Death's Demand

by Perry Rhodan

  "An antigrav shaft!" he announced. "That's where they went!"

  When he looked up again his gaze rested a few seconds on Meech. Ron knew what he was thinking. In dangerous situations it was customary to send a robot ahead, in case there was one available. However valuable a robot might be he was still a machine. If he were destroyed, a new one could be built. This was the first rule that was taught to troops who would have robots in their command.

  This time, however, Quinto decided against rule one and Ron knew why. Meech had photographed the local installation. He carried within him a photo record of all these unusual machines. It was true that Nike, Ron and Lofty had also made an inspection of the place but they could never describe it as precisely as Meech was able to do. He had become a vital information bank so his life couldn't be gambled with.

  "Now listen, men," said Quinto. "I'll be the first to go down there. I'm setting my beamer on fan-out phase so unless they send robots against us they won't be able to jump us so quickly. You three follow me—and try to keep together as much as you can while we are descending."

  There was complete silence as Nike swung himself over the edge of the hole.

  • • •

  Within a few minutes after Melaal had shouted the word Terra in order to open the shaft, he found himself safely on board the spaceship along with the other two Arkonides.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. The situation during the past few hours had been much more dangerous than he had previously pictured it to be. But they had made it. Carba, who was at the moment the most important man they had, was now in a place of safety. The crew of the ship greeted him with all the great respect and show of subservience that a member of one of the oldest Arkonide families might expect. This was not surprising because the subordinate officers and crew members knew nothing of the role that Carba intended to play. Even among the staff officers there were few who had an inkling of where Carba was to fit in the great plans which the leaders of the revolution had devised.

  Of course Melaal knew. The master plan was a powerful machine. Carba was a part of it. And not just any part. He was like a priceless key element of platinum-plastic material—one without which the machine could not operate. But a part nevertheless. On the other hand those responsible for the revolution stood on the outside and controlled the machine.

  So much for Carba. And now, as for the Terrans?

  Melaal smiled disdainfully when he thought how well they would be "taken care of". In half an hour, outside of those who had to know, there would be no one to even recall the existence of Kusma and its very unusual station dome. It was too bad that the station had to go, thought Melaal, but there was no other way.

  Although no one on board could sense it, the ship set itself in motion. With swiftly increasing speed it glided through a long tunnel, hundreds of km in length, and left the surface of Kusma at a place which could not be observed by the Terran ship.

  It was X minus 27 minutes.

  • • •

  The shaft ended in a rectangular area from which passages branched out in 8 different directions. Nike Quinto ordered Meech to keep his sensors open for any signs of energy sources. Meech was equipped with "organs" which enabled him to detect radiations emanating from any energy generators using isotopes.

  He only needed a few seconds to detect the engines of the ship, which was about 3 km away from their position. Of course he didn't know that the radiation field had to do with a ship specifically. He only sensed the field itself and reported to Quinto accordingly.

  "In this direction, you say?" asked Nike. "Let's go!" But as he turned energetically to enter the passage indicated, the robot called after him.

  "Please—one moment, sir!"

  Quinto halted impatiently. "Alright—what now?"

  "Gamma radiations, sir," said Meech curtly.

  "So? There are gamma radiations everywhere, Hannigan. Why hold up the show for a thing like that?"

  "They come from there, sir," answered Meech, and he pointed to the rock wall to his right. "It's coming through many meters of solid rock but I can still pick it up clearly. It must be a very powerful source."

  Quinto became wary. "Can you define it at all?"

  Meech was silent for several moments. "Only within certain parameters, sir," he finally answered. "Radioactive material is involved that has a fast rate of decay. The decay constant ranges between 1 and 2 times 10 to the minus 5 per second."

  "Convert that—but in your head!" ordered Quinto impatiently.

  "Well sir, I'd give it a half-time between 10 and 20 hours."

  Quinto returned to the group immediately. "Out of here!" he shouted. "Back to the ship on the double! That's a time bomb!"

  • • •

  Melaal had not calculated that one of the Terrans would be a robot. Otherwise he would have connected the bomb to another type of timing device. Normal men were not able to sense the presence of gamma rays from Sodium-24 but a robot could. More than that, he could determine the half-life decay rate and get a pretty good idea of even the actual isotope that was being used.

  The technique of using rapidly-deteriorating radioactive elements as triggers for time bombs was well known in the galaxy. There were many methods of using this approach but the simplest one was to use a metallic substance that would turn into another element in the course of its decay. The 2 metals had different specific conductivities and the basic material would thus change its resistance over a time period that could be long or short, according to the half-life rate of the material used.

  Sodium-24 had long been the preferred trigger in such setups. It was easily procurable and it was cheap. But the "trigger window" was rather broad and hard to predict. The bomb that Meech had discovered might detonate in 4 days—or in the next few seconds.

  As fast as they could go, Nike Quinto and his companions ascended the shaft again. Meech Hannigan was the first to reach the edge of the opening in the hatch cover. He climbed out and turned to help Nike Quinto up. The shimmering circle of the gate still illuminated the burned remains of Thekus. Quinto prepared to cross the threshold into the transmitter. He was almost back to safety now. Just one more step and he would be on board the K-3605, almost 1,000,000km distant from Kusma where the fury of the bomb could not reach him.

  But that was when Ron Landry suddenly cried out: "Hold it! Lofty Patterson isn't here!"

  • • •

  Again it was astonishing how quickly Nike Quinto could react. He had already turned on his wrist transceiver. "Patterson!" he called sharply. "You get up here immediately! That's an order! I forbid you to try any foolishness down there!"

  There was a moment of silence, after which Lofty's voice finally came through on the micro-speaker. "You'll have to forgive me, sir, but at the moment I've got some plans of my own. If anybody can find that damn bomb it'll be me. I think Kusma is important enough to us to justify the risk. If I blow it—what have we lost? One old man. Just go to Passa and you'll be able to pick up lots of old coots like me. I can be replaced. However..."

  "Knock it off!" yelled Quinto. "You get up here on the double!"

  "No, sir—I'm not coming," Lofty answered. "I think I've already found the route to go.

  Ron knew that Quinto wouldn't be able to talk him out of it.

  "I'm coming down there to grab you by the pants if I have to, Patterson!" yelled Quinto.

  But it was Lofty who was angry now. "Forget it, you fool! Just let an old man go about his business. I know what has to be done!"

  Quinto's face turned a beet red. He turned about abruptly and stepped to the gate. He spoke once more into his transceiver. "OK, you blockhead—we'll leave the gate open! If you can still make it, come on board as fast as you can!"

  With one big step he went across the energy threshold and disappeared before Ron Landry's eyes. Ron followed him reluctantly. He was too much afraid for old Lofty Patterson to be able to reason things out at the moment.

  Meech Hannigan the robot brought up
the rear.

  • • •

  What Lofty had referred to as "the route to go" turned out to be a passage that led approximately in the direction that Meech had indicated as the source-point of the radiation.

  Lofty's thought process was simple and logical. He knew that nobody was going to take all the pains to bury a bomb under tons of rock without having easy access to it. This was the only passage that led in the right direction. Thus it was most probable that it would take him to where the bomb was concealed.

  The corridor was dark but Lofty had turned on his pocket lamp to see where he was going. At the moment he was not yet conscious of the danger that lurked ahead of him. The concept of Kusma turning into a bursting sun somewhere in the next few hours—and himself along with it if he didn't succeed—was something that had not yet penetrated his consciousness.

  He was looking for something. That was all he was thinking of at the moment.

  The passage made a slight turn. Lofty rounded the curve and proceeded a few more steps before coming suddenly to a halt. His echoing footsteps had started to sound different. He raised the beam of his lamp upward. Although it wasn't especially powerful at least so far he had been able to light up the ceiling with it—but now the ceiling had disappeared. That is, it would now have to be more than 10 meters above him.

  It was the same with the walls on either side of him. They, too, were beyond the reach of his hand light. He found himself in a wide, high-ceilinged chamber. He played the beam across the area in front of him and suddenly stopped when he saw a bright reflection. A few meters ahead of him a cylindrical piece of gleaming metal towered upward. He played the beam upward as far as it could reach. Struts or braces were attached to the cylindrical piece in at least a dozen places. When he turned his lamp to, the right and the left he saw that there were still other metallic uprights.

  The whole thing was a framework of some kind. Lofty had an idea of what it was but couldn't yet tell for sure. The beam of the lamp didn't quite reach far enough.

  He went a few steps farther, ducked under several cross-braces and finally stood inside the big frame. He raised the flashlight beam upward a second time. Now he could see that 8 cross-struts came inward from the 4 outer uprights and formed a kind of nest in the center. It was not a bad metaphor, he thought. Because in that nest was an egg. Of course it was a giant one, no less than 2 meters long. Its shell consisted of a dull-gleaming metal plastic. Lofty held his beam on it for some time. The outer shell of the thing did not reveal any uneven areas. Anyone who was uninformed about it might think, upon entering the chamber, that it was merely some kind of weighty object that was being given a stable platform by the frame structure around it.

  Lofty knew better. This was the bomb.

  • • •

  It was very simple to climb up the braces. Of course he had to use both hands and was forced to pocket his flashlight in the process. That left him in pitch darkness where he couldn't see a thing but he had fixed the position of the nest fairly well in his mind. All he had to do from time to time was to brace himself on the cross-struts and take a quick look around with the flashlight. This was enough to guide him.

  Gradually the awareness began to seep into his consciousness now of what danger he was in. That strange egg there—at any second it could change into a blast from Hell which would vaporize the rocks around him and spew fire across the surface of the planet, turning Kusma itself into an exploding inferno.

  It caused him to stop a moment as he held onto the strut-work and pulled out his lamp again. His finger pressure caused the gas-tube behind the lens to glow. The beam moved along the strut he was on until it found the nest—and the bomb.

  How harmless it looked, this treacherous thing!

  Suddenly the pressure of fear that had been held back all this time in his subconscious mind like some lurking monster now burst upon him. He bit his lip and sat astride the cross-beam like a horseman, edging centimeter by centimeter toward the waiting menace. The cold metallic brace under him trembled slightly as he progressed, which didn't help his nerves very much. Sweat ran into his eyes and he wiped it away angrily, forcing himself to goon. He finally leaned forward and was able to touch the metal strip around the edge of the "nest" platform. Bracing an arm against it he brought out the light again. The bomb lay directly in front of him. By making a long reach upward he could even touch it with his hand.

  He even climbed onto the platform itself and felt around on the outer shell of the contraption. It was smooth and seamless. There was no place where he might have opened it. It was what was called an irreversible bomb. Once the time-trigger device started working, nobody could stop it.

  Maybe if he had a high-temperature cutting torch he might be able to do something. But he didn't have one. He could do nothing. He was a fool. All this time he had overlooked the fact that the enemy could have placed a bomb in operation that could no longer be deactivated. After all, he had known that there were such devices.

  So all his efforts had been in vain.

  • • •

  Now the fear sat on his neck, gripping him in cold claws of terror. He scurried down the framework, falling more than climbing down, and he landed badly, bruising his right foot. Limping and cursing, he hurried along the passage he had just traversed. He was panting heavily by the time he reached the place where the other passages branched off. Above him the antigrav shaft reached into the heights. A dim light came down from above.

  Lofty shoved the flashlight into his pocket and moved to the righthand side of the shaft where the synthetic gravity field was reversed and stronger than the asteroid's natural attraction. When he shoved off his foot pained him, and since he had pushed harder with his left leg than with the right he went through a series of somersaults before he got to the top of the shaft.

  Finally he was standing again on solid ground. Before him was the colorful arc of the transmitter. He stepped into the gate. Then something struck him in the face and he was knocked backwards. Fireworks sparkled in front of his eyes. He heard an angry voice—then lost consciousness.

  • • •

  When the transmitter signaled that someone had entered the other end of the tube, Nike Quinto stationed himself at the gate on board the K-3605. Just as Lofty appeared in the receiver, Quinto's right arm shot out with full force and his balled fist landed on Patterson's jaw. Lofty didn't have a chance.

  "That'll teach you to call me a fool!" he scolded.

  Ron didn't find this form of retaliation to be particularly fair but he knew that Nike Quinto was cashing in on a haymaker in place of exerting his prerogative officially. Even though Lofty Patterson was a civilian officer, Nike could bring him before a court martial for insubordination in action. Which seemed to balance the scales, in a way. When Lofty woke up he would be glad to know that he had swapped a court procedure for a sock on the jaw.

  The K-3605 picked up speed. It had not yet reached a distance of 200,000 km from Kusma before the tiny planet was converted into a glowing mass of incandescent rock.

  Two suns gleamed close to one another in the otherwise starless void between the spiral arms of the galaxy.

  The mysterious station dome was no more.

  • • •

  The Administrator of the Solar Imperium had come to Arkon. The Imperator received his friend in his private residence within the governmental complex. Perry Rhodan did not conceal the concern he felt for his old friend.

  "I've taken a look at Quinto's report," he said, by way of beginning their talk. "I've run a positronic analysis of some of the specific items of observation and I can tell you one thing: I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, Atlan!"

  The Imperator smiled at him without turning it into a bitter smirk. "That I can well imagine."

  Rhodan continued. "I've been mulling all this over. Your own people are no longer capable of protecting you. On board my ship are a couple of members of the Terran Mutant Corps. They will stay close to you until the danger has pas
sed."

  The Imperator raised his brows. "All this trouble for just an old man?"

  Rhodan remained serious. "You know it isn't only friendship. Galactic politics are involved. Terra can't afford to have any unrest in the Arkonide Imperium at present. The balance of power must be maintained."

  Atlan the Imperator nodded. "I understand. I accept your offer with thanks."

  Rhodan took a deep breath. "Good. Then at least we've gotten that far. Has the film report been evaluated, the one our man photographed on Kusma?"

  "Yes. The results are not especially encouraging. The master positronicon—our erstwhile robot Regent—registered all the pictures. It succeeded in tapping an almost forgotten old memory bank which enabled it to remember the machines that the films depicted. You may mark my word, we know the purpose of those devices. But even the robot Brain doesn't know the principle of their operation. So we wouldn't be able to reconstruct them, and since Kusma has eluded our grip..." He made a gesture of futility with his hands.

  "I understand that," said Perry, "but what was their purpose?"

  "The activation of organic brains, expansion of their capacity, awakening of the extra brain that every intelligent creature drags around with him uselessly and which is the center of paramechanical and paranormal faculties."

  "The same installation," said Perry, "that processed you about 10,000 years ago—don't you think?"