2/ PRISONERS: ENT-THAN
With the takeoff of the spherical freighter Tigris, which measured 100 meters in diameter, at precisely 12:45 hours from the spaceport at Terrania, an operation began with the precision of an adding machine—an operation that the Solar Imperium had to carry through to a successful conclusion at all costs.
Commander of the ship was Maj. Clyde Ostal of the Solar Security Service. The crew was 32 men recruited from Allan D. Mercant’s Defence Ministry.
They knew what was at stake. They also knew that their mission was dangerous. Even though the star system of Naral was ‘only’ 4,536 light-years from Earth and from Arkon 1, 2 & 3 around 34,000, it belonged nonetheless to the Great Imperium, for the people who lived there were Arkonide descendants and had never forgotten that they were Arkonides. Their loyalty to the Imperium was proverbial; their contacts with Arkon 3 were so close they could not be any closer.
Speeding along at 85% SPEOL, the Tigris shot through the solar system, passed at length the relay station on Pluto and then plunged into the gulf between the stars.
Rarely had a ship been sent out from Earth with such precise orders as the Tigris, which was clearly identifiable as a Terran trade vessel.
The vast storerooms were filled to the limits with goods that were already impatiently awaited in the Tatlira system. Hypercom messages from Terran space freighters to Terran trade offices on alien worlds—inquiries and messages for relay between solar freighters underway—all these had been inconspicuously in progress for 3 days and whoever was listening in from the ‘other’ side saw in the last transmission of the freighter Eugenio, which stated that the Tigris would arrive on 18 June 2042, only a typical commercial message.
‘Listening in’ on hypercom traffic was as common as ever. The Galactic Traders listened in on all frequencies with a thousand ears. Arkon listened in from Globular Cluster M-13 or from its advanced bases on various worlds. And the Solar Imperium listened too. No one, it seemed, wanted to be caught unawares by some new development.
Maj. Clyde Ostal grinned as he listened to the last hypercom message of the Eugenio.
With that, Order 17 was carried out. Now he could go on to the next.
Order 18 read: Undertake Transition 1 & 2 only with the extra device. Shut off ship’s Positronicon. Shut off data & storage banks. Check out 3 times! Inspecting equipment at 10 minute intervals:
Maj. Clyde Ostal
Lt. S. Seegers
Lt. Peter H. Hasting
The ‘extra device’ had been specially constructed for the 2 first transitions of the Tigris and in reality was nothing more than a small positronicon. It had been programmed to carry the trade vessel safely through 2 hytrans from one determined point in space to another 1,375 light-years away.
The small crew of the spacesphere experienced the unpleasant shock of transition twice. As the last man in the control room recovered, they all looked to the panorama screen, which offered them a view of an alien sky.
The extra device went into action once more. Within a few seconds it had calculated the coördinates of the trade vessel’s new position to the 5th decimal place and, comparing the result with Order 19, Maj. Ostal found the two in agreement.
Now Order 20 waited to be carried out.
In Cabin 8, the alarm clock rang out in 2 short bursts, then 1 long. 4 men had been waiting for the signal. They hurriedly left their cabin and headed for the control room. There they wordlessly began the work of detaching the heavy extra device from the ship’s up-to-now idle positronicon and removing all traces of any evidence that an auxiliary unit had ever been coupled to it.
They were still busy with the last of the labour when a work robot lumbered in and waited for orders to carry the extra device away.
Its steel limbs did not even strain as it lifted the unit, which weighed at least 150 kilos, and left the control room with it.
The robot was expected at Hatch B. The inner hatch door opened up, the robot stepped into the airlock and then the door closed behind it again.
Maj. Clyde Ostal and 3 officers watched the panorama screen. Suddenly a square object appeared on it, floating through space past the ship—the extra device which the work robot had thrown out.
During the next few minutes Ostal turned off one Tigris defence field after another. The extra device floated farther and farther away at a constant speed.
Lt. S. Seegers switched on his microphone and called the disintegrator crew. "Open fire on floating object!"
3 seconds later all men in the control room had to briefly shut their eyes to avoid being blinded by the sudden glare on the screen. The extra device had vanished in a cascade of rapid atomic destruction.
Nothing more remained to hint that the Tigris had come to this point in space with the help of a rather expensive technical trick.
Order 21, the next to last, remained now.
Maj. Clyde Ostal called up the Com Centre of his ship. "Contact our settlement on Goszul’s Planet in the Tatlira System and tell our people there that in 3 hours & 10 minutes the freighter Tigris out of Terrania will be landing. Transmit the message over the scrambler and use the normal merchant code. Over."
The Solar Imperium had known for some weeks that the Springers could now not only decipher the Terran merchant code but also reconstruct scrambled messages.
"Lt. Hasting?" Maj. Clyde Ostal turned and gave him the list of orders 1 through 22. "Annihilation of the equipment as ordered. You’ll be responsible to me if even some ashes are left over!"
Clyde Ostal’s face, which usually was inflexible and displayed no feelings, was now open and expressive. He, the 45-year-old commander of the operation, was letting his men perceive that they were nearing a decisive point.
"Transition to the Tatlira System!" he ordered. But a mocking smile suddenly played around his mouth. Over on his right, 2 officers were feeding the ship’s positronicon the new data. Not only the coördinates of the ship’s current position were necessary to insure a flawless transition but also the energy values calculated by the positronicon as being essential for reaching Tatlira by way of hyperspace. Hyperspace, of course, was that ‘in-between’ space which could be comprehended only mathematically.
Although the huge computer aboard the Tigris had been completely misprogrammed by Earthly scientists after hours of team effort, it operated in spite of the falsified data just as Marshall Mercant and the scientists had hoped it would.
Daring a hypertrans with utterly garbled programming and maybe 1/10th of correct data, and still feeling confident of coming out all right even in ‘the wrong place in space’, was not simply light-headed recklessness on the part of the Tigris crew. They were confident that the scientists on Perry Rhodan’s staff had known what they were doing.
"Transition in 10 minutes!" announced the vocoder of the positronicon chronometer, then began the countdown.
At X minus 5 minutes, Clyde Ostal called up the Com Centre again. "All clear… is the message ready to send in the automatic transmitter? Are the scrambler and distorter units ready to go?"
"Yes, Major. The text of the message is uncoded, as ordered!" The officer on duty at the transmitter wanted to emphasize once more that the procedure was an unusual one. Uncoded hypercom messages were a rarity.
The last machinery in the transition sequence switched on. All the energy stations were in operation as well as all the transformers. On the control panel in front of Ostal one instrument light after another lit up in bright green, signifying ‘Go’. The major did not concentrate unduly on what was happening before him: Arkonide hypno-training had so ingrained the intricacies of piloting a starship in him that he was hardly capable of a wrong move.
X minus 1…
At zero the Tigris sliced into hyperspace in a burst of unimaginable energy.
The image on the vidscreen of 10,000 near and far stars shining coldly in the void seemed to fly apart—and every man on board the spacesphere ceased to exist, as well. Although hyperspace did not take a man’s life away from him, it did take away the usual form of his existence.
And then it was all over. The transition had taken place in an amount of time that could not even be measured as time because during that ‘time’ it had been in a continuum where the factor of ‘time’ had no validity.
Moaning, the 33 men who had sprung with the Tigris tried to recover from the shock of transition. Fortunately the effects of the shock were short-lived and the reality of their new situation forced them to their senses with a jolt.
Not one light-hour away, directly in the ship’s path, shone a small, yellowish star. The Terran freighter continued towards it at a velocity 90% of light.
Every officer in the control room was feverish with tension. Everyone knew that the Tigris had not emerged from hyperspace in the Tatlira System but rather in the Naral System, 4,536 light-years from Earth.
The 3rd planet, Ekhas, the only one of altogether 8 planets which was inhabited, was their destination.
The energy stations, energy storage banks, transitional forcefields and the transformers, all shut down one by one. Finally the structocomp, which had brought the merchant ship through a leap of more than 4,500 light-years, turned off.
In the control room a new counting-off had begun, announcing without interruption the time that had elapsed since the re-emergence of the Tigris into normal space.
2 men sat at the radarscope, concentrating their entire attention on the equipment.
"3 minutes and 1 second," announced the posichron (positronichronometer).
No human in the control room spoke. No calls came in over the intercom. Each of the 33 men aboard knew that the first 10 minutes after leaving hyperspace could be of decisive importance.
"4 minutes and 30 seconds," droned the chronometer.
At 4 minutes and 38 seconds, Lt. Manteau called from the radarscope. "Our ship’s been spotted—we’re right in the middle of a radar beam!"
The officer in the Com Centre had been listening over the intercom, as he had been instructed. In the next moment he sent off a hypercom message by way of the scrambler.
The message was short, consisting of only 2 words: "Ship spotted". The scrambler had compressed those 2 words into an impulse 1/5,000th of their original length. The officer sending out the message tried to make out the typical curve the 2 words would make on the oscillograph but he was not even able to see a momentary flash.
The Com officer rubbed his hands together in satisfaction. Everything in his department had gone smoothly. He just hoped everything else would go equally well.
3 sizeable structural shocks were registered in the immediate area by the Tigris. A few minutes later 3 tiny points weakly reflecting the light of Naral appeared on the screen, evidently coming from the nearby star system.
Maj. Ostal called the Com Centre on his microphone. "Have they hailed us yet?"
"No, Major."
"Then try to call them on the Arkonide trade-frequency. The usual message, you know…"
The com officer acted immediately. Broadcasting in Intercosmo, he announced the ship’s name, class, homeport, destination and so forth. As destination he gave the Tatlira system, giving the impression that the crew of the Tigris did not know they were not in the Tatlira system.
Now he was nothing more than a crewmember of a harmless Terran freighter—certainly not a trained agent of Solar Defence. He did not find the role hard to play and when the demand came thundering from 1 of the 3 oncoming spacers for the Tigris to reduce its speed, he began to stutter over the radio so well, and to choose his words so appropriately for the situation, that his colleague with silent gestures ordered him to get his play-acting over with as fast as possible.
In the control room the loudspeaker carried both query and reply. Maj. Clyde Ostal’s amusement showed on his face. It was good that no one aboard the 3 Arkonide battlespacers could see him at this moment.
"Yes sir, Commander… Radio silence, complete radio silence. But if I may ask…"
The com officer of the Tigris could not ask.
The commander of the Arkonide battleships was a rabid fighter over the radio, threatening attack with all weapons and total destruction of the Terran merchant vessel.
Maj. Ostal then ordered the com officer: "Put me on the transmission!"
The screen in front of him flickered and then formed the image of a grim-looking Arkonide commander.
"Clyde Ostal, Captain of the merchant ship Tigris…" Ostal began.
The arrogant-looking Arkonide made an imperious gesture. "Turn off your defence screens. I’m bringing my ship alongside. As soon as you observe that a boarding party wishes to enter your ship you are to open the main hatch. End of transmission!"
With that the first conversation between the three 300-meter Arkonide spacespheres and the small Tigris was at an end.
"Alright," said Ostal calmly, "these gentlemen are going to have their way!" But a slight undertone in his voice promised nothing pleasant. Then, over the connection to the Com Centre, the Major asked: "Have you been listening in? If yes, then don’t make any permanent recordings of the conversation we just had, and erase temporary tapes. I want the Arkonides to think we’re really stupid."
"1 of the 3 ships is transmitting on the Robot Braids frequency, Major. The text of the message has been coded, scrambled and speeded up. The connection has been in existence ever since I told them our destination was the Tatlira System."
Ostal smiled wanly. The Arkonides had fallen for the ruse immediately but it bothered him that they would act so hostile towards a Terran spaceship.
Perry Rhodan and the Robot Brain were officially still allies.
Lt. Peter H. Hasting reported quietly. "The boarding party is floating towards us. They’re bringing battle robots with them!"
"The way things have been going, I’m not surprised." Ostal was not to be shaken out of his calm. If this new development had not been anticipated, either, by the same token it would not prevent him from carrying out the mission Perry Rhodan had given him.
An unruffled and unshocked security officer called in from the main hatch. "10 Arkonides and 15 battle robots on board, sir!"
At the same moment a report came in from the Com Centre: "The exchange on the Robot Regent wavelength had just terminated. The length of the discussion was 14 minutes!"
Clyde Ostal glanced meaningfully at Hasting. The young lieutenant, who had already proved himself in a number of dangerous missions, nodded slightly from his post at the positronicon. He quietly rested his hand on the Erase switch that was connected to the Spring Coordinate section of the memory banks. However, the officers in the control room well knew that pulling the Erase switch would not completely destroy that important data within the positronicon as a whole. Despite the erasure of the central storage bank, the hytrans coördinates could be calculated with data taken from other memory centres—but the work would take a goodly amount of time.
The heavy control room door opened automatically.
Lt. Hasting of the Solar Defence, now posing as a merchant marine with the rank of lieutenant aboard the Tigris, calmly pulled the Erase switch. A yellow light flickered brightly, impossible to overlook.
"Halt! Let that go!" shouted the first Arkonide to enter the control room, seeing what Hasting was doing.
"Alright," said Hasting, stepping back from the positronicon control panel. He smiled ironically. "But you’re a little late!"
A minute later all the officers in the control room and the Com Centre were out of work. They had been crowded into a corner and guarded by battle robots while the Arkonides took over the Tigris.
The Arkonide officer whose face Ostal had already seen on the vidscreen suddenly asked: "Who is the captain here?"
Clyde Ostal stepped forward. "I am."
"Did you give an order to erase the hytrans coördinates?"
"Of course!" Ostal yelled angrily, finding he did not have to playact his rage now. "You were acting like pirates not Arkonides!"
"We are Ekhonides, Terran, and I am commander of the Arkonide battlefleet stationed on Ekhas." If the Ekhonide, a tall proud man who looked about 40 in Terran years, had hoped to make an impression with his statement, he was disappointed."
And we are Terrans, Ekhonide, and I’m a captain of Perry Rhodan’s! Perry Rhodan will issue a protest to the Robot Regent on Arkon 3 and you will have to answer to the Regent personally for boarding a Terran vessel with engine trouble in such a high-handed fashion!"
Another Ekhonide came out of the Com Centre and whispered a few words to his commander, who grinned approvingly and looked back at Clyde Ostal, even more arrogant than before.
"Weren’t you on your way to the Tatlira System, Terran?" he asked mockingly.
Ostal played the unsuspecting innocent. "I don’t understand this at all. Where do you get the nerve and the impudence to operate with your battlefleet right in front of Goszul’s Planet? You’re Ekhonides, you say? Ekhonides…? But the Ekhonides inhabit the 3rd planet of the Naral System and…"
"That is correct!" the overbearing commander interrupted. "That’s why your Perry Rhodan doesn’t interest us in the least! Because you are not in the Tatlira System—your misspring brought you all the way into the Naral System. Do you think your Rhodan would look for you here? We Ekhonides don’t think so. Now go back with your men!"
Wordlessly, Clyde Ostal followed the order. He did not concern himself over the tight, bitter faces of his men. They were playing their parts just as much as he was playing his.
Then they watched unconcerned as 5 Ekhonides put the Tigris back on course. 1 of the 5 turned out to be familiar with the English language and knew all the written and spoken terms having to do with spaceflight.
Terran spaceships, in principle modelled after Arkonide spacers, had retained the practical spherical form. When, 2 hours of flying time later, the Tigris landed along with the 3 ships of the Arkonide fleet at the Ent-Than’s spaceport, it looked as though a mixed squadron were returning from a patrol flight.
Maj. Clyde Ostal and his officers had seen on the panorama screen what a large city Ent-Than was and that on the spaceport field, which curved halfway around the city boundary like a vast crescent, ships were taking off and landing continuously.
Then after landing, the 33 Terrans were marched across the giant spaceport plaza. Naral, listed on the charts as a small yellow star, seemed from the surface of the planet Ekhas just as large as the Earth’s own sun.
A cloudless blue sky vaulted over this world, which had been settled by Arkonides for more than 10,000 years. If during the passage of millenniums they had become also known as Ekhonides they had remained Arkonides at heart—but healthy and enterprising Arkonides.
The Terrans were marched for a distance of 5 kilometres. For over an hour they had to endure scornful looks, mocking remarks and undisguised contempt.
As they came to the spaceport’s huge reception and administration building, they were crammed into a vehicle designed to carry just 15 men.
Clyde Ostal protested. An Ekhonide with an unknown rank insignia on his chest listened to Ostal’s protest with an expression of arrogant scorn on his face, then asked contemptuously: "So what do you want me to do about it? You’re nothing but a Terran."
Maj. Clyde Ostal felt the blood rushing into his face but he controlled himself. He drew his head back and said calmly in the most fluent Arkonese: "How right you are, Ekhonide! I’m a Terran, not a degenerate Arkonide or arrogant Ekhonide, and for that I thank all my lucky stars!"
Ostal turned abruptly around and left the confused Ekhonide little suspecting he would see him again the next day, and pressed himself in with his 32 men in the transport vehicle.
Guard vehicles studded with weaponry accompanied the transport on both sides. Escape was impossible. The Terrans were taken deeper and deeper into the sea of houses of Ent-Than. The column finally drew up in front of a huge skyscraper hotel. Star Of Arkon read the sign in Arkonese.
But the hotel had a shady side. 1/5th of the giant building, that portion 800 meters high, was a prison.
A special antigravity lift brought them up to a point 3 feet in front of a transparent barrier of forcefields. Lt. Hasting did not understand the warning a robot gave him and fell against the forcefield, breaking his arm.
He was immediately separated from his comrades. Then the barrier disappeared and the 32 remaining members of the Tigris crew were marched into the prison of Ent-Than.