by Perry Rhodan
Following the hyperspace entry manoeuvre of the detected warships the hypersensors registered a second set of shockwaves. On the mass-sensor's echo screens appeared 4 green blips, and seconds later the evaluation came through. The Terran translight sensor-tracking system worked on the principle of hypercom-reflex analysis. The equipment could also pick up return echoes from physical objects in normal space, so the state of the art was no longer dependent upon tracing energy contrails from the impulse engines of other vessels. Although the latter technique served to determine range and bearing, the new features permitted an estimate of the size of the tracked objects as well.
The voice of the O.D rang from the speakers. Presently the Ironduke, was hurtling into deep space with an acceleration of 600 km per second squared. "Four super battleships, Imperium class, in close formation-red 33.467, vertical 7.274. Broadside action-turn about and open fire."
I frowned, realizing that the robot-controlled space giants had unquestionably received orders to destroy the Ironduke. What astonished me was that our main positronicon had responded to the open fire without an override. The 4 battleships had emerged from hyperspace at a distance of about 10 million km and their speed was close to that of light itself. It was ridiculous to assume we were in effective range for a hit. The distance was also too great for overtaking a swift opponent.
Rhodan did not concern himself with the invisible energy beams sweeping past us.
"Broadside pattern sustaining," came a voice from tracking. "Lousy, too-excuse me, sir!"
I ran to the Control Central where the bogie blips were more discernible on the larger screens. The Imperium-class ships were in a braking manoeuvre. Even the Regent would not be able to handle the complex factors this introduced to the firing coordinate data. The thunder of our engines made normal communication impossible. I snatched up a radio helmet, slapped the earphones to my head and switched the receiver on. And at once I was aware of Rhodan's shouted orders. He was sitting in the commodore's flight seat while next to him the commander monitored the navigation and defense controls.
"... should give it a try," I heard Perry say. "Fire when ready!"
I looked in surprise at the outboard monitor as something leapt away from one of the launching domes. It was an old-fashioned rocket of the type we had used in our fight against the Antis. For a brief moment its micro-impulse engine flamed brilliantly as it broke through the reverse-polarity field emanations of our defense screens, and then it vanished. But we could still see a green blip on the energy-sensor screen. The missile was accelerating at a maximum rate of 800 km per second squared. It was self-guided, employing 3 different principles which a robotship would find it difficult to recognize. For thousands of years, projectiles had not been used as weapon carriers.
"Do you think it'll work?" I asked.
"The proof is in the pudding, as they used to say on Earth. We're working just now with the mass detector. If it's jammed out the energy sensor will take over. That in turn becomes ineffective if they cut their engines. Residual radiation is too weak for long-range tracking. The crudest method is used by the laser-amplified echo-tracer. It starts working when it comes within range of the return beams reflected from the ships. I don't think they'll try dampening the echoes. At any rate, the missile will home in on the leading vessel."
I was impressed. These men never hesitated to use any weapon they had to, from situation to situation, even if it involved such an archaic device that any other intelligences would have haughtily rejected the thought of employing it.
The robotships were still firing at us. Their courses were approaching ours although they had broken up their formation. Before we penetrated into the Kalup-generated semispace zone, tracking announced a massive energy burst at a range of 8 million km. One of the echo blips disappeared and in its place appeared a glowing orange-red fleck of light.
"Approximately 40,000 megatons," announced the duty officer in the tracking center. "A dead hit-total destruction. Their nuclear fuel helped amplify the chain reaction."
Rhodan leaned back in his seat while I fairly trembled in reaction. Had the Regent become so sloppy that its ships could be destroyed by a primitive nuclear projectile? I myself could have figured out at least 10 different ways of handling the clearly detectable rocket, either by weapons fire or by outmanoeuvring it. I avoided Rhodan's gaze.
The howling of the compensating converter died away. The star-strewn firmament of the normal void disappeared from the viewscreens and once more I was captivated by the phenomenon of translight linear flight.
Rhodan's voice rang in my headphones. "The Brain is at the end of its rope. I wouldn't have thought I could hit an Imperium-class battleship this way, much less destroy it. It's time to wipe out that machine. It's a source of growing disaster. Within a few months the galaxy will be in an uproar and by that time Carba will probably have gone mad. From then on the Akons will try to tighten the reins, whereas at present they still have to move cautiously. Can you imagine what will happen when they have a free hand?"
I nodded dejectedly. Yes, I could well imagine. Even though these 4 robotships had acted erratically the Terran fleet could not hold out against 100,000 of them. The Springer fleet units would also penetrate into the Sol System, in addition to the ships of countless colonial races who would still be in support of the Arkonide Imperium as ever before.
In spite of this, however, I still believed that I could shut off the Regent. In our case the mammoth Brain was the sword with which the Gordian knot could be cut.
2/ A "GHOST" OF A CHANCE
I was prepared for many surprises from the "Little Man", as everyone called the slightly built Chief of Solar Intelligence, but this time the Solar Marshal had proposed the craziest plan I had ever heard of.
With their advancing technology the Terrans appeared to have a penchant for trying the impossible. I had known the human race for 10,000 years. They had always shown themselves to be intelligent, resolute and frighteningly acquisitive when it came to knowledge. These were characteristics which had caused me some apprehension as a former Arkonide admiral. In those days when I first set foot on Earth, in view of my training, my rank and my Arkonide outlook I had pondered at length how I was to compose my field report. I had been inclined to inform those who might follow me that here on an insignificant world in the 10-planet system of Sol a race was developing that would bear watching.
Now the Terrans had become a major power. They were fighting for their life which was something that could not be avoided ever since their official emergence into the political macrocosmos of the galaxy.
A significant figure in the Rhodan game of recognition, expansion and swift retaliation was Allan D. Mercant, a semi-mutant with slight telepathic capabilities and the brain of a genius. He had formerly been chief of NATO intelligence and Rhodan was indebted to him. for the fact that the "New Power", founded toward the end of the 20th century, had not suffered still greater difficulties than it had been forced to face.
Mercant's "hobby", as he called it, was secret service and espionage activity. To my way of thinking the work of such an organization was of course indispensable although not always neat and clean. While orchestrating such instruments, no intelligence chief can avoid an occasional sour note or discord.
We had landed 2 days ago in Terrania. The city had increased still more in size and modernity. Even Rhodan did not know exactly how many inhabitants were in Terrania.
In response to Mercant's invitation we had gathered together in the conference chamber of Defense-Intelligence Headquarters. The security measures were sobering if not alarming. In addition to robot guards, soundproof walls and the unobtrusive presence of mutants, the small briefing hall was enclosed in a protective energy field. Here there was no "officious" atmosphere, however, no horse-shoe shaped green-top tables. We sat unrestrainedly beside each other as if at a social gathering, placed at our ease by an awareness that no one could eavesdrop on our conversation.
The
most important leaders of the Solar Imperium were present. I noted that there wasn't a man among them who had not received the life-prolonging cell-shower treatment.
Even Homer G. Adams, the powerful but never conspicuous Chief of the solar GCC, had put in an appearance. GCC-General Cosmic Corporation- was conceived in a century that hardly knew anything about manned spaceflight until Rhodan flew to the moon. That had been the beginning of a cosmic gamble whose most important phase had now been reached.
I continued to take count of the notables present. Solar Marshals Mercant and Freyt were in attendance as well as generals Deringhouse and Kosnov. Rhodan of course was there, as well as Reginald Bell in the capacity of Defense Minister, in addition to leading scientists and other men I had only heard about but had never met personally.
A man who was veiled in considerable mystery was Col. Nike Quinto, a chief of one of the Intelligence Department's divisions. It was said of him that he was a master of secretive operations. Unquestionably Mercant's wild idea had come partially from Quinto, who sat perspiring in a corner and informed anyone who cared to listen about his imagined illnesses.
So I found myself in the midst of a task team which was capable of shaking the galaxy itself. Here was Homer G. Adams with his GCC, whose financial power was such that his signature alone could authorize a subsidy amount of up to 500 billion Solars. And there was Mercant with his unfathomable Security and Intelligence resources, plus of course Rhodan himself and his whole Solar Fleet, the actual strength of which he had never divulged.
For several minutes a tense silence had fallen upon the room. Mercant's proposal had sounded too incredible. Even Rhodan seemed perplexed. "My friend-are you sure you're sober?" he asked.
Mercant glanced at Quinto. I knew that courteous smile of the Intelligence Chief. I had never known a dangerous man with such a harmless appearance. "With your permission-I am quite in possession of my faculties," he replied.
Rhodan seemed to stiffen as if a cold shock had run through him. In fact I too could feel cold perspiration starting down my back. "Mercant-but that's insane!" he protested.
Yet at the same time I was surprised to detect a fire of enthusiasm rising within me. Mercant, shrewd psychologist that he was, winked at me knowingly. He seemed to interpret the gleam in my eye correctly.
"Now there are two of us who have rocked off," observed Bell.
"How is that?" interjected Prof. Kalup in his loud voice. "I find myself fascinated."
Rhodan chuckled dryly. "Seems to be quite a difference of opinion here. Quinto, are you the one who suggested this audacious idea to our Chief of Intelligence?"
Nike Quinto stirred his short, rounded figure and puffed out his cheeks. "Sir, in view of my high blood pressure I'd never permit myself to agitate my superiors because that only develops other difficulties for me. However, since my blood pressure at present isn't up to its usual-"
"If we're lucky you'll explode on us one of these days," grumbled Kalup. His fat cheeks trembled visibly.
Quinto feigned offense but finally smiled. It helped me to find my inner calm again. When Rhodan looked at me I discovered that same old expression in his features which he had always displayed at the inception of a daring venture.
"Well, old pirate?" I said to him. "I see you're getting the itch, right?"
He laughed. We understood each other. "Well, that puts it together," commented Bell sarcastically. "Two nuts at the highest level-if Your 'Retired' Excellence will forgive me... "
When he bowed mockingly I began to feel impatient. Turning to Mercant, I inquired without preamble: "Have you made a thorough analysis of the data I gave you? You know that the slightest mistake can be fatal for all of us, granting that your plan even gets off the ground."
The marshal made a sign to Quinto and the chief of the so-called "Brain Trust"-otherwise referred to as Division 3-got up from his chair with a grunt of
exertion. He acted as if it were hazardous for him to place both feet on the floor at the same time, yet he manoeuvred himself quite agilely to the control console. The seat creaked audibly under his weight when he sat down at the panel.
The snap of a switch was heard. The lights in the windowless room were darkened. A wall-sized viewscreen brightened with the 3-D color image of a spaceship.
I sprang to my feet, clinging with both hands to the table before me. I stared in utter amazement. This could not be real unless the Terrans had become magicians!
"Mercant... !" I groaned aloud. "Take it easy, will you? Even Arkonides can only stand so much shock treatment!"
"You are looking at reality, sir. This film was taken early today. You are looking at His Highness Tutmor VI's heavy cruiser Soralo, commanded by Capt. Tresta of the distinguished House of Efelith. On the 10th of February of 2106 it will be exactly 6023 years since a hypercom message from the Soralo reached the Supreme Council of Arkon. The news was so important that it was brought to the attention of the ruling Imperator at that time, Tutmor VI. In the nebula sector, Capt. Tresta had succeeded in simultaneously liberating two worlds from the enemy-but in the process his cruiser was destroyed. The Soralo, never returned to Arkon. Capt. Tresta went down in the history of his people as a hero, sir."
"The spaceship you see has been converted by using every branch of technology and science available to us while sparing no expense, and now it resembles the old Sotala down to the last detail. Nothing was overlooked. That is guaranteed by Solar Intelligence. During the conversion many details had to be considered. The outer hull had to be reduced in its measurements by 189 meters. The modern full-scale positronicon had to be replaced by the kind that was in use at that time. Engines, power plants, weapons, power circuits and conduits, the computer central, officers' and crew quarters-all this and about 10,000 other details had to be copied. Even the propulsion rating of the original engines was simulated. Any Arkonide technologist from the time of Imperator Tutmor VI could go over the ship to his heart's content and not discover the slightest difference from the original. We thoroughly familiarized ourselves with the construction plans that we found in the microfilms you salvaged."
I trembled almost feverishly. My extra-brain came to life, activating my photographic memory. I knew how my ancestors had built their ships. Like one hypnotized I walked up to the viewscreen and began to inspect the vessel. The name Sotala had been painted in 2 places on the spherical hull in Arkonide letters. Here the same flaming red had been used as was employed then.
"The composition of the color is correct," commented Mercant, just as casually as if he were chatting about the weather.
To me it was almost frightening. The Terrans were masters of camouflage but here Mercant had outdone himself. The sharply wedge-shaped engine ring bulge was typical of the Sotala class. The personnel airlocks were hexagonal-also correct! The lower sections of the landing struts also had the typical bulges containing the auxiliary hydraulic units. The gun turrets displayed their sensor antennas for individual precision firing. In those days they had not relied completely on remote control from the fire command central.
I looked closely at every last detail but couldn't find an error. "Does the inside of the ship look like this, Mercant? I mean-copied to such a degree of exactness?"
"You have my word for it, sir," Quinto assured me. So he had been involved with this, after all.
"A real counterfeiter," observed Kalup. "Nevertheless-my compliments!"
My mind was fairly swimming as I went back to my form chair and sat down. The cell activator hanging on my chest was pulsing louder than usual, reminding me once again of my extreme age. Under my present state of excitement it was evident that some extra cell-regeneration was necessary.
Rhodan handed me a refreshment. "Satisfied?" he asked. "No defects?"
"None," I confessed. "Of course I'd still have to take a look at the inside. Mercant-what's it all add up to?"
So far the Intelligence Chief had done very little explaining but we had already been flabbergasted by th
is plan, which had to do with "time-line alteration for penetration into the brain". What followed now caused me to hold my breath occasionally.
Mercant remained quietly objective. He did not even raise his voice when he came to particularly spectacular and vital points of his exposition. In fact his telegraphic style of delivery made it almost too impersona!-yet for that very reason the whole thing sounded extremely impressive. At no time did we have the impression of listening to a visionary.
"After transmitting her victory message the Sotala was not heard from again. Later reports from Arkonide Fleet Headquarters confirm that the cruiser was destroyed. So we are taking over the role of the Sotala and will return to the Arkon System 3 days after the reception of its last known message. Atlan is to play the part of the commander. We have also provided uniforms, all types of documents and credentials-even provisions in the form of dehydrated foods and conserves, such as were used at the time. The munitions supplies correspond to the number series issued by the ordnance chief of 'Base T-187'. Nothing is missing, gentlemen. Even the manufacturer's mark inside the collars of the combat suits will be found to coincide with the facts. The Arkonides were very thorough and all the old data are completely at our disposal. When you land on Arkon 3 you will be the crew of the Sotala. There are no margins of error."
"Land, did you say?" Rhodan emphasized the word deliberately. "When? Don't tell me that this talk about 'time-line alterations' is tied in to that"!
"It is the basic condition necessary to the success of the plan, sir," replied Mercant, as pleasantly as before. "The conversion of a Terran cruiser and transforming the crew into Arkonides of the time of Tutmor VI could only make sense if we can succeed in penetrating the corresponding historical epoch."
"I can't believe it!" I exclaimed.
"But it's true, sir. I recall the attack on the robot Regent shortly after the discovery of the planet Sphynx. At that time an attempt was made to alter the lines of time. The phantom fleet started to attack the Earth until we succeeded in destroying the converter equipment. A second machine of this type is located on the central world of the Akons."