle of papers and documents but from experience he had always exerted every effort to mitigate this vexatious problem as much as possible for each and every one of his statesmen and commanders. At any rate, the second officer of the Drusus seemed a bit perturbed over his assignment to put every detail of his recent battle down on paper.
We had not suffered any losses, which was an indication of how much precision the Terranian pilots had used in their attacks. Of course their faster time-rate over the enemy had been to their advantage.
At the time I was busy making an evaluation of all the data that Khrest had submitted to me. Rhodan had temporarily postponed the return flight of the super battleship back to Earth because we felt obligated to repair all the damages we had inflicted in the cell shower chamber.
Since our return from the Druuf-plane, about 24 hours had passed. A robot army was engaged in the work of mounting the Physiotron and the power reactors in their former positions, including the appropriate power distribution hookups. A test run was to be made before our takeoff.
I suspected that Rhodan was still deeply disturbed about the Druuf question. He knew as well as I did that the whole problem had to be settled eventually, one way or another.
A number of hypercom communications from Terranian defense and intelligence sources had been disquieting. According to these dispatches the terrible phenomena were still occurring on a number of distant worlds, of the type which we had not been able to stop. Entire races of galactic intelligences had disappeared over night. Huge planets had been practically depopulated. It was an occurrence with which we had long since become familiar but which we did not yet fully understand. What purpose could be served by abducting millions and even billions of thinking entities?
I had brooded over this question for some weeks now. An apparent solution seemed to be emerging in my mind but I still wasn't sure that my hunches were correct. The increasing tendency of our own time-frame to retrogress and slow up on the Druuf worlds appeared to indicate that a critical stage was being reached 'over there'. Somebody seemed to be making great efforts to cross-assimilate and equalize the different and conflicting laws of nature affecting both universes. Could it be that living organisms were necessary to this process? Was this the reason for the abduction of countless human and humanoid intelligences?
A few hours before when I had presented my deliberations to him, Rhodan had whistled loudly and discordantly in his reaction to what I had in mind. But now I was alone again in the main computer center of the super battleship.
Reginald Bell appeared to be completely back on his feet again. If one examined his face very closely there was still a trace of the rejuvenation effects to be seen but at least the weird process had been halted. Something had occurred in his more or less delicate cellular tissue that we couldn't understand but it was certain that a true stabilization had been reached, as was the case with Perry Rhodan.
Along about 12 noon I entered the great officers' mess hall on board the Drusus. The perfect robot, Homunk, had arranged to supply us with fresh vegetables. Everything seemed to be completely under control by now, especially since the Druufs had still not found a way to penetrate into our plane of existence. Apparently it was disproportionately more difficult to achieve an adaptive compatibility between the two continuums from their side, through use of a lensfield. Nevertheless something occurred that filled me with concern. I would have been happy to see us get away from Wanderer in that very hour.
I sat down at my established place and waited for the ship's officers to arrive. They filed in one after another with Rhodan and Bell arriving last.
Perry's tall, lean figure turned my way briefly as he nodded in recognition. During the meal he seemed to toss down his food absently and without enjoyment. As the automatic food conveyor system produced dessert and fanned out the individual portions to their proper places, he spoke suddenly to all of us:
"Pucky claims to have picked up some very weak telepathic signals a few hours ago. He says they could only have come from the collective entity—in other words, from It. John Marshall has confirmed this!"
My fork lowered slowly. In the mess hall a sudden silence ensued. I looked across at the mouse-beaver, who sat at the table next to Rhodan in—his custom-designed highchair.
"It's true!" he insisted in his twittery voice. "It has been heard from!"
"And what was the import of the communication?" I asked with outward calm.
Inasmuch as Pucky's incisor tooth was concealed at the moment, it was obvious that he was quite serious. "The rest of you would not have been able to hear It —in fact the telepathic message was even hard for me to understand. It said that for a few days It’s going to withdraw or go into some kind of state of retreat—that is, by Its own reckoning of time."
"Its time! Good Lord!" sighed Bell. "Do you have any idea how long that could be? We are told that It has a longer life-span than the Sun. If It speaks of a few days but goes to special pains to add that It's referring to Its own frame of time-reference, we might as well just take off and forget about coming back for another 50 years or so at the earliest. By that time maybe by Its reckoning at least a couple of minutes will have gone by. You know I think I'm finally starting to get the meaning of the idea of 'relativity'."
I felt depressed. Again this time my curiosity was not to be satisfied. Upon closer analysis it was not so much a vague 'wish to know' that motivated me but rather a pressing need in order to calm my sensitive nervous system.
Pucky's large eyes sought to bring me under their spell. I smiled and chided him for it. "No, little one—don't try it. I can't be influenced by suggestion. Did It tell you anything else or perhaps give you a message to deliver?"
"That's the only reason I was staring at you. It told me that the return of the planet out of the intermediate zone had caused It a lot of trouble. It seems to have lost a large part of Its psychic mass. Our experiment with Bell has transferred a part of the synthetic world into the same dimension. It could possibly return but for the time being It can't communicate any more. Do you understand that?"
Yes, I understood it, more or less. By 'psychic mass' was meant the volume or size of its collective being. Apparently the abrupt breakout of the planet from the other plane had caused a weakening of the high forces of will and spirit which were ultimately responsible for the Mysterious One's tremendous powers.
I merely nodded. What could I say to all this? "Was that all?" I asked.
The mouse-beaver looked across uncertainly at John Marshall, the chief of the Mutant Corps.
"Sir, we're well aware of how anxious you are
for an explanation or some word of instruction from the entity," said the slender blond telepath. "So far as I could understand from that one short communication—distorted as it was by the signs of an overwhelming exhaustion—no particular information was received for you. That is, unless a certain puzzling sentence we picked up could have been meant for you."
"What sentence was that?" I asked excitedly.
The telepath communicated wordlessly with the mouse-beaver. Following which I heard the exact wording of the sentence. It was probably typical for a form of life about which the only thing we knew was that it was an incomprehensible coagulation of countless intelligences.
Marshall spoke with slow deliberation. "The gift of the robot device was not entirely altruistic because even my own existence depended upon the longevity of one man who had found the weapon."
When Marshall had finished I thought I would sink down into the solid deck of the mess hall. It had been aware that I was waiting for information. In spite of Its apparently great exhaustion,It had not forgotten to give me a hint, through the telepaths of Rhodan's Mutant Corps.
Perry looked at me searchingly. "Does it make any sense to you?" he asked.
Shocking surges of electrical current seemed to torture my mind. I felt that I could no longer revolt against the compelling impulses of my auxiliary brain. The surge of memory was too powerful. It was as if I was no longer on board the Terranian battleship but rather on a part of the Earth that had long ceased to exist.
Nausea choked me and my vision darkened. Marshall had spoken the key word that had triggered my photographic memory. I groped about for support until I felt a strong, steady hand, under my arm.
"Is it hitting you again?" asked somebody worriedly. "Atlan, what is it? If you have a compulsion to speak, do so! What does the sentence mean?"
"My cell activator!" I groaned, plagued by a pulsating headache. "It endowed me with relative immortality in order to protect Itself. Now I see it clearly. I have defended the Earth—defended it with all I had at my disposal. At that time it was already apparent to me that Terra had become a focal point. It was comparable to a cosmic constellation that brought a temporarily stable overlapping of the two timeplanes. The condition must have been enormously important for It. I received the gift of eternal life because of a coincidence. It's disgraceful."
Rhodan's grip tightened. My arm began to pain me. "Report!" I heard his voice faintly as though it were miles away. "Get it out of your system! It will set you free and we'll be able to learn something. I'll tie this into all parts of the ship so that everybody can hear you."
When I finally gave up all conscious resistance to the compelling impulses of my auxiliary brain, my torture-some head pains subsided at once. It was as though I'd been released from an oppressive curse of some kind and I felt that my very skull had let itself out to relieve the pressure.
Rhodan's distinctive features blurred before me. There was a formation of reddish rings from which the white-haired head of old Tarth slowly emerged. He smiled reassuringly at me and that was when my last sensation of pain left me.
My conscious mind had been shut off. Now I thought and functioned only under the control of my subconscious memory, in which everything that I had ever experienced had been identified and recorded.
I narrated in English, so I avoided giving technical data, officers' ranks and statements of cosmonautical distances and time, in Arkonide terms. These would have been incomprehensible to many men of the crew, since only Terranian leaders knew the Arkonide language. It also made little difference whether I referred to a first class ship's commander as Vere'athor or simply 'Captain'.
The last of Rhodan's words that I could more or less understand were: "You should think of how to tell us why it is that you are so well informed concerning the hyperspace travel techniques of the Druufs. Where did you get the information that they do not simply make transition jumps but move in the sense of flying? Atlan, can you still hear me? Marshall, call Dr. Skjoldson. He's as pale as a corpse. Hurry it up. Atlan, what is happening...?"
I strove to produce a reassuring smile. My paleness was to be expected because the action of my logic sector interfered strongly with the flow of blood in the surface areas of my face.
I began to narrate. The present faded away. The past was the only thing that mattered now for my auxiliary brain. Someone approached me. It was Inkar, commander of the imperial battle cruiser Paito...
4/ TO LARSA!
"...and so His Eminence, Imperator Gonozal 7 of Arkon, has decided to declare the system of Larsaf's Star as a forward fleet base for the Greater Empire. Atlan, Chief of Nebula Sector cruiser formation, Crystal Prince from His Eminence's House of Gonozal, is herewith bound and designated to defend Larsaf's Star with every and all means at his disposal and to take care that the non-Arkonide enemy is prohibited from invading the System. Further, Admiral Atlan receives herewith the personal order of His Eminence to promote the development and expansion of the young colony and to give support and assistance to the indigenous lower intelligences in that region, to the extent that they are docile and willing and take no precedence above military affairs. Signed: Umtar, Chief of Colonization Planning, Imperial Council, Arkon."
The tenderfoot cruiser commander was actually too young to carry such a position of military rank. Having read in a loud and clear voice the dispatch he had himself brought from the Council, he lowered the synthetic foil and waited. Outside on the new spaceport of Atlantis the fast courier cruiser Matoni was already on standby for takeoff. Capt. Ursaf had received orders to undertake the homeward journey as soon as he had transmitted his message.
I stood stiffly erect behind my worktable. My throat felt suddenly parched. The overly decorative verbal flourish of these orders pointed unmistakably to the fact that they had been executed in the bureaucratic administrative offices of the Crystal Planet. For me the text of the dispatch was like a blow in the face.
Space Captain Tarth, my old teacher and now commander of the squadron flagship Tosoma, intimated his feelings through a malicious smile: "...support and assistance to the lower intelligences... to the extent that they are willing and take no precedence above military affairs," he repeated sarcastically. "Is that all they have to say to us? Where are the reinforcements of battle-worthy ships and materials we have been requesting? What became of the converter cannons, whose construction was only made possible through Admiral Atlan's procurement of the plans? On Arkon they seem to overlook the fact that Atlan's famous attack squadron now only consists of two ships. As for any invasion of the Larsaf System by the non-Arkonide Methans, it's entirely out of the question. We are 34,000 light-years removed from the focal point of the defensive battle. The Methans have other things to do than to concern themselves with this tiny and completely unknown star whose planets have neither military nor economic significance. The costs of transport are higher than the materials to be transported. From a strategic point of view it's senseless to erect a fleet base here. Here there is nothing either to conquer or to defend. Aside from all that we lack the means of setting up the third planet and Atlantis for a repair station. We hardly have enough material to supply the few colonists who have remained with the most vital machinery for land cultivation. How are these facts to be reconciled with the pompous writing of a Council member who hasn't the slightest conception of the local situation? This does not speak well for the Greater Empire."
I made no effort to suppress Tarth's justifiable anger. It was a matter of truth that Arkon had written us off. When I regarded this young Capt. Ursaf more closely it became clear to me how much the situation had changed in the stellar empire.
He belonged already to the war generation. He was the embodiment of the type of hothouse commander, hastily trained and force-grown, of whom it was hoped that he would come through his first battle unscathed so that he could perhaps benefit by his totally inadequate experiences. Statistics showed that only 8% of these men ever survived their first baptism by fire. O
n the other hand the Empire was no longer capable of scrupulously developing crews and navigators and commanders. For that one needed much time—and time was now a thing of the past.
The frightful losses in spaceships of all types could be swiftly replaced by means of full automation and robotisation of mass production throughout the united star systems. But the thinking beings who were to guide these new fleet additions into battle had to be born first and after they matured physically and mentally they would have to be educated and trained.
Our losses must have been terrible. The war against the non-Arkonide methane breathers, monstrous creatures from the depths of the Milky Way, had already weakened the Greater Empire to a critical degree.
Up until five years ago I had taken an active part in the defense with my cruiser squadron. Finally I received instructions to restore order in a tiny solar system that was 34,000 light-years distant. There I managed to remove an unscrupulous administration official from office and I sent him back to Arkon for the purpose of having judgment passed upon him.
Shortly thereafter I was again ordered into the system of Larsaf's Star because the colonists on Planet 2 had sent out a call for help. When I arrived and was forced to pit my battle-seasoned crews against an unreal, invisible enemy, it seemed that they had already forgotten that I existed at Fleet Headquarters.
At an earlier time this would not have happened but at present there were more important things to worry about. I evacuated the second planet when I found that our colonists were simply disappearing there. We had taken up a defensive battle but so far we were losing.
Uncanny creatures, totally unrelated to the Methans, were turning a tremendous natural phenomenon to their own purposes. In the course of months we learned that an incredibly rare process was occurring. Two different kinds of universes, ours and an alien one, had begun to overlap each other in their peripheral zones. The difference between the two continuums was based on a differential of time-planes. It was the kind of relativistic phenomenon that we could hardly comprehend from a mathematical standpoint.