Perry Rhodan.

SGT. ROBOT.

Kurt Mahr.

PROLOG.

THE DISASTROUS EPOCH of Thomas Cardif has come to an end. Since the events recorded in the previous adventure, 9 months have pa.s.sed, by Earthly reckoning.

Perry Rhodan's continued longevity is no longer dependent upon the periodic cell showers because he has a cell activator attuned to him alone. Meanwhile Rhodan has made good use of the interim period. In the Sol System and the Arkon Empire as well as in other known systems of the galaxy, the situation has quieted down to where there seems to be no further cause for anxiety.

But this state of affairs is suddenly changed when a Terran freighter happens to fly to Azgo's Star on the far fringes of the galaxy and lands on Azgola, the second planet of this remotest of systems.

What's happening on Azgola seems to indicate that the unrightful owner of a cell activator is plunging an entire people into disaster. Or can this be the work of an unknown major power which has initiated a treacherous campaign of conquest...?

Whoever is pulling strings behind the scenes must be discovered and this is the mission of the agents of Division 3 who are accompanied this time by SGT. ROBOT.

1/ MISSION UNKNOWN.

INCREDULOUSLY.

Chuck Waller stared in utter disbelief at the strange scene before him. The hot light of an alien sun shone down on the wide field where a vagrant wind raised thin tendrils of dust here and there. Far off on the horizon he could make out the outlines of several low rambling buildings but even there he could see no sign of movement. An uncanny silence pervaded the place when it should have been swarming with life and activity.

Chuck went down the narrow ramp and turned around when he felt solid ground under his feet. Above him loomed the spherical hull of the good old Gillaine, a veteran freighter of the far s.p.a.ceways scarred and pitted by cosmic dust and the poisonous gases of alien worlds. Its tough outer skin had lost its original sheen but Chuck Waller and his crewmen knew they could rely on the old ship as much as any other vessel of its cla.s.s.

The Gillaine had traversed the great gulf of some 37,000 light-years between Terra and Azgo's Star within 12 days by shipboard reckoning. It was something of a record. Waller had come here to Azgola, the second planet of the system, in the hope of doing some profitable business. Azgola Jay on the far rim of the Arkonide Imperium, well removed from all the normally travelled trade routes, and it was generally disregarded by the s.p.a.ce-roaming merchants of the galaxy. Sometimes it was in just such a place that a trader could hit the jackpot.

At the present moment, however, Waller felt that he had drawn a complete blank. He had always heard a great deal about the Azgons-that they were offshoots of the original race of the Arkonides, that they were lean as spindles and had bald heads, that in the course of millenniums they had forgotten their technical know-how and had slipped back into a steam-powered civilization.

He had failed to learn, however, that they had died out in the meantime.

He opened his s.p.a.ce helmet just far enough so that it could be closed quickly at the first sign of danger. The air-a.n.a.lyser had indicated that the atmosphere of Azgola was perfectly breathable but the suspicious silence here made him wary. He wanted to be ready in case anything happened. He instructed the 'Bridge' to break out one of the small groundcars that was carried on board the Gillaine.

His First Officer, Hank Cilley, inquired curiously: "So where are all those skinny egg-heads? Gone to sleep or something?"

"No idea, Hank," he answered, "but I think we'll soon find out."

"Hey, listen! You shouldn't be going alone. Who knows what you may run into...?"

"Relax," said Waller. "It looks like they've abandoned this s.p.a.ceport. I'll just drive over to those barracks and check around. Then I'll come right back."

"Well... alright," grumbled Hank.

Meanwhile the big cargo lock had opened above and an open 4-pa.s.senger car was being lowered by a crane. Chuck waited until it reached the ground and the mag-clamps let go, then he climbed into it. He drew his weapon from his belt and placed it next to him on the seat, after which he started the vehicle and drove away.

Within a minute or two, Chuck was driving across a field of spa.r.s.e dry gra.s.s and weeds. Gra.s.s-on the landing runways of a s.p.a.ceport! He tried to estimate how long it would take for the chemical and nuclear poisons of rocket exhausts to dissipate enough for the ground to support at least a minimal amount of vegetation. Years must have pa.s.sed since a ship had landed here or taken off.

The barracks buildings lay far ahead but he was approaching them swiftly. When he arrived in front of them he saw that the windows and sills were thickly covered with dust. He tried to discover a sign of life somewhere but without success. He drove past the nearest structure and stopped in front of the second one. Since he did not know what to expect here he did not shut off his engine. He got out of the car but with his weapon ready.

He stepped over to one of the dust-covered windows and tried to peer through it. As far as he could see, the room inside was empty. There was not even any furniture in evidence. As he walked onward his footsteps made a loud grinding noise on the ground. The piercing heat of the yellow sun was becoming unbearable. Perhaps this was the cause of his nervousness.

Behind the next window he saw a different scene. A desk and several chairs stood in a little office. The chairs were narrow and high-backed, evidently designed for the Azgons. There were stacks of paper on the desktop but covered with a thick layer of grey dust. The same dust lay on the floor with no trace of footprints anywhere.

The silence was suddenly broken by the loud slamming of a door. Chuck spun around as his heart seemed to jump into his throat. He had instinctively raised his weapon and tightened his finger on the trigger.

The door creaked again. It produced a dull b.u.mping sound and then all was still. Chuck moved cautiously in the direction of the sound and came around the corner of the barracks. Just when he had the door in plain sight it began to show movement again. It was in the narrower front end of the building and when Chuck saw it swing slowly he ducked back slightly. It finally swung wide open and banged with a dull thud against the wall of the barracks. Chuck straightened up and looked dumbfounded, then began to laugh.

He watched how the wind came through the narrow s.p.a.ce between this building and the one in front of it, whipping in such a way as to swing the door back from the wall and bang it into its frame again. It produced the same dull b.u.mping sound he had heard before. He approached it and examined its lock. It contained a latching device similar to door hardware used on Earth. Dust and grit embedded in the mechanism kept the bolt from snapping into the latch-plate slot. Probably the door had been banging in the wind for many months.

Chuck shoved his helmet back and wiped the sweat from his brow. The heat was insufferable but the nervousness was gone. He was sure now that the Azgons had abandoned the s.p.a.ceport. Perhaps alien s.p.a.ceships no longer visited Azgola and of course the Azgons had no ships of their own. Or perhaps the s.p.a.ce-traffic centre had been moved to another location on the planet. Perhaps this, perhaps that-there was no way of knowing.

He opened the door again and entered the building. Perhaps if he took a look around in here he might find some indication of why everything was so deserted-looking and desolate. He stepped into a dim corridor where the wooden floor creaked louder than the door. After taking a step or two he stopped and shouted a loud "h.e.l.lo!"

The sound of his voice caused a little dust to sift down from a few places along the walls but that was all that happened. He continued his investigation. As though to convince himself that he had nothing more to fear, he opened doors to the right and left of him as he went along and swung them inward so that they banged loudly against the walls inside the various rooms. For the first time in months or years the old building was filled with the noisy sounds of life.

When he reached the end of the pa.s.sage he shoved the last door inward and stopped to look into the room. The door had swung partly closed again and halfway obscured his view. He saw part of a desk and a chair. The desk was bare except for the dust. But in this dust there were marks as though someone had partially brushed it with their hand. There were other marks in the dust on the floor, like footprints. They came around the left side of the desk and led off to the right but the door obscured the rest of the trail. Chuck shoved the door wide open with his weapon and leaned forward to have a look.

Then he saw it.

The thing lay on the floor-a broad, fat form that was much too heavy to move. The ma.s.sive body appeared to struggle to rise, then sank down again. The thing was alive. This was what had made the footprints.

Chuck Waller was only a freighter captain. He wasn't trained to handle such an unexpected and frightening situation. When he saw the terrible thing on the floor he could do nothing but yell out in alarm and start running. He spurted through the corridor, raced between the barracks buildings and sprang into his groundcar. He skidded around in a narrow circle and shot across the field toward the Gillaine.

Over his helmet transmitter he shouted to Hank Cilley to get the ship ready for takeoff at once.

High-frequency hypercom carrier beams shot across the far reaches of interstellar s.p.a.ce. Coded messages raced back and forth between Arkon and Terra. The issue involved was a strange report-as garbled as it was incredible-which had been picked up by an Arkonide outpost station. It had been transmitted by a Terran tramp-ship named Gillaine, which was evidently on the outermost fringes of the known galaxy.

Gonozal VIII, the Arkonide Imperator, would not have attributed much importance to the report under ordinary circ.u.mstances. There was in fact a great temptation to consider the whole thing some kind of poorly staged hoax. Then perhaps later someday when time and funds were available a patrolship might have been sent to the area of s.p.a.ce the radio call had come from, in order to have a look around. But special situations required special actions. Gonozal VIII knew that the Solar Imperium was on the alert for a certain enemy whose unfailing trademark was always strange happenings wherever he appeared. And the radio message from the Gillaine seemed to fit such a formula.

Therefore Gonozal VIII relayed the whole thing to Earth. Judging by the serious note of thanks he received in return for his trouble, it was obvious that Terra also attributed special significance to the incident.

Maj. Landry had received the voice tape by messenger. He found it strange that his chief, Nike Quinto, should use this method of communicating with him. But at the beginning of the tape Quinto explained that he was tied up in an important conference with the Administration and the urgency of the affair described on the tape was sufficient justification for this means of informing him. The rest of the tape was in code to protect its contents from alien interception. Ron Landry had to make use of the decoder machine to find out what Col. Quinto had in mind.

Nike Quinto's explanation provided a rough but effective outline of the series of hypercom messages that had been carried on between Arkon and Terra. The original dispatch from the Gillaine was repeated without comment. Quinto did not express what he thought about it. His closing words were: "There's nothing of note to report concerning Azgola and its inhabitants. Any book on the subject will tell you all you need to know. In this case you don't need any hypno-indoctrination. But ye G.o.ds!-we've never had to deal with such a backwoods planet before! Don't ask me how a thing like this could have happened without the whole Milky Way knowing about it. According to Arkonide records the last ship reported that touched down at Azgola went there about 11 years ago... an Arkonide vessel of course. Arkon has no record of landings there by Springers or other races. But since that time everything has been suspiciously quiet around Azgola.

"You probably know what this affair boils down to. The Baalol priests have pulled enough strange tricks before with their false activators, from pretty-smelling wonder flowers to hopping frogs. It's entirely possible one of the Baalol people may be behind this Azgola situation. That's what we have to find out. Get your men together and go! Don't lose a minute! There's a special ship waiting for you at the Terrania s.p.a.ceport. I've already made all preparations."

Ron thought the report had come to an end and was about to shut off but before he could disconnect the decoder the colonel's voice came on again: "Do a good job, Major, and no goof ups! If you disgrace me my high blood-pressure will be the end of me!"

Ron smiled as he switched off. There had never been a communication from Nike Quinto without some reference to his high blood pressure.

Larry Randall brought the glide-car to a stop and stared upward. "Don't tell me we're going to fly in that thing!" he exclaimed.

Ron Landry had leaned forward to look up through the windshield. "It's a freighter!" he said in equal surprise. "Did anybody mention we were supposed to travel steerage or something?"

Lofty Patterson and the robot Meech Hannigan remained silent. The 5th man in the vehicle was Lt. Pauling, a young officer who had been instructed by Nike Quinto to bring Ron Landry and his men to the ship. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable about the situation. "I'm sorry," he said, somewhat piqued, "but that's the ship that Col. Quinto has ordered to be ready for takeoff."

"It's just a tramp s.p.a.cer!" complained Larry Randall. "We want to get where we're going as fast as possible, not stop somewhere on the way to sell a load of bananas!"

Lt. Pauling fell silent in his embarra.s.sment while Randall looked questioningly at Ron.

"Let's have a look inside," Ron suggested. "Sometimes appearances can be deceiving."

The entrance ramp was an old-fashioned gangway with wooden flooring that one had to climb up on foot. The vessel was spherical and didn't measure more than 150 meters in diameter. Undoubtedly it was of private construction and not any too modem at that.

Lt. Pauling was the first to get out of the car. He stopped at the foot of the gangway and saluted. "I am to wait for you here, sir," he said.

Ron nodded to him, and he and the rest went up the ramp. When they were out of hearing range from Pauling, Ron asked without looking around: "What do you pick up, Meech?"

Meech's voice was calm and deep as he answered: "A couple of things that are pretty unusual. This ship's propulsion system must pack at least as much power as a battlecruiser. There are still other heavy power sources close under the hull-probably gun positions. If my sensors aren't lying..."

He was interrupted just as Ron stepped through the outer hatchway of the small personnel lock. It was at that moment that a loudspeaker blared forth.

"Nike Quinto to Maj. Landry! Proceed at once to the Control Central!"

Ron turned with a grin to Larry Randall, who was just behind him. "Looks like old 'High' Blood-pressure has cooked up a new surprise."

Once inside the inner airlock hatch they realized that they had been deceived by the ship's outward appearance. The transverse pa.s.sage to the main corridor gleamed spic and span. A swift walk-belt provided rapid transportation. At regular intervals along the walls were intercom connections which made instant communication throughout the ship possible. All bulkhead hatch doors had the new Henderson lock mechanisms. A little farther on was a sign in red-lit letters: GUN POSITION 1-E-DECK SHIP-TO-GROUND BATTERIES.

Somewhat bewildered, Ron Landry jumped onto the moving belt. "This time he really blew the budget!"

En route they encountered no one, but the Control Central was crowded with crewmen and officers. When Ron opened the hatch door they stepped to one side and saluted. Ron greeted them affably and looked about him in an attempt to find a familiar face.

A young stranger with a captain's insignia stepped forward. "I'm Frank Bell, sir," he announced. "Until a few seconds ago, commander of this ship. We are ready for takeoff, sir."

"Just a moment," said Ron, confused. "Until a few seconds ago? Then who-?"

"You, sir," he explained with a smile.

Ron was only at a loss for half a second or so until he realized that Nike Quinto could not have done otherwise. He himself was in charge of this mission and could not be someone else's subordinate.

"Where is the Colonel?" he asked.

"He's not on board, sir," answered the captain. "The voice you heard before was from a recording."

"Do you have any further information for me?"

"Not directly, sir. There is another tape I am to deliver to you. Perhaps it will tell you what you want to know."

Ron asked for the tape and placed it on the playback machine. Since there was no security code involved he saw no objection to the officers being present while he heard what Quinto had to tell him. The instructions were fairly brief: "This is the special ship I promised you, Major. It's camouflaged as a freighter but it's just about in the same cla.s.s as a battlecruiser as far as capabilities are concerned. The personnel consists of 23 officers and 130 crewmen. The ship and the crew are a.s.signed to you. Here at the Terrania s.p.a.ceport the vessel is being taken for what it appears to be: a freighter. We have no reason for publicizing the fact that it's disguised although I don't believe that the enemy, if there is one in the first place, could learn anything from the personnel of our largest s.p.a.ceport.

"We do want to be on the safe side, however, and that's why you'll be followed by a battle cruiser. It is the Vondar and its commander is Maj. Gerry Montini, whom you know. Montini has been instructed to follow your command in case of trouble but until then he will remain pretty well out of sight-for both you and the enemy.

"I don't believe we've forgotten anything. You will take off at once-but don't forget to dismiss the officer outside who escorted you here."

Ron had to laugh. Nike Quinto wasn't likely to forget a single detail. He had even thought of Lt. Pauling. Without being asked, Larry Randall took care of dismissing the lieutenant down at the ramp.

Ron turned to Frank Bell. "One thing I still don't know," he said goodnaturedly. "What's the name of this wonder ship?"

Capt. Bell looked at him wryly. "I guess it's supposed to be an omen," he answered. "The ship has been named the Victory."

400 ADVENTURES FROM NOW.

Clark Darlton describes the Emergency of the Immortals

2/ THE SILENT CITY.

The s.p.a.ceport of Timpik was exactly as described in the message from the Gillaine: it was deserted, partially overgrown with gra.s.s and wind-blown. Ron Landry had the same idea as Chuck Waller. He inspected the gra.s.s that grew haphazardly in large patches on the former landing field and tried to calculate how long it had been since the place had been in use.

The next thing he found out was that the supposed gra.s.s was actually an unknown kind of moss. Since moss generally grew faster than gra.s.s, Landry's estimate was shorter than Waller's. In Ron's opinion the moss had perhaps gotten started here only a few weeks ago, whereas Chuck Waller had figured on maybe months or even years.