Action Division Three

by Perry Rhodan

  Ron soberly shook his head. "No," he answered succinctly.

  "And why not?"

  "Glord!" sighed Ron. "As if I hadn't made it clear to you a hundred times already! If only one of us knows why, it's better and safer than if two of us knew the reason. Can't I ever get that into your dull skull?"

  "No," retorted Larry with the same laconic brevity. And after awhile he added: "I only hope there's a plausible basis to it."

  Ron nodded but said nothing. He seemed to be thinking of something else.

  Larry walked to the window and as he looked outside he wondered how long he was going to have to wait before something happened. It was five days now since they had killed the Lidiok-that is, five Ghama days, which were 52 Terran hours long. Five days ago, Zatok had also confessed that some men of his own race had fished the Terrans out of the sea after they had crashed in a spaceboat and that they had taken them to their submarine city under orders of the Springers. So for five days they had known that the five unfortunate Earthlings were being held prisoners in the city of Guluch off the coast of the island of Tarik, some 500 km from Killanak. Yet in spite of this nobody had taken any action-at least no action that had anything to do with freeing the prisoners.

  On the morning following the successful Lidiok hunt, the giant cadaver of the beast had disappeared and with it had gone the gleaming metallic sphere of the Empress of Arkon. With a somewhat insidious smile on his face, Ron Landry had explained that he had sent the dead monster to Terra as a scientific specimen. Larry hadn't believed a word of it. Finally Ron had given up trying to support the statement as being the truth. At any rate he had wasted no words to explain what was really going on.

  Larry sighed. He remembered something that had been imparted to him at the time he had applied for a position in the Intercosmic Social Welfare and Development organization. In those days he had been a cadet in the Space Academy and the Academy's commanding officer had informed him that 'Welfare and Development' could use men like himself. He had let drop a few hints that the organization was involved in more than the welfare and development activity. It had caused Larry some confusion. It had disconcerted him to realize that if he should decide against the C.O.'s recommendation they would have to give him a hypno-shock treatment in order to erase his memory of this conversation. But he did not reject the proposal, not out of fear of the hypno-shock but rather because he knew that the outfit really was not a Welfare and Development setup. The whole thing had been mysteriously fascinating to him. They had taken him in and he had gone thin a long, hard period of training.

  At the end of his indoctrination and training he had been transferred into Division 3. This was the inner corps of the outfit and its activities actually had nothing at all to do with 'welfare and development', either intercosmic or social or whatever. Larry soon realized that he had landed in the toughest and most effective branch of Intelligence. At the inauguration of the Division, Perry Rhodan himself had acted as godfather, one of the loneliest of men at the pinnacle of renown. Division three was his own personal instrument and although it was by far less famed than Rhodan's fabulous Mutant Corps, it was no less effective in its operation.

  At this moment Larry recalled the motto of the Division which had been taken from an old proverb: 'Don't let your left hand know what your right hand is doing.'

  And at present he was damned if he didn't seem to be the left-hand factor in the equation!

  • • •

  They had slept through another night. But as they were having breakfast Ron suddenly looked at his watch.

  Rather negligently he remarked: "Finish your eggs and then we'll get going."

  Larry's food almost choked in his throat. "Where to?" he wanted to know.

  Ron laughed. "Where to, he asks! Have you forgotten that five Terrans have crashed on Ghama and been taken prisoners by the Ghamese by order of the Springers against every agreement of intergalactic law?"

  Larry finished swallowing his food. "Oh, so that's finally come to your mind, after all!" he retorted bitterly.

  Ron failed to respond to the challenge. He merely remained silent while watching Larry chop away at the rest of his eggs. But finally Larry couldn't stand the suspense anymore.

  "Where are we going actually?" he asked.

  "We're making a boat trip," Ron answered.

  "Far?"

  "M-hm-m... Pretty far."

  "Why?"

  "Don't ask so many questions. Chow down!"

  Larry nodded grimly and finished his breakfast.

  After that they went outside. Unknown to Larry, Ron had evidently briefed Zatok in regard to the excursion. This became apparent when they came upon Zatok and a couple of other Ghamese natives beside the boat on the shore. With unmistakable pride, Zatok declared that he had accomplished everything that had been requested. Ron complimented him for his efforts and Larry again had to admit that Ron Landry knew how to handle the Ghamese better than he did.

  Without another word, Ron shoved the boat into the water. Larry got in and sat in the bow section. After all, if Ron wasn't going to open his mouth he could drive. Which Ron proceeded to do. He shouted a few cheerful words to the Ghamese and started the motor. Then he steered the boat at a lively clip into the open sea.

  Hours passed. The sun gradually developed a heat that was intense but there was no way of avoiding it as the boat offered no shade. After awhile, Ron slowed to a stop and took a break. This was after they had been six hours at sea without any sign of Killanak. After shutting down the engine, Ron opened a package of provisions and handed out food and drink, which Zatok had apparently prepared and stowed on board. Even during the brief snack there was little conversation if any.

  Finally Ron dove overboard in order to refresh himself in the water. While he swam about in the neighborhood of the boat, Larry kept a lookout to make sure that no Lidioks were around. Then the situation was reversed where Larry took a swim and Ron kept watch.

  Finally they continued onward. Four more hours went by and Larry figured. that by now they must be about 1300 km out from Killanak. Still he did not know what Ron had on his mind.

  After awhile he could tell by Ron's actions that they were getting close to their goal. He had stood up and was looking around, seeming to be fairly sure of himself yet a bit puzzled at not being able to discern his objective yet. He sat down again and pushed on for awhile, after which he got up again to observe the sea ahead of them. But by this time Larry had already spotted the indistinct object. It appeared to be just above the surface of the water, occasionally glistening as though it were made of metal and the sun was reflecting from it.

  Ron grunted his satisfaction and pushed the throttle to maximum, steering directly toward the distant point on the horizon. For five minutes the boat churned ahead at top speed without causing the object ahead to grow appreciably in size. But then the relationships changed rapidly. The thing became a tiny ball which finally converted itself into a mighty sphere suspended over the water. It hung there on a cushion of invisible forces and shimmered brightly in the sunlight.

  It was the Empress of Arkon, their base supply ship. In a new state of bewilderment Larry realized that this was far beyond what he had imagined concerning their purpose and goal. What was the Empress of Arkon doing out here in the middle of the ocean, far from any known inhabited island?

  Ron nudged his shoulder. "Here we are," he said superfluously. "Now you can keep your eyes open, OK?"

  In his hand was a small transceiver device that was not any larger than an old-fashioned matchbox. Larry heard him say: "Is everything ready?"

  And he could also catch the answer that came through: "Everything ready, sir."

  "How does it look in the surrounding area?"

  "All clear, sir. We were tracked during the approach flight but at present there's not a thing in sight anywhere within instrument range."

  "Including straight down?" asked Ron with special emphasis.

  "Yes sir, clear to the bottom."


  Ron Landry smiled. "Alright, then let's get the show on the road. My buddy here can hardly wait to see what you've brought with you!"

  • • •

  Richard Silligan felt the hot, glowing beam of the thermo-gun as it hissed close past his skull. He threw himself to one side and fell as he did so, but he rolled once and then sprang to his feet. He wasn't far now from the door. The Springer had lost precious seconds since it was hard for him to believe that any of the Terrans would seriously attempt an escape. His first shot had been wild because of his surprise. The second one, however, would be closer and effective.

  Richard knew that he was lost if the door turned out to be one with stubborn hinges that would take him more time to open than it would for the Springer to get a clear shot at him. Nevertheless he kept on going. He had to make it. He realized in the moment that the Ghamese and the Springer appeared in the square that no other Terrans would know about the crash of the lifeboat on Ghama if at least one of the survivors couldn't manage to get out of the submarine city and reach the Terran base. The Springers were enemies of Earth no matter how many treaties the two races had made with each other. For them any Terran falling into their hands was a valuable acquisition. By certain means they could obtain from them any number of details which Terra always strove to keep secret. Once in the hands of a Springer, a Terran could give up hope of ever being free again.

  It was this knowledge that drove Richard onward. He spurted at top speed toward the door while behind him a clamor arose. The Ghamese who had remained silent thus far were now reacting. He could hear their hurried, pattering feet on the smooth stones of the plaza.

  They were coming after him!

  At once he perceived his opportunity. If the Ghamese took up the chase it would keep the Springer from firing. He wouldn't try it as long as the fishmen were crowding into his line of fire.

  Richard did not slacken his pace when he reached the wall. He crashed hard against the stone masonry and instantly reached for the door bolt. With a determined grip he lifted it. He pushed hard and felt the door slowly move under his pressure.

  Finally it opened enough to enable him to see behind it. It was not a room. He realized that the windows he had seen in the wall were not a part of this area. Instead, he was confronted with a dark, narrow passage that appeared to lead into the heart of the city-but goodness knew where.

  He squeezed past the partially opened door into the corridor but in the same moment something banged hard against the door from the outside. He heard a plaintive, almost hysterical voice: "Dick, for the love of God-take me with you...!"

  Richard froze in his tracks. It was easy to recognize that voice. Dynah Langmuir was out there rattling the door bolt.

  He couldn't just leave her standing there, so he cracked the door open wide enough to grasp her by the arm and pull her through. As he pulled her with him into the passage he noted with a quick glance that the leading phalanx of the Ghamese was still about 10 meters away.

  It was a stroke of luck that they moved clumsily on solid ground. Their method of running was more like an accelerated sort of waddling which seemed to exert them to the utmost. Richard knew he was safe as long as they restricted themselves to merely chasing behind him. But perhaps they or the Springer would soon get the idea that the city was honeycombed with other passages, some of which might offer a means of cutting him off.

  Him and the crazy girl who had decided to come with him!

  He ran on into the passage which had been plunged into darkness after the door was closed. But he had noticed that the corridor led straight ahead for at least 100 meters. He only had to keep a hand out as he progressed, in order to feel any obstruction in his path. With his other hand he held Dynah's arm and guided her after him, expecting at any moment to see a light in the way ahead. By this time he knew that the Ghamese must have reached the door and certainly they wouldn't hesitate to continue the pursuit.

  But he finally reached the first turn without seeing any sign of the Ghamese and he began to think that either he had overestimated their mentalities or they had a!ready found another way to reach him sooner than by direct pursuit.

  When he released his firm grip on the girl's arm he sensed that she staggered and leaned against the wall for support. Suddenly realizing her condition his initial anger subsided.

  "What good did you really think this would do you?" he asked, but his tone was far less gruff than he had intended.

  Dynah sobbed. "Nothing," she answered. "Except that I didn't want to have anything to do with that terrible man with the beard. You should have seen the look in his eyes when he saw me...!"

  Richard had caught the Springer's lecherous look and he knew the girl wasn't exaggerating. "Alright," he muttered somewhat helplessly, "we'll manage this thing together then-but you're really going to have to grit your teeth. How do you feel?"

  "Miserable!" Dynah admitted. "My legs feel like lead, my shoulders hurt and I can hardly lift my arms.

  He had to laugh in spite of himself. "That's a great condition to be in when you're running away from 10,000 enemies," he said ironically. "But forget it: everything will work out."

  He was thinking the opposite but figured it wise to keep her spirits up as best he could. "Come on," he said softly then, "we have to keep going!"

  He took her by the hand and she submitted willingly to his guidance. When they negotiated the bend of the passage they found that it began to slant gradually back into the depths.

  Richard forced a good-natured chuckle. "That's where we came in!" he muttered.

  They took no pains to move quietly. The passage was completely silent There didn't seem to be any pursuers anywhere, either ahead or behind them. Richard was wondering what kind of trick the enemy might have figured out.

  He decided to take the first branch passage they could find. If the Ghamese tried to guess at what point he might leave the corridor they'd most likely presume he'd choose to stay as long as he could with a route that was closest at hand. He didn't want to make things that easy for them. It was possible that they would pay less attention to the lateral passages than to this main one he was in.

  It was a good idea-but there were no lateral passages. At least not during the first half hour. Richard's confidence faded.

  Then he had a new thought that gave him a fresh spurt of hope: this present corridor must have a specific purpose. Nobody would make such a passage merely to connect two points unless it led to some major outlet or thoroughfare. The Ghamese must have had some plan in mind when they laid this tunnel out. It had to lead somewhere other than just endlessly onward without any lateral passages.

  Thus far they had progressed using a groping method whereby his left hand felt along one wall and Dynah's right hand felt along the other. But Richard decided that wasn't enough. It could be that the doors in this area were not as crudely designed as those they had seen in the wider passage coming up. It would be very easy to miss a narrow door crack as they went along, using this method.

  He finally stopped.

  "What's the matter?" the girl asked, anxiously.

  "We need light," he answered. "I'm afraid we're not going to find anything with just our hands."

  "I have a lighter," she said. "But it's just a little one."

  "That's a lot better than nothing," he laughed. "Let me have it, please."

  He heard Dynah rummaging through her pockets. "Here!" she said, finally.

  Richard held the lighter close to the wall and ignited it. The greenish spot of luminescence was no larger than his thumbnail. With that he figured it might take him more than an hour just to carefully go over one square meter of the wall-that is, if he really didn't want to risk missing anything.

  Then he discovered he could make the light more effective by cupping his hand around it, which served as a dim reflector, thus augmenting its feeble range slightly. The wall revealed nothing of any importance. The passage had been cut primitively through sheer native rock. The floor
was not very even and the ceiling was so low that he wondered why they hadn't struck their heads against it a number of times. But nowhere could he find a door or any other exit mechanism leading into a lateral passage.

  Dynah asked him suddenly: "Do you think we'll ever get out of here?"

  He laughed. "I don't intend to spend my life in this place."

  "You laugh too much," she commented seriously. "You don't have to, you know, just to keep my spirits up. At least all I need is to stay at whatever your own level of courage is. I'm always better off if I know exactly what the score is."

  Richard swallowed hard. "It's a little painful to see how easily you can read me," he said. "But anyway I'm certain that we're not going to die in this tunnel. If nothing else happens we can go back and surrender to the Springer. That's better than starving."

  Wherewith he turned his attention back to the wall again. And it was precisely then that he discovered what he had been searching for so long: a narrow, hair-fine crack that ran from the top to the bottom of the wall. It was far too straight to be a natural crevice.

  With a new mounting tension he followed it with the feeble light. Tracing it upward he found the place where it made a right angle and crossed parallel to the ceiling to another right angle that again dropped a straight line toward the floor.

  Dynah had not been able to see any of this.

  When Richard turned to her with apparent nonchalance and said, "Here's the door," she whirled about and stared at the wall.

  He gave her the lighter and asked her to hold it close to the special section he had discovered. Then he made an attempt to move the panel in one direction or another. There was no door handle so he braced himself against it and pressed back with all his might. But the door did not yield. He was about to give it up when he heard a soft clicking sound somewhere near the floor. Suddenly the obstruction moved so easily that he came within a hair of falling inside. The slab of stone receded inwardly as though it were sliding on well-oiled rollers. An opening appeared in the wall, offering two narrow passages to the right and left of the slab.