Power Key

by Perry Rhodan

  “We should give ourselves up. Why do you want to sacrifice your men?”

  His bearing stiffened. “No one will reveal Terra’s galactic position!”

  I shrugged. That was a convincing argument, of course. “You’ll have to shoot your own soldiers and then yourself! If the robots limit themselves to shockweapons, you won’t have any other choice. If you don’t do it, you’ll end up a prisoner of the Regent.”

  It became quiet again. The situation was noteworthy in that no one was seriously attacking us. We simply stood there with the impenetrable energy screen before us and a phalanx of robots behind us. The purpose of this measure was quite clear.

  Rhodan acted as though he had not heard my last words. Most likely, he hesitated to have to take such a final step. Perhaps he also hoped that the approaching robots would fire on us with deadly weapons.

  We ran about 150 meters farther, leaped over an armorplastic wall which was painted a bright red and was about man-high, and sought cover behind it.

  Just 50 meters behind us began the actual danger zone. It was not wise to go within 300 meters of the gigantic and doubtless high-tension energy screen.

  We lay there for a while until Ras Tschubai came up to us. He saluted Rhodan and explained simply that: “Sir, I’d like to try to spring through the screen with some hand bombs. I might be able to do it.”

  Rhodan regarded him in silence. Just as silently he handed the teleporter five of the flat fusion bombs, which he had previously wrapped together with a strip of tape.

  We waited until Ras had concentrated. As he sprang there was the usual luminosity but then immediately afterwards he heard again the ghastly scream that we had heard a few hours before.

  A long time went by before the rotating energy spiral dissolved and let free Tschubai’s slowly-rematerializing body. He was still screaming when the two medics in our group were giving him his first pain-killing injections.

  “A honeycomb defense screen,” John Marshall said tonelessly. “Is it always there or does the Brain only turn it on when it’s especially threatened?”

  Rhodan did not reply. I was looking at him from the side and startled with sudden fear as he issued some orders.

  The flat microbombs appeared from the so-inconspicuously-arranged inner pockets of the uniforms. Pistol stocks with short rocket-launchers and rod-shaped solid fuel rocket engines with opened stabilizing fins were assembled. Except for the men who had utilized their inner pockets for transporting the 62 separate parts of the Arkon Bomb, we had one microbomb per man.

  Bell and Rhodan took aim, adjusted the primitive-looking dioptric screws for the distance and pulled the trigger.

  Hissing, the small objects soared off in a wide parabola. They struck the ground precisely in front of the tight line of robots and exploded in sun-bright atomic reactions.

  It was a radiation-free fusion process and so we had only the liberated thermal energy and the shockwaves to fear. The glowing hot hurricane howled over our heads and the dark mushroom clouds climbed into the sky above the landscape. Pieces of rubble rained down and then it grew slowly quiet.

  We looked over the wall, an ideal fixture for such a situation, and scouted ahead. Two shallow, molten craters gaped in the armorplastic layer of the plaza. A great many battlemachines had probably been destroyed but to the left and right of the craters the other robots marched on with mechanical calmness. They knew no fear of destruction.

  Rhodan’s face hardened. From then on we shot bomb after bomb until the spaceport resembled a boiling hell. The shockwaves raged across the wide plaza and the falling rubble became so dangerous for us that we finally had to call off the bombardment. At that point the robots were still about one kilometer away. They went around the impact areas of the warheads, only 500 tons of TNT strong, and continued their attack.

  From then on we did not dare work with heavy weapons. Our targets were now too close.

  Bell had hidden his face in his folded arms. Only his shaking shoulders showed that this man had feelings, too. I turned to Rhodan. He was drawing his impulse beamer in order to continue the senseless resistance.

  “Will you bring yourself to murdering your own men so that they can’t say anything about Terra’s position?” I demanded.

  “Murder?” he repeated, shocked. “Did I ever use that word? We’re going to defend ourselves. Let things happen as they will. Each of us has a hypnoblock that will become effective during a psycho-interrogation. You can block yourself off on your own accord. If the Regent resorts to purely physical torture, we’ll all certainly experience some unpleasant hours.”

  “So why are you ever afraid of anyone saying something that could damage Terra?”

  He lowered his head. Lowly, he answered, “I don’t trust the hypnoblocks completely. If the Regent puts the galactic physicians to work—!”

  I understood completely. Rhodan was being buffeted about by his own feelings. He knew that we had gambled and lost. Moments later, his men began to shoot.

  I listened for some time to the uninterrupted crackling of the energy weapons until I saw the Hashing ray bursts were being deflected by the battle-robots’ body-screens. Then we were fired at ourselves. The enemy fired relatively harmless shockweapons, as I had already anticipated. The Brain wanted us alive and alive it would get us.

  One after another, I looked at the doggedly fighting men. Here and there, a shock burst would hit one of them. I watched the men fall and lie still, their limbs rigid and hard. They would recover in two hours but by then it would be too late.

  Then I acted. I was tired; terribly tired. The burden of millenniums suddenly seemed unbearably heavy to me. Once more I felt how old I was. I was an Arkonide fossil, a thinking and feeling creature who was all of a sudden tired of not being allowed by a technological masterpiece to die.

  I clapped Rhodan on the shoulder and stood up. The rampart was high enough to protect me from the weapons fire. Only when one climbed up on it to fight could he get hit.

  I picked up my microbomb with my left hand and walked in the direction of the defense screen.

  “Atlan! Atlan, my friend, Atlan!” He called my name three times. Then he let me go. I no longer looked back although I knew they were all watching me.

  It had suddenly grown still. They had ceased their fire for a moment.

  “Atlan! The screen is deadly!”

  That time it was Bell who cried out. I paid no attention. Slowly, I went on. A little later, they began to shoot again.

  * * * *

  I had turned the switch of my helmet radio to the left and adjusted it to the frequency on which I had communicated with the Regent shortly after the landing.

  All feeling had died within me. I did not even feel any fear: only a death-like numbness that allowed no further clear thinking. I came ever closer to the red ring of the danger zone. I felt only that death was waiting for me there. I was no longer capable of any actual feeling. I was like a deeply religious man waiting for his death calmly and serenely.

  Oddly enough, the self-confidence of my age came into expression in a form I had not expected. I wanted to give up but I also wanted to show who I was, where I came from and how vastly superior I was to any object built by men of my sort. I wanted to insult and humiliate a machine, to scourge it with words and the sharpness of my intellect, even though there was nothing at all to scourge. A robot cannot be moved by such means.

  Nevertheless, I began to speak as though I had a living, thinking being before me. It was crazy but that was something I was only dimly aware of in the background of my consciousness. “Regent, this is the commander of the battleship Kon-Velete speaking. You know me under the name of Ighur, which by the way is just as false as our judgment of the situation. Through my knowledge and experience I have brought a troop of Terrans to Arkon 3, for I was no longer willing to tolerate the tyrannical regime of one of my servants.”

  I stopped for a moment and savored the pleasure of using the expression ‘one of my serva
nts’. It was fun for me to use the vocabulary of my eminent ancestors.

  I continued, speaking in the best Arkonese: “I am Atlan, Crystal Prince of the Realm, member of the ruling family from the house of Gonozal, nephew and heir of His Eminence, Imperator Gonozal VII, Admiral of the Imperium Fleet, Chief of the 18th Wing under the command of Admiral Sakal, victor of 27 battles near the Nebula Sector and subjugator of the Maahk System in the Region of Dark Clouds, Member of the Great Council of Arkon, Receiver of Brain Activation following the decision of the High Board, Discoverer and Deliverer of a weapon with which the Methane War was decided. I demand subordination and obedience as is fitting for a machine built by my descendants.”

  I stopped once more. My body shook in a crazy attack of laughter. I bent forward, rested my hands on my knees and forewent further arguments. With what remained of my logically functioning reason, I knew that I had lost my self-control.

  In a hard, cold and commanding voice, I went on: “I said, ‘built by my descendants’ because I, Admiral Atlan, was held by adverse circumstances in the Terrans’ solar system. A certain device guaranteed my immortality. I have now returned home to demand obedience. You are to terminate at once all hostile actions being conducted against me and the Terrans, open up the defense screen for me and turn over your programming central to me. I declare you incapable of guiding the destiny of the realm. You are now to stop all official actions, issue an order to wait to the spaceship commanders at the Druuf Front and forbid any more ships from flying into the Arkon system for the time being. Have you understood, you short-circuited servant of my people?”

  As I finished the last words, I was still two meters from the red line. At that moment my mental fog lifted and I realized in full clarity what kind of nonsense I had pronounced. I had fallen into a senseless frenzy, a frenzy of words and ridiculous phrases that were grammatical nonsense.

  I waited for the crashing blow of energy to strike me down. I had already come too close to the energy screen. I was ashamed before my friends who had probably heard my stammering over the radio. They would pity me and that pained me. I wanted no pity.

  I went slowly onwards, ever closer to the deadly energy dome. When I stood just in front of it, a loud crackling sounded in my helmet loudspeakers. A deep, full-toned voice spoke.

  “This is Failsafe Circuit A-1 speaking, your Eminence. Your statements have been checked against the old memory banks and found accurate. Your measured brain frequency matches the data stored therein. I recognize you as the Crystal Prince of the Realm and future ruler of the Great Imperium. I have switched off the robot automatic which you call the Regent. Its sections concerned with the security of the realm continue to function. The attacks against your subjects have been terminated. I have taken these measures on the basis of failsafe circuit ‘Senekha’, which requires me to turn absolute power over to a pure-blooded Arkonide, should one appear with fire in his eye who is as capable and pure as the ancients and is animated by the deepest concern for the continued existence of the realm. These conditions have been fulfilled. The service of the Robot has come to an end. I await your instructions, your Eminence.”

  I stumbled a few steps ahead. The energy screen opened up before me. I stopped numbly just on the other side of it. I was still not quite clear as to what the voice had said.

  Your Eminence…? Wasn’t that the title for the Imperator? Failsafe Circuit A-1, powerful enough to turn the entire giant Brain off by just closing a connection? I had to be dreaming; I must still be crazy and had heard my previously spoken, high-sounding prattle come back to me as a peculiar echo.

  I stared in surprise at the approaching vehicle. Two robots climbed out and snapped to attention. Behind me, it had suddenly grown quiet. No one was shooting anymore.

  “You are exhausted, your Eminence,” said one robot subserviently. “May we touch you?”

  I stammered an affirmative. They took me by their steel arms, put me in the impact-field glider and took off with me. A steel dome opened up. Five special machines from the Arkonide medical sector were waiting for me. They were magnificently constructed robots with humble smiles on their plastic faces. Robots had always looked like that in my time. I had never known any different. Even the so-called Regent was only a robot, in spite of its colossal size.

  “Wait,” I said with difficulty.

  They stepped back at once. I knew that I was in the Robot Brain. It could not be a dream.

  Loud calls were reaching me, coming from my helmet radio. Rhodan called in utmost excitement. “Atlan! Atlan, can you hear me? The attack has stopped and I’m being asked over the radio to enter the zone behind the defense screen. Atlan, what’s going on over there? Is this some kind of a trick? Answer me, Atlan. Atlan…!”

  That made me certain that I had not gone mad. My mind was active, my senses were functioning and in front of me stood several special robots in respectful deference. Slowly I sat up. They had placed me in a stretcher which I was now getting out of, my strength returning.

  “Failsafe Circuit A-1, I wish for the weak radio impulses of my helmet sender to be augmented and beamed out to my friends.”

  I waited breathlessly for the answer. It came at once. “It is done, your Eminence. The augmenter is in operation.”

  I walked past the robots, speaking into my helmet microphone. “Atlan to Perry Rhodan. This is no trick! I repeat—this is no trick! Bring your men into the zone and wait for further instructions. I have given the order for all hostile action to be halted at once. Are the robots staying quiet?”

  Someone breathed loudly and quickly. Then I heard a brief groan. “Are… are you going crazy?” Rhodan asked. “Have they taken you captive and forced you to try to get us to—”

  “No one has done anything but declare their obedience to the Crystal Prince of the Realm,” I interrupted. I now felt inwardly calmed. Everything had suddenly

  become clear to me.

  “Atlan, you’re dreaming. Something doesn’t sound right!”

  “Everything’s alright; it was just that our actions weren’t in accord with the facts. The failsafe circuit existed as we had thought. Arkon’s top scientists would have never failed to put one in. Circuit A-1 has been activated. The Regent no longer exists, as we knew it. It is now just a simple robot brain which obeys my orders just like the smallest machine. I’m going to cancel the long out-of-date programming and readjust the Brain’s unquestionably overwhelming potential so that it is more in accord with the times. From now on, an Arkonide will be standing behind the scenes.”

  “I’m going crazy!” someone said gruffly. That could only have been Reginald Bell.

  “I’d thought that of myself,” I answered with a smile that seemed to set free all the worries and problems of the past. The cell activator beat on my chest. I felt the stream of refreshing stimulus-impulses in every nerve fiber.

  “What did we do wrong, Atlan?” Rhodan asked.

  “Everything we did. Everything was for nothing—all the exertions, dangers and efforts. I needed do no more than climb out of the ship after we landed and walk up to the energy screen. The failsafe circuit, which has been operating for the last 5,000 years, would have immediately recognized from a remote pickup of my brain frequency that I was no degenerate Arkonide but instead one of those who had founded the realm and built the Robot Brain. It would have been that simple, Terran! I could have even flown in unmolested with a small ship if I had called the Regent beforehand and announced my identity. Since the failsafe circuit kept watch over every incoming radio message, I would have been recognized in that undangerous manner. Perry, you should thank your lucky stars that your Arkon Bomb was discovered in time.”

  He was silent for a long time. Meanwhile, I asked A-1 if the assumptions I had voiced were correct. A clear “Yes, your Eminence” came in reply.

  “Come inside and wait just beyond the screen,” I said, suddenly growing somewhat tired again. “Relax. I’ll arrange for food and drink. As soon as I’ve taken
care of the necessary things, I’ll call you again.”

  “What do you mean, necessary things, Atlan?”

  “Don’t become suspicious again, barbarian. You’ll never learn. Or do you now have the idea I want to get rid of you as fast as I can?”

  He laughed somewhat uncertainly. Moments later, I learned from the promptly functioning equipment that the Terrans had marched inside. I had the screen closed at once, which immediately resulted in an excited call to me.

  “Calm yourself, Perry,” I sighed. “This robot brain is worth too much for me to let it go unprotected. Pull yourself together and please try to do something to calm

  your excitement a little.”

  I switched off and told a robot to lead me to the failsafe circuit central.

  As I walked through the vast rooms with the unimaginably complicated equipment, I was filled with joy and pride. This engineering masterwork, which could fail only due to long-antiquated programming, had been created by men and women of my race. I had only to take it over.

  For me there was no more ‘Regent’ but for other intelligences he would continue to exist at least in appearance. There was no need yet for the galaxy to know that the Robot Brain was now being purposefully directed.

  All my problems had been solved by themselves. I now needed no longer to worry myself over supplying the fleet with goods of all sorts and the operation of all the dockyards and industrial complexes, nor even about the numerous affairs of administration. The Brain would take care of all that.

  Plans, great plans, were hatching in my mind before I had even reached the failsafe control-room. I entered a programming room with large vidscreens on the walls.

  “Welcome, your Eminence,” said the same full-toned voice. The face of an Arkonide scientist appeared on one of the vidscreens.

  “This is an audio-video recording in connection with Failsafe Circuit ‘Senekha’. When you hear me, I will probably have been long dead. My vocal frequencies are however available to Circuit A-1. I am Epetran, First Scientist of the Council. Our instruction to A-1 consists of turning over power to an active-remaining Arkonide with an intelligence level of at least 50 Lerc. We are of the hope that the beginning decay will one day come to an end. Should the spiritual decline surpass the danger level, the great Robot Brain will guide the destiny of the realm until someone comes who resembles the ancients. In that case, A-1 will take on my voice and speak in the sense of its programming. This is happening as of now. Again, I bid you welcome, your Eminence.”