by Perry Rhodan
Tiff was drawn to the big burning eyes of the hunchback. He made an effort to tear himself away and express his troubled mind. "Sir, I've probably killed two men."
Adams looked down at his slim hands. He felt sympathy for the young man who reproached himself. "Don't let it worry you. You've acted in self-defense beyond any doubt. There will be no legal trial. Furthermore, the case has been taken over by the Terrestrial Defense Federation. I have instructions to send you at once to the moon where the training ship K7 is waiting for your arrival. Your final tests are not to be further interrupted."
Julian Tifflor was overcome by a feeling of abysmal disappointment. He had seemed to be on the threshold of a mysterious and exciting adventure—and now he was relegated back to his exam. "Yes, sir," was all he could say.
Adams tried to force a smile. He wasn't quite successful. Slowly he added: "Well, there's one more thing I'd like you to take care of for me, Mr. Tifflor. I've been required to point out to you that you may refuse my request any time. Nobody, least of all Perry Rhodan, will force you to carry out this task."
Tiff was all ears. Suddenly all thought of the dreaded final exam in tactical training vanished. "Please," he said with a throaty voice.
Adams held a small metal cylinder in his hand. It hardly differed from the one Rhodan had given him a few hours earlier.
"We consider it essential to forward these secret data about the economic planning of the New Power in this somewhat unusual manner to the Vega system 27 light-years away. This capsule contains a microtape that must not be allowed under any circumstances to come into the possession of unauthorized persons. I'm sure you understand that a long range economic plan is vital for all mankind. The data arrived at cannot be changed from one day to the next, since there are numerous projects, such as the building of new ships and so on, which must be coordinated within the general framework of the plan. You have orders to hand over this roll personally to the Governor of the New Power on Ferrol in the Vega system. That's all you are required to do. Are you willing to take on this secret mission?"
Tiff was disappointed again. His commonsense told him that the training ship K7 was bound for the Vega system. He asked about this.
"Of course your flight is charted to land in the Vega system," Adams confirmed expressionlessly. "Major Deringhouse has received instructions to this effect. We are very anxious to deliver this message safely to Ferrol. You're forbidden to mention it to anybody."
Tiff gave his assurance. The little metal capsule changed hands. Before Adams sat down behind his monstrous work and switch control center, he admonished him: "In case you should get into trouble, a touch of the self-destruct button is enough to dissolve the container with the message. Please check this safety feature."
Tiff examined the position of the switch very carefully. At that moment it began to dawn on him that he was not embarking on a harmless trip as a courier. There was more involved in this affair than met the eye. He probably was not being told the whole story.
Adams noticed with satisfaction the growing suspicion of the cadet. The transformation took place exactly as Rhodan had intended. He wanted Tiff to be suspicious but not to such a degree that his conjectures would become identical with certain knowledge.
Tiff stowed the cartridge away. Motionlessly he stood before the elderly man with the sparse pale blond hair.
"Do you accept this assignment?" Adams wanted to make sure that he agreed. Tiff almost had the impression that his eyes pleaded: "Don't do it!"
He shook off the fleeting thought. "Of course, sir. With pleasure."
"Then come with me," Adams said, coughing slightly behind his hand. "No, we'll take my private elevator. Are you familiar with the principle of a matter transmitter?"
Tiff was thrilled with the greatest excitement. A matter-transmitter! One of those fabulous machines Perry Rhodan had found in a strange world and learned to master. With a dry throat he stammered, "Yes, in principle. But I've no practical experience."
"So you'll get some now. Please, follow me."
The small elevator sped down. Tiff swallowed hard as Adams operated the five-dimensional transformer by means of his individually programmed vibrations. The thick basement wall became at one place a glimmering spiral.
"A supradimensional dematerialization field," Adams explained matter-of-factly. "Matter turns into penetrable energy. No, these are no gases, if that's what you mean. The passage is not as short as you might be inclined to believe. The control room is located more than half a mile away inside the rocks of Manhattan. Follow me. I've identified you at the mechanical guidance."
Tifflor stepped reluctantly into the mysterious field. He felt nothing except a small pull in the back of his neck. It was far less strenuous than a transition in cosmic space.
He found it hard to believe that the distance was no greater than Adams had stated. At any rate, Tiff couldn't remember having covered the distance of half a mile with one step. Neither could he conceive the fact that, for an instant, he was no longer a bodily reality. It was a physical impossibility to traverse a five-dimensional dematerialization field in a normal stable form.
His mathematically oriented mind became active. A few moments later he had found the probable solution of the applicable equations. His schooled mind was accustomed to deal in a methodical manner with the true facts and to realize their existence despite their unlikely appearances. This was a superior attainment that was specifically taught at the Space Academy of the New Power.
He looked with fascination at the cage-like apparatus and the enclosed circular platform that appeared to be the transmitter. Adams was already manipulating the adjustment control panel.
Somewhere heavy machines began to hum.
"A separate, self-contained energy source," Adams explained in conformance with Rhodan's directions emphasizing the necessity to make Tifflor familiar with such technical installations. "Naturally I cannot depend on the questionable supply of current from the city's power stations. You'll be rematerialized with the velocity of thought in the synchronized transmitter on Luna. Be prepared to go through some minor pains. You may compare it with a spaceship transition."
Tifflor approached the uncanny machine with glazed eyes and unstable steps. A violet light had begun to shine inside the circle of bars.
"No danger," Adams assured him calmly. "The machine is attuned to you. But I wouldn't advise any unauthorized person to risk the transportation of his body. Have you got your message capsule?"
Tiff nodded. Then he stepped on the platform and gripped the poles in his hands. Before he could ask another question he suffered the jabbing pain of the dematerialization. Adams saw a swirling eddy form between the two field pole rods that vanished again in seconds. Immediately thereafter the transmitter shut down with a fading low buzz. Julian Tifflor, the future astronaut, was gone.
• • •
When Tifflor returned to his real state again, he thought for a fraction of a second that he had dreamed. There was no recollection of the ultralight fast transport through the higher dimension in which the laws of the normal universe were invalid.
The view before his eyes became clear. He stood in an identical transmitter but he was no longer in the little room deep in the rocks of Manhattan.
"Hello," Major Deringhouse greeted him dryly. "How do you feel? Don't bother with that nonsense! A man who has just rematerialized doesn't have to salute. First get out of that cage."
Tiff stepped across the red danger line. Then he looked around, still disconcerted. The transmitter was located in a bare room with stone walls, one of which was decorated with a large switch panel. Somewhere in the background a machine was winding down with a low whir. He guessed that it was the atomic energy power station supplying the local current. Obviously, it wasn't very big. The makers of these uncanny transporting sets had regarded it as desirable to limit the size of the power generators. He was told that there were transmitters with energy generators built into the thick plat
form.
Tiff tipped the cap of his dress uniform anyway. Deringhouse inspected him thoroughly before he inquired: "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine, sir. It was a breathtaking experience."
"I didn't ask you that but I believe you. O.K. Come with me."
Tiff had expected more questions. Deringhouse avoided any reference that could somehow be connected with Tiffs assignment. Nevertheless the major seemed to be more or less informed about the nature of his task. His searching look at Tiff's breast pocket was a clear indication.
Before the rough stone wall a dematerializer rose up high. Here, too, they were sluiced through a D-field out into the open.
"You're now far below the support base near the south pole of Luna," Deringhouse explained. "When we arrive above, don't waste any unnecessary words. We'll depart at once to go on a training flight where you take your regular seat as candidate. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Tiff whispered disconsolately. The affair grew more baffling all the time.
Deringhouse's slim face showed a hint of a laugh. The young officer was known to have a sense of humor.
"You're certain to be asked questions by the other cadets that will have to be ignored by you. I'm the only man on board who is informed about your mission as courier. In case you run into any difficulties, come to me for help. That's about all there is to say with regard to this matter except for one other piece of information I'm to give you. I want to let you know that your doppleganger will be flying back to Gobi in one hour. The makeup men seem to have done an excellent job. Your substitute is probably busy staging a heartbreaking goodbye in your parents' home. We thought it necessary to arrange a little show for the spies who are probably watching it."
Tiff could feel his throat getting even tighter. He had trouble swallowing the lump. "A double?" he stammered.
Deringhouse grinned widely. "Exactly," he confirmed. "But we've told the fellow that he's not permitted to kiss your sister."
Tiff suddenly realized very clearly with how much foresight the Chief had layed his plans. The training ship K7 had obviously started without him from the Gobi airport. If his double returned there soon, only the devil himself would be up to seeing through the hoax.
At least this was Tiff's opinion. But he didn't do justice to the cool logic of the man who was not prone to underestimate the intellect of others who might not be so easily fooled by the manoeuvre. In this case, his role as messenger had to look genuine.
"A little commotion ahead, sir," Tiff remarked respectfully.
"A little commotion!" Deringhouse mocked. "It'll be more like jumping into the vortex of a whirlwind.
O.K. Get in—and not another word about your task."
The commander of the K7 followed the cadet into the transportation field. When they arrived at the top they entered a room with bright lights. It was the office of the security chief. The officer hardly glanced at them as they walked by his desk.
A spherical auxiliary ship of the Good Hope class, measuring 200 feet in diameter, was stationed under the huge energy dome of the Lunar base. Superbattleships like the Stardust II carried 12 of these units on board.
Silently they walked over to the ship which was ready for the takeoff. The lower pole elevator was still extended to the ground between the stable landing legs. They floated up in the antigrav shaft and went at once to the command center.
"Attention!" somebody bellowed at the top of his voice.
Tiff shuddered as he recognized Hifield's voice. He looked rather pale as he eyed the cadets lined up in a file. They stood straight as ramrods before the entering commander.
Sergeant Rous was also present. He served as Second Astronaut on board the FTL Guppy, a faster-than-light ship.
Tiff counted 11 cadets. There were in addition two girls of whom he recognized Mildred Orsons at once. He was also acquainted with the slender, fine-featured Felicita Kergonen. Felicita was only 18 years old. She had two more semesters in galactobotany to attend. What was she doing on the final test ship?
Tiff felt his pulse beat faster as he met Milly's eyes. Evidently, Deringhouse had chosen not to reprimand her little digression in visiting the cadets' quarters.
"Cadet Tifflor has returned from his special furlough. We'll take off at once. Take your seats," Deringhouse stated rather curtly. This was only a feeble clue to the bewildering reappearance of Tiff that failed to satisfy the young men with taut nerves who were on the verge of becoming full-fledged astronauts.
Klaus Eberhardt seemed about ready to burst. Hifield didn't blink an eyelash. He never did when an
officer was around.
As Deringhouse went through the transparent security gate to the radio room to perform some operations personally, Rous growled in his charming manner: "Get moving! We don't need frozen dummies on board. How long do I have to wait till you sit down? The ladies are requested to retire to their cabin. Come on!"
Rous' bark was worse than his bite. As Milly Orsons walked past him with a devastating look, he stifled some strong albeit well-meaning language.
Blond Felicita Kergonen demurely walked behind her one year-older friend and co-student. The hatch closed again. Rous' breath sounded like the hissing of a boiler letting off steam. "Damn it," he clenched his teeth with an irate look. "What's there to snicker at? These aren't girls, they're students at the Space Academy, remember that! I insist that they be treated like any other man on board. The girls will have to show what they've learned about cosmobacteriology and galactobotany. Cadet Tifflor!"
Tiff winced. Rous, his old tormenter, acted like a real fire-eater again. "You take over the weapon control in the first interval. You're such a hotshot, aren't you? Don't fancy the idea that you can slam through the next planet with the K7. Eberhardt and Hifield, you supervise the technosection. The other men to their regular stations. Start in five minutes!"
That was First Sergeant Rous! One had to grin and bear it.
"Hey, you're still dressed to go to a ball," the dark-haired man sneered. "Man, get your service uniform and be back in 12 seconds flat!"
Tifflor dashed away without seeing Rous' wide grin. Eberhardt and Hifield went to their swivel chairs next to the two pilot seats.
"Big wheel," Eberhardt muttered. "How did our little boy get here? Did you see a ship land? He's still carrying that hot blaster in his belt."
"We're going to get them, too, after the start. Be quiet now!"
Inside the huge body of the K7 its machines began to run. The automatic controls responded to Rous' guidance much more accurately and with greater dependability than any human could have done. This was a spaceship that had not been built on Earth. The Arkonide supertechnology manifested itself in every little detail. The energy curve of the impulse converter rose steeply. Eberhardt reported that the energy for the thrust neutralizers was at the required level. The hitherto quiet ship was now bursting with activity.
Rous was in contact with the base commander via v'phone. Behind the protective energy curtain lay the void of space. It was crucial for the start of the K7 to open the energy dome for a fraction of a second at the launching pad.
"Ready for blastoff. Request column field," Rous asked on the video.
Outside the Guppy the field projectors of the Lunar spaceport began to work. A shining column of energy shot upwards joining the curvature of the large dome and enveloping the ship at the same time.
It formed an ample and perfect passage chamber that still amazed the scientists on Terra. On distant
Arkon, spaceships had started and landed in this manner for more than 10,000 years. The method was primarily applicable for spaceports situated on celestial bodies that were either airless or had a poisonous atmosphere.
Rous looked through the transparent bulletproof wall to the radio center. The commander was still sitting before the telecom screen. The person shown on the screen could not be recognized from the command center.
• • •
"All clear on board," Deringhouse
murmured softly into the tiny microphone of the ultralight telecom set.
Rhodan nodded. The major was unable to see the person at whom Rhodan threw a side glance. Evidently Rhodan was highly satisfied.
Deringhouse had no inkling that he'd taken aboard with Tifflor a supradimensional organically living transmitter. Deringhouse hadn't been told everything either.
Rhodan had acknowledged the affirmative nodding of the telepaths from the Mutant Corps who were present. It was proof enough for him that Tifflor had arrived at the Lunar base in good shape.
"Thank you. You're free to start. Please comply fully with your instructions. Any questions?"
Deringhouse hesitated till he hastily asked:
"Did Everson get through?"
"Yes, he went through the transition without hindrance. Anything else?"
Deringhouse said no, although he would have liked to ask whether Tifflor's double had come back. This probably was the case, anyway.
"Good luck!" Rhodan concluded. "Take good care of the cadets and the final tests. They'll be the starfighters of tomorrow."
Deringhouse understood only too well the odd smile of the Chief. At this moment a veritable tumult must have been reigning at the spaceport of the New Power.
Perry Rhodan's three mighty ship units had been standing ready for an emergency start for some time. Deringhouse's thoughts lingered longingly on the heavy cruiser Terra which he normally commanded. Now Captain McClears was in charge of the gigantic vessel, built on Earth and measuring more than 600 feet in diameter.
Thinking about his cruiser Deringhouse got the vague feeling that its powerful ray cannons could come in very handy before long. Big as the K7 was, compared to Terra it was an impotent dwarf.
Rhodan's picture faded. Deringhouse rose slowly before he walked over to the command center. Rous rattled his report. The two men knew and respected each other.
The commander looked meaningfully at the sergeant.
"All clear, Rous? No hijackers on board?"
"Nope," the burly sergeant drawled, his tongue briefly licking his dry lips.