by Perry Rhodan
It happened then...
The aliens arrived with a roll of drums. There was a crackling and hissing of instruments and luminous meter needles danced wildly across the semi-dark scales. A small transformer box was jolted visibly under the surge of sudden energy. It started to smoke and then shorted out with a loud hissing sound. Within a 10th of a second the peaceful Com Room was transformed into a madhouse of dancing and jumping indicators and deafening sounds.
For just a few seconds, Art Cavanaugh was too stunned to move. Then his reaction brought him up out of his seat. Oblivious to the bedlam and flashing lights around him, he worked the dials of the tracking scope with both hands. As the wide screen lit up, powerful beams of hyper-electromagnetic energy raced outward into space. They were promptly reflected by the foreign object and returned to form an echo image on the sweep screen.
When Art saw it he struck the alarm button.
The thing was obviously a space ship. The energy blast that had made the instruments go mad was the effect of its sudden emergence out of hyperspace into the Einstein continuum. At the moment it was still 3 light hours away. The vessel was not moving especially fast. It could take it at least 12 hours to reach the station—even longer if it went into a braking manoeuvre.
While the alarm sirens filled the corridors and rooms with a raucous clamor, Cavanaugh noticed something else. The stranger was not following a straight course. He weaved to one side and then the other of a direct line of flight and was also slowly revolving. It looked as if the alien ship were in a drunken stupor. Its spinning motion was clearly discernible and it wasn't difficult for Art to figure what that meant.
That ship out there was severely damaged.
• • •
So far Lofty Patterson hadn't spoken a single word during the discussion. He sat silently in his chair and listened to the others, an older man whose face was touched with a thousand small wrinkles and crinkles of kindly good humor and whose grey hair and beard looked as if they hadn't been touched by a comb in years. It was only when he sensed that the discussion was getting bogged down that he ventured to make a rebuttal.
"Apparently," he began, "everybody takes it for granted that whoever's making all that clatter out there is some kind of extra-galactic intelligence—isn't that right?"
This seemed to irritate Nike Quinto because his voice went to its highest pitch when he answered. "Of course that's right! Patterson, stop acting as if you've been sleeping all this time! My blood pressure is high enough without any further aggravation."
Lofty Patterson was not easily disconcerted. He knew this chubby-faced man with his perpetually florid complexion. Nike Quinto actually did appear to be perpetually on the verge of a stroke. He was small and portly and usually perspired profusely. Yet among other men of his age there were few who were more healthy than Quinto. Everybody knew this and good-naturedly endured the colonel's ravings about his blood pressure and threatening heart failure.
In fact Lofty piqued the other's ire even more with his next question. "So who says that these aliens are really extra-galactic in origin? After all, they could be people from our own galaxy who may have gone astray out there, wouldn't you say?"
Nike laughed scornfully. "And you think I haven't racked my brains already over that idea?"
Lofty watched him carefully. "Well, at least you haven't said a word about it, sir."
Why waste words over the obvious? The objections to your argument are also obvious. All of our Barrier-line Observation stations have been deployed for more than a year now, beyond the rim of the galaxy. Only the Akons and ourselves have the secret of linear space drive. All other known spacefaring races use the hyperjump system of propulsion, and any such transition out of the galaxy would have been detected by at least one of the BOB stations. But nobody's gone out, so who is there to come back in?"
Lofty nodded with satisfaction. "That still leaves two possibilities open, sir. Either these unknown people have been out there more than a year—or we're actually dealing with Akons."
"No, that's not possible. For political reasons the Akon System is under such close surveillance that not even a small freighter could sneak through our control ring, let alone a larger ship capable of making an inter-galactic run. Besides, in the past year none, of their trips has been longer than a few thousand light years. So that eliminates the Akons. I don't think that any ship from a local race would be able to stay out there over a year—and above all I can't imagine what race from our own galaxy would send us a message asking us if we're a true life form...!"
"Also aside from the fact," put in Meech Hannigan, "that no known races fool around with fusion bombs in the thousand gigaton range. They may be old-fashioned but their wallop must be colossal."
Lofty finally surrendered. The counter-arguments were convincing. Yet he persisted in another vein: "How can we be sure we've really understood that hypercom message? I mean, if we're really dealing with extra-galactic beings it's theoretically possible that their mode of thinking is so different from ours that there's no way we can understand each other—at least not at the first contact."
Quinto nodded. "That's a fair question. But the code used in the transmission was created by an electronic brain. You know that electrons and positrons are universally the same, and what anybody can do with them is also universally the same. If you take such a machine and give it an independent intelligence and then leave it alone to come up with a message format, in any case there will be certain commonalities to the code pattern, regardless of who may have built the machine."
This also made sense to Lofty. From then on he followed the rest of the discussion in silence.
At this time the Joann stood motionlessly in space at a distance of 200 light years from the BOB 21. All hypercom receivers were trained on the observation station. If the BOB 21 should run into trouble, everyone on board the Joann would know about it in the next second. The Joann 's own tracking equipment didn't have sufficient range to follow events happening out beyond in the far abyss. She may have had other special capabilities but the Joann was not an observation station.
Meanwhile, Quinto had made arrangements for the Terran Fleet units along the rim of the Milky Way to be reinforced and made ready for action.
At close to 01:00 hours he reached an agreement with his inner cadre concerning the mode of procedure during the next 10 hours. They had heatedly discussed a suggestion of Larry Randall's in which he proposed that they should go to the site of the bomb explosions and have a look around, but this was finally rejected. Nike Quinto won out with his own idea of waiting right where they were, to see how the situation developed.
The BOB 21 had reported several hours prior to this that everything had quieted down in the distant area of surveillance. The explosions had ceased, the automatic transmitter had become silent, and the question was not repeated concerning their form of life.
For Quinto this was far from being any indication that the case was closed. He decided to wait out the 10 hours quietly and then consider whether to take up the trail of direct investigation or to wait further.
His judgment proved to be valid. At 01:23 hours the BOB 21 announced the emergence of an alien spaceship out of the void between the galaxies. The Joann sent an alert signal to the Fleet formations.
• • •
Eric Furchtbar was observing the alien ship.
Also in the main control room besides himself were Lt. Hynes and corp. Schulmeister. The radar image from Cavanaugh's Com Room had been relayed into the control center. Furchtbar could see on the screen that the ship was coming closer and that it had gone into a braking manoeuvre.
He told Cavanaugh to turn on the hyper transmitter and beam out a signal with hardly any modulation, which of course could make no sense on the receiving end. But the stranger would no doubt send back some kind of answer and though it would probably make no sense either it would at least indicate that the call had been acknowledged.
This is what Eric expe
cted but he was deceived. There was no answer. The alien ship merely continued its braking manoeuvre. Even an amateur. Could see that every second it was becoming more difficult for the strange vessel to hold its course. It would veer off to the side and struggle back only to buck like a horse and spin on its axis at varying speeds of rotation. It was still too far away to be visible on the optical screens but the hyper-scanner plainly revealed that the ship was spherical in shape.
The energy sensors indicated that the vessel was moving in a synthetic gravity field that took the place of a propulsion system. Strong variations of the field were registered. The generators seemed to be out of control. Eric kept waiting for an answer but none was received. He repeated the signals, he beamed out additional signals, and finally he even sent out a question in positronic code.
But the alien remained silent. Either nobody on board was still alive or they didn't prefer to answer. The
first possibility didn't seem to be too probable. If nobody was alive then at this moment the ship would have to be on automatic pilot. This was wholly conceivable but in Eric's opinion such an automatic system should be responding more quickly to the course deviations. Those corrections he saw appeared to be awfully sluggish and clumsy. It was as if somebody was sitting at the controls who knew nothing about astrogation.
But if somebody was still alive over there, why didn't he give a return signal? It was unthinkable that all receivers on board could be malfunctioning. Receivers and transmitter's were the most important items of equipment on board spaceship. Eric was confident that these aliens, whoever they might be, received radio impulses in the same way and that they had equipped their vessel as earthmen would have. Which meant that there would be such a redundancy of senders and receivers that even in case of complete destruction there would still be an emergency set or two in operation.
Eric was being constantly informed from the Com Room as to the remaining time left before the ship would reach a stopping point. Ken Lodge's deep voice was doing the countdown.
"Still 71 minutes, sir. We have the new tracking readout. The alien ship will come to a stop at a distance of 15000 km."
Eric nodded absently. Either their astrogation instruments are out of kilter over there or they really had a clown at the flight controls. 15000 kilometres! With the lack of light here the vessel still wouldn't be visible on the regular screens.
He decided to fire a warning salvo as soon as the ship came within 50000 km. He had delayed long enough. Of course anyone could see that the vessel was in serious trouble and it was not the custom of the Terran Fleet to hail a crippled ship with a shot across the bow but Eric Furchtbar carried the responsibility for 25 human lives. Out there something unspeakably alien was coming toward him. He didn't know what the intentions of the crew might be on board the damaged spacer—so he had to give them a warning.
He issued orders to gun position 1. Behind the heavy energy cannons the crew sprang into action. The positronics indicated the exact spot where the ship would be when it passed the 50000-km line. The target point was pre-calculated. Five heavy-caliber thermo guns were aimed at a place that was within 100 km of the critical point.
In the main control room the seconds seemed to drag by in slow succession. Every minute, Ken Lodge's deep, monotonous voice came through with the continuing countdown.
"Still 54 minutes, sir. Unknown vessel's present velocity is 1.123 times 10 to the 7th meters per second."
Eric converted the figures in his head while watching the screen. That came to about 11000 km per second. Hm-m... Retropulsion could only be about 350G ...Ridiculous... If they'd only let a peep out of them! Those fools! Why didn't they answer?
"We could send out a lifeboat to them, sir."
Eric was startled to hear Lt. Hynes' voice directly behind him. He whirled around. "My God but you gave me a scare!" he admitted frankly. "Can't you stomp those boots a little louder when you walk? A lifeboat? They're still cutting the ether at over 1000 km per second. Our shuttle craft don't have good enough auto-nav controls—at least not in that range of speed. They're not much better than maintenance work boats, for repair work near the station. If you wavered a minute of arc in the wrong direction that steamroller out there would flatten you to pieces."
Hynes listened patiently and then added: "I didn't mean now, sir. Later, when they're practically at a stop. Of course the pilot would have to be a volunteer." His voice rose slightly with a note of tension. "We can't just sit here and wait for something to happen, sir!"
Eric looked at him sarcastically. "Would you like to be the volunteer, Lieutenant?"
In the same moment he was sorry he said it but the question was out. Ed Hynes pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders.
"Of course, sir," he answered immediately.
Eric waved a hand wearily. "Forget it, he said in a conciliatory tone. "We still have 50 minutes to mull it over. It isn't a bad idea-maybe we can figure something out."
Lt. Hynes went back to his post, somewhat subdued. The time dragged by with such excruciating slowness that the pauses between Ken Lodge's announcements seemed to be semi-eternities.
"...another 31 minutes sir..."
Always another minute, and another!
"...still 28 minutes, sir..."
The alien ship was still twisting, turning and bucking out there in the darkness. Furchtbar thought that he wouldn't be surprised if the thing exploded and sent the splinters flying around their ears. But the stranger kept on coming.
"Fifteen minutes, sir. The bogie's present velocity is 2780 km per second. Present-distance: 120000 km."
Eric envisioned Ken Lodge standing in the Com Room with the intercom mike in his hand. He wondered if the big fellow was really as cool and collected as he sounded.
At last the time seemed to be passing more swiftly all of a sudden when zero minus 10 minutes was reached. The moment was approaching when gun position 1 would be laying a shot across the alien's bow. That would be at zero minus 140 seconds. Three minutes ahead of time, the chief gunner announced for the last time that his weapons were ready. Eric warned him that under no condition was the stranger to be brought under direct fire.
After that the tensions rose to their highest pitch. Eric remained in contact with the gun position. He finally heard the hoarse voice of the gunnery sergeant.
"Fire!"
The scanners traced the powerful beams of the the thermo guns as they shot straight through the darkness and passed beneath the alien vessel. The BOB 21 rumbled and shook from the mighty salvo while the optical screens were filled for some seconds with the blinding glare.
Eric Furchtbar leaned forward tensely in his chair. How would the stranger react to the warning shots?
He must have seen that no direct hit was intended. Gun position 1 had pulled off a minor masterpiece of precision. Their fire accuracy had a variation ratio that was down to 1/1000th of the range.
"That ought to show them we're awake over here," said Ed Hynes from the background.
Eric nodded grimly. It seemed to him that the alien ship had suddenly come under control. At least it wasn't swaying and turning anymore. He couldn't even tell if it was even moving. He was about to put a call through to the Com Room when he was interrupted by an announcement from the energy-sensor operator.
"Sir, the alien's gravity field has collapsed."
The voice was strained, the words were swift, and the face of the man on the vid-screen wore a confused expression. Eric nodded confirmation. The intercom darkened—and then Eric realized fully what he had just heard.
The gravity field was the stranger's propulsion. If the field had collapsed it meant he wouldn't be able to manoeuvre. In that case he would keep the velocity he had when his propulsion failed. Which meant he would also stay on his present course.
Eric whirled around in his seat. Ed Hynes stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. Eric was about to say something but the intercom lighted up without warning and they both heard the bellowing
voice of Ken Lodge.
"Crash alert, sir! Alien ship out of control! Approaching on direct course at about 1500 km per second. Contact in 100 seconds!"
3/ AN UNSEEN PRESENCE
"Let's not kid ourselves..." Nike Quinto spoke in such low tones that hardly anybody could understand him.
"That question about a true life form can only mean one thing..." When Ron Landry stared at him questioningly, he finished his statement: "It means that the questioner is a robot!"
Ron thought this over. Lofty, Larry and Meech hadn't heard a word of the half-whispered declaration so they waited.
He could be right thought Ron. According to its programming it could record either its own "life" or the life of an organic being as the "true life form."
So the question could have two meanings. Either: Are you robots like we are? Or: Are you organic life in contrast to ourselves?
It sounded logical, Ron thought, but in the same moment it occurred to him that he had been warned not to think too logically in relation to extra-galactic intelligences.
Anyway, Nike Quinto was probably right.
If that was so and if their previous hypothesis was right, that the explosions out there in the abyss were the signs-of a battle, then it meant that robots were in conflict with other beings, probably organic intelligences.
Ron found that not to be so strange. Ever since galactic civilization had brought robots into use there had been robot insurrections. There was always somebody who figured he could use robots for his own purposes. All he had to do was change the program of one machine creature so that it would change others of its kind in the same manner. At first the people who were used to having their robots obey their commands would be surprised when this condition changed. Usually their first thought would be to look for some defect but while they were looking for it the revolt would be spreading. Robot wars were the most dangerous type of conflict which the races of the galaxy had ever experienced.
And out there in the gulf between the galaxies, this is what seemed to be happening. Ron felt sorry for the people who were involved in the terrible battle yet he found it strangely reassuring that they were evidently faced with the same problem that others who were less alien had faced before them.