by Perry Rhodan
Just take advice from an old Arkonide admiral. I've seen more space duels and all-out battles than you will yet experience."
"You-ah-spilled some coffee on your uniform," he replied.
I only studied him silently. Yes, maybe of late he had come to realize what the limits of his powers were. I remembered having read about his rise in the Terranian encyclopedias. In that period he had perceived his limitations, knowing just how far he could go. Yet he had searched for and discovered a way of overcoming internal political resistances against the establishment of a world government.
Now he found himself in a similar situation, although the type and magnitude of factors involved were something else again. This time he was dealing with two galactic empires. In spite of the spy-probe data, however, I had the feeling that the unknown aliens from the other time plane were approximately equal in power to the Greater Empire.
Once more, the California accelerated at the mad rate of over 600 mps2. I listened to the terrific thundering of the thruster engines, which continued to crescendo even after we had reached critical velocity. Four of the cruiser's large cargo holds were filled exclusively with extra fuel tanks. Every second at this rate we consumed about 45 tons of Bismuth isotope, which turned into a very high-thrust plasma after being injected into the pulse converters.
After reaching the approximate speed of light we went immediately into transition. I watched the tech engineers of the ECM Security team who were keeping close tabs on the new R-E dampers. If these residual energy traps failed to operate perfectly, the California would definitely be detected by the ships of the Arkonide blockade fleet.
One man raised his hand in a signal of readiness. Rhodan gave a quick nod. And that was it. The transition began with the pulling pains which always accompanied the whispering eeriness of 5th dimensional hyperspace.
4/ INTO THE UNKNOWN
We represented nothing more than a small virus in the bloodstream of a giant. But when biologists seek to combat such microlife they must first discover that it is present before they can develop the antidote. In our case the California was the virus and the giant was represented by the most colossal commitment of fighting fleet units that I had seen in 10,000 years.
We had emerged from hyperspace at speol and immediately shot toward our destination. It was not possible to maintain a powerless free fall so close to the light barrier because this was too high on the relativity curve of the mass-velocity equation. To hold a speed of 98.8% velocity of light it was necessary to keep the engines blasting at full power.
The spherical shell of the light cruiser clanged and vibrated like a bell. Even the Terranian designers had not been able to eliminate the high-power resonance factors which would otherwise have resulted in a 'noiseless' ship. The hard radiation waves from the impulse engines were now perfect targets for enemy-tracking equipment. Added to this were the heavy plasma streams from our ion ejections, whose extra thrust was required at this velocity.
In the hurtling cruiser's red sector an inferno was raging. At 10° red vertical and 22° red horizontal, entire suns and worlds seemed to be exploding. It took on the appearance of some catastrophe of Nature taking place.
We could not directly observe the piercing bright fire of impulse cannons but each new shot caused a sharp echo spike to appear on the energy detection screen.
Within a distance of about one light-hour from our position the most tremendous battle was raging that I had ever witnessed in such close confines.
The crackling and roaring of the hypersensors indicated that an uninterrupted stream of major class spaceships were going in and out of transition. Other detection instruments were showing quite plainly that the alien extragalactic intruders were utilizing a trans-light flight technology that was unknown to any intelligences within the Einstein universe. Again we were seeing those mysterious flat shockwave echoes which could never have resulted from an abrupt transition. Such phenomena could only occur if they were flying through hyperspace in the true sense of the word.
Our 5-D mass trackers showed an incredible number of spaceships. Apparently the Regent's blockade fleet was bracing itself against a new attack. This provided mute evidence of how determined the unknown invaders were to take advantage of the stabilization front and make observations in our universe. They must not have anticipated such a resistance. Perhaps they had even thought that they could fly in unobserved and move about on their own at will.
Close before us, just about 10 light-minutes away, the deep blackness of the void was ruptured by an eerie phosphorescence. It was as though some mad artist of the gods had inexpertly slashed away with a titanic brush in order to color the ubiquitous dark with dull red streaks and blotches. Here and there the familiar funnel formations were to be seen. I recognized them from sad experience! For the most part, however, they had by now so coalesced and intermingled with each other that an irregular sawtooth crevasse had opened.
Out of it came the oppressive dark-red luminosity. The measurement data from the remote-controlled spy-probes had shown that the great discharge zone was variable in its nature. At the most its length wavered between 0.6 and 1.1 light-years whereas its width varied between 12 million and 60 million miles. Judging from this it appeared that mass factors of cosmic magnitude were at work to hold open this one small fissure which permitted the only means of unhindered ingress into the Druuf plane.
We had already put on our Arkonide combat suits because in this situation the normal spacesuits did not seem to offer adequate protection. We had slipped on our pressure helmets and were holding our thumbs on the contact switches of our defense screen projectors. The micro-reactors in our backpacks were operating. We had done everything reasonably possible to prepare ourselves for any sudden damage to the thin hull of the cruiser.
The tracking officer on duty had long since desisted from announcing his sighting coordinates in the usual manner. He spoke to no one on board the super-fast California. In my helmet speaker all I could hear was the rapid breathing of men worked up to a peak of suspense.
Rhodan's face was stern and uncommunicative. Perhaps only now he had come to realize what the Robot Brain could come up with. Now and then I could hear someone curse vehemently. These were expletives which always rattled my headphone whenever another near catastrophe flashed close by.
We couldn't make out the myriad of ships optically. Only the hyperspace tracker revealed to us that countless steel shapes lurked out there in the dark of the void, from whose flanks flashed a sustaining, atom-powered barrage of impulse and disintegrator fire.
The only direct observations we had were those of the ships being destroyed. If the light came from the right angle to reach us in time, our normal optical screens glared with a blinding burst of illumination. During the few moments since our reentry into normal space we counted more than 200 synthetic novas of this kind. There must have been considerably more but a direct pickup of all of them was hindered by the fact that we were outrunning the light they emitted.
Rhodan's voice interrupted the oppressive silence: "Attention, all personnel. We will reach the overlap zone in about three minutes. Tie down and don't release your belts till we've gone through. The fissure isn't deep. We'll probably make the passage in a matter of moments. We do not anticipate any attacks. Even in our own universe we're much too fast for any effective fire. No practical exchange of shots can happen unless we're below half speol. Right now we would outrun any energy beam. So much for the briefing. The only thing I want you to watch is your nerves. As soon as our sensors pick up on the other side, we'll have our hands full! That is all."
I looked about me in the dimly-lighted Control Central. The men appeared to sit apathetically before their consoles, yet they were all at a fever pitch of excitement. They knew what to expect from the effects of penetrating a discharge zone.
We could see our relatively weak defense screens by means of our outboard cameras and when they suddenly flared up in a rash of discharge streamers,
blinding us momentarily with bluish lightnings, we knew that Rhodan wasn't exaggerating when he said that a ship at near light-speed couldn't be squarely hit. A murderous crack of thunder smote our ears. Strained to the last welding seam, the hull of the California resounded like the belfry of a cathedral.
"Accidental hit, not intended for us," I heard Rhodan shouting. Somebody let out a guffaw and from its gruffness I presumed it had to be Bell. "Quiet on board!" yelled Perry. He seemed to be on edge.
The discharge fissure which had appeared to be so harmless and unpretentious at a distance now loomed before us as a yawning abyss. We were no longer able to see its full extent. Before Sikerman's warning reached the men we were already shooting into the red-shimmering depths of it. The countless tracking impulses cut off so abruptly that it seemed there had never been an Arkonide fleet close behind us.
The last idling reserve power plants of the California now added their clamor to the dull thundering from the machine rooms. From then on we could barely make out even the radio traffic in our headphones. Sikerman shouted something that nobody could understand. Outside, our defense screens seemed to collide with an invisible wall of energy.
About six seconds after our plunge into the zone of equalization between the two universes, the warning indicators of power plant 3 began to flash. It was the last station to be activated. Its dull rumbling even increased as we watched but the flaming defense screens did not receive another spark of current.
Illuminated lettering appeared on a small instrument screen: AUTO-ALARM-Power unit 3 switched to inertial absorption banks.
Sikerman's hands flew into feverish activity. It was obvious that the California had been gripped by a braking force of such magnitude that the power demand of the neutralizers could not be handled by the auxiliary equipment alone.
I noted that Rhodan's face was drawn with brittle tension. A report came from the machine rooms that the maximum capacity of the reactors had been reached. Sikerman ordered emergency power.
Within 20 seconds our loss of velocity was apparent. Within a matter of moments we had dropped to 79% light-speed.
Furious lightnings of discharging energy raged before the cruiser's spherical hull. We had plunged into something that we could neither clearly comprehend nor technically control. It was as though the maw of Hell had opened up and was swallowing the tiny ship, man, strap and bolt.
The mutant, Ralf Marten, accidentally released his crash-button with his involuntary arm movements and was thrown clear of his belt. I saw him slide straight across the Control Central and collide with an astronautic calculator console.
The ensuing clamor of commands and reports became an incomprehensible blur of sound. When I turned on my suit's protection screen, the Control Central appeared to be filled with a phantom-like St. Elmo's fire. The air outside our combat suits had apparently become electrically charged because otherwise my defense screen would not have been visible.
This is it, I thought—too high a gamble...
In the same instant the rumbling ceased so quickly that it seemed we had imagined it. Only the fully loaded reactors of the main power units were still generating a residual level of sound.
Close before me the small instrument screen brightened again: AUTO-ALARM-power unit 3 switched back to defense screens.
It was the first time I had a chance to look around the room. About 30% of the communications viewscreens had ceased operating because of the unprecedented shaking of the ship. My wide open helmet radio was about to burst my eardrums. Rhodan's voice was coming in like a hurricane. Groaning aloud I cut down the volume. The same was happening to the others because they had tried to hear the voice traffic during our entry flight.
"...are through. Take a look at Marten. He seems to have hurt himself. Otherwise, everything secure?"
I released my safety strap and got up from my seat with a grunt of pain, just as an announcement came through from the power room.
"Our deceleration reached a peak of over 650 mps-squared. The inertial shocks were overloaded."
"How come?" asked Perry, breathing heavily. "Our automatic probes didn't show that."
I didn't have to deliberate much to find a believable answer for the phenomenon. "Gravitational differential. The equalization zone is still too new to be entirely stabilized. We should have waited a few more weeks."
The technical team was already at work repairing damages. From the lower airlock room we heard an announcement that there was a hole in our outer hull. Otherwise the California still appeared to be sound.
"Take a look at that!" said Sikerman almost breathlessly.
I turned about swiftly, looking up at the panoramic viewscreens. What I saw there would have caused other men to curse aloud but my own reaction was to have my heartbeat slow down. The blood in my arteries seemed ready to stop its flow.
"Ship cleared for combat!" ordered Rhodan tonelessly over the small cruiser's P.A. system.
While the sirens started to howl and the instruments showed our speed to be half that of light, I stared in stupefaction at the large viewscreens.
Reginald Bell spoke up. "Actually we should have figured that the Druufs would also set up a home-guard fleet on their side. Do you think maybe they can take a joke?"
No, they obviously were in no mood for jokes. After their bitter experience on the other side of the discharge zone, they had probably lost every last vestige of humor—that is, if they had ever been capable of it at all.
The long, rod-shaped spaceships were so close that we could clearly make out their images on the hyper-scanner. Normally, if they had been at any great distance from us, we would have seen only the usual green blips.
Sikerman worked as though in a trance. His hands moved with an incredible speed over the keyboard of the manual controls. Thenceforth I knew precisely why Rhodan had temporarily turned over the command of the California to him!
We ran head on into the first broadside salvo of a battleship that must have been 1000 feet long. A volcano of energy burst upon our defense screens once more but this time the deadly beams were being generated by the unknown enemy.
In a fraction of a millisecond the California became a lightning-shrouded steel ball whose weak defensive armament gave up the ghost at the first exchange of fire. Of course we had had the bad luck to fly practically into the guns of a very powerful-looking ship.
When I became aware of the infernal thundering, and piercing light from the viewscreens threatened to blind me, I was also thrown off my feet. A tremendous force whirled me across the smooth plastic deck surface of the Control Central until I was finally able to stop myself by holding onto the bolted framework of a scanner operator's chair.
There was a wild bedlam of shouting and howling, roaring and raging—a confusion and tumult of sounds transmitted from my ears to my brain. I knew that we had received at least four thermal-beam hits simultaneously, a bit too much for the small cruiser whose only strength lay in her engines.
Moments later the ship spun on its transverse axis. The gloomy red void of the alien universe and all its numerous stars became a whirling pinwheel of fire. I had just about given up all hope when the California 's interrupted power plants sprang back to life. Only now was it possible to unleash the titanic power of the propulsion units without fear of being torn to shreds by the forces of inertia. A piercing pain shot through every nerve fiber of my body. The G-shock absorbers had come on with a tiny millisecond's delay.
In the same instant the bright iridescence of our collapsing defense screens was extinguished. If the Druufs could accelerate as swiftly as we, then there would be no salvation. But they failed to match us by far. We raced wildly out of the crossfire before another ship had a chance to shoot us down.
The automatic gyro-stabilizers stopped our spinning motion. As the vernier adjusters hummed into operation I was able once more to view the alien universe. At last it seemed to be standing still. In the place of the velvet darkness of our own universe was the per
vading red gloom of an alien continuum. The stars gleamed as brightly but their light seemed vaguely distorted.
"Short transition!" I demanded with a groan of pain. "Quickly—we have to get out of here! We're racing right into the enemy's deepest phalanx. What are you trying to do, you crazy devil, tweak their noses? Insolence never pays off. Your mutants will die in the gunfire just as easily as anybody else. Hyjump, you fool!"
Rhodan heard me but apparently my words had not been necessary. Sikerman was already shoving the so-called crash-jump lever into place. Which was the beginning of an uncalculated transition. Only the distance traversed could be approximated, not the direction.
I was overtaken by the pains of dematerialization while in a prone position. Although the applicable principles involved should not have been affected by the position I was in during the process, it seemed that even in this respect the Druuf universe was full of surprises. Before I could mentally assimilate this I knew that we had committed a second error! Anybody in his right mind should take care not to apply the laws conforming to an Einstein universe to an alien continuum without making allowances for essential limitations. It was a miracle that we escaped into hyperspace at all.
I missed hearing the usual murmur and whispering that normally followed the dematerialization process during a transition—but the pain remained. It seemed as if my sensitive nervous system had failed to dematerialize as well.
We were still yelling at the moment of going into the manoeuvre but what came then was beyond endurance. It was probably a blessing in disguise that I was able to sink into oblivion.
What fools we were! What purpose could the best and fastest ship serve if the men it carried did not measure up to its capabilities? It was the same old problem, always overlooked in spite of the lessons of experience: the advancement of technology and the perfection of one's equipment tended to tranquillize the natural instinct of fear and self-preservation. What fools we were!