Spaceship of Ancestors Read online

  The metal sphere of gigantic proportions was drifting through the boundless expanse of the Universe. If its course were traced back, it would lead into the teeming center of the Galaxy where the stars are closer together, making the exact determination of position almost impossible. If it were traced forward, however, it would end in the bleak wasteland at the edge of the Milky Way. But the sphere would only reach that edge in several millennia if it maintained its present velocity.

  It was not only gigantic, it was of artificial origin.

  At first it might seem that one had before him a small planet. Upon closer observation, however, this impression would prove to be false. The sphere was an artificial structure, designed and set in motion by thinking beings.

  And, as it seemed, also manned by intelligent animate beings.

  Behind illuminated portholes an observer could now and again catch a glimpse of moving shadows. These shadows possessed distinctly humanoid forms, which would lead to the conclusion that the interior of the sphere was not inhabited by monsters but by people.

  The sphere was thus a spaceship.

  A ship, that is, measuring 1½ kilometers in diameter and certainly affording room for a few thousand people.

  Unperturbed, it pursued its path, untouched by all the events taking place on the thousands of inhabited planets that lay in the vicinity. Ray refracting fields, permanently in operation, prevented electronic detection from afar and no roving ship of any race discovered the restless wanderer flying on towards its unknown destination.

  There was no one who had ever looked into the interior of the mysterious ghost ship—other than those who were in it. They, on the other hand, knew only the interior and had no idea of what went on outside the metal walls. Certainly they saw the stars slowly drift past but they were part of their existence and provoked no questions. The eternal blackness of the Cosmos was their day and the twinkling stars were their constant companions.

  But as enormous as the sphere might have been, compared to the endlessness of the Universe it was nothing but a tiny speck of dust pursuing its course, lonely and undiscovered, until it would one day be swallowed up by eternity.

  No one would ever miss it...

  Perry Rhodan

  Atlan And Arkon #73

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  Spaceship of Ancestors

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  1/ MYSTERY OF THE MONSTERS

  Machinist 7 finished his shift at work and headed back to his living quarters. He was relieved by Machinist 4, a powerfully built fellow who never uttered a word more than was necessary, usually less, and was therefore of little interest to Machinist 7. He loved a short chat between shifts but No. 4 was a thankless partner for such sessions.

  Sullenly he ambled through the narrow passageway until he reached the antigrav lift. Without hesitation he stepped into the black shaft and was immediately caught up by the gentle current and carried along upward. Seconds later he was joined by another man, who made it clear with a curt nod of the head that he was not particularly talkative either.

  M7 knew that man. He was one of the doctors that attended to the personnel. If he was not mistaken it was Doctor 3, actually a friendly and amiable man, at least when one was sick and entrusted to his care.

  Machinist 7 almost regretted not being sick at that moment.

  "Doesn't the air seem stuffier than ever today?" he cautiously inquired, trying to strike up a conversation. "I mean it seems warmer than usual."

  "Imagination!" the physician answered gruffly. He did not seem to be in the mood to converse with the machinist. But M7 did not give up that easily.

  "How could I be so mistaken, D3?" he persisted, using the customary abbreviation of names which consisted of branch designation and number. "Perhaps I am sick."

  D3 regarded M7 with an appraising glance, then shook his head.

  "Why should you be sick? If you have the feeling that you are, then report to your section and come see me afterward. Then we'll find out..."

  "Report in sick?" M7 seemed frightened. "Just to—"

  He stopped short. He had almost said too much. He could not reveal to the doctor that he simply longed to talk things through with someone. His world consisted solely of questions that were never answered. Sure, the doctor would not be able to supply the answers he sought either, but it would still be interesting to find out if he was asking himself the same questions.

  "Just to... what?"

  "Nothing," he tersely replied and jumped out of the lift. It did not matter that he had chanced into the wrong corridor if only he was able to escape the searching, mistrustful gaze of the doctor. He saw the legs of D3 disappear upward and waited two minutes, then stepped into the lift again. Ten minutes later he reached the cabin he shared with M4, whom he seldom got to see. They usually had different shifts but if ever both were off work at the same time, M4 would lie about idly on his bed, refusing to get involved in any discussion.

  M7 sighed and lay down to rest.

  What was he really living for?

  • • •

  The Commander was sitting in the isolation of his cabin. His husky body was slightly stooped, betraying his age. This impression was intensified by the snow-white hair that framed the thin oval face in which two eyes with a reddish shimmer and an almost feminine nose were set above the narrow mouth. His chin was determined, revealing an unusually enterprising nature, but the soft lines around the mouth seemed to testify to the opposite.

  The Commander's hands were resting on a thin pile of filmy plastic document files, as if to safeguard that no one took them away. His legs, stretched out, almost reached the other side of the metal table, which was firmly screwed to the floor. The light armchair was the only movable piece of furniture.

  One wall was made out of transparent material and presented a view into space. Two other walls were covered with technical command instruments—entire rows of small screens, panels, levers and scales, in addition there were dial buttons, regulators and communication devices. In the fourth wall there were just two doors. One led to the room which no one other than the Commander was permitted to enter.

  He looked up as a faint buzz sounded and the upper left viewscreen lit up. Wearily he nodded, got up and switched on the button below the screen. The face of a man immediately materialized on the screen. It made a youthful and fresh impression, despite his white hair. The determined features in his face displayed pleasure in quick decisions and the colorless eyes possessed a keenness that would warn any adversary to proceed with caution.

  "Why are you disturbing me, Officer One?"

  The man on the viewscreen did not even flicker an eyelid.

  "I must speak to you, C1," he said briefly. "It is important," he added.

  The Commander sighed. "I know what you want," he nodded in a resigned manner. "Why doesn't youth bide its time until its turn has come? I know that my time has almost run out but what is the rush, O1? You are my successor..."

  "I hardly notice that," he countered furiously. "How are the young to develop when the old give them no opportunity?"

  The Commander smiled. "Develop, O1? You want to develop yourself? If you knew..."

  "I want to know! So—do you have time for me?"

  The Commander shook his head decisively. "Not yet, O1! I will inform you when the time has come. You cannot conceive of the responsibility you are pressuring me to acquire. Once you are sitting in my seat you will regret your rash haste but then there will be no going back. Whoever sits in my seat will become the loneliest being in the Universe!"

  "No one can be lonelier than the person who voluntarily excludes all others. And that is what you are doing,
Commander!"

  "You will do no differently because you will have no choice. One day you will understand me. Until then have patience, please. I am warning, you, O1! Any pressure you put on me can be fatal for you. The time has not yet arrived..."

  The young man on the viewscreen nodded grimly. "Do you determine when the time has come?"

  Now the Commander smiled wanly. "You can just assume that I decide—that way your conscience won't be unduly burdened. You will learn the truth only when you are in my position." He looked at the clock above the control panel. "And now you must excuse me. I have things to do."

  The viewscreen dimmed abruptly before the officer could reply.

  The Commander settled behind his desk again and rested his head in his hands as if it had suddenly grown too heavy. Deep down he could understand the young officer who was designated as his successor. But regulations prohibited any exceptions on penalty of death by converter. The successor had to wait until the sign was given; only then could he assume his office to insure that there was always only one bearer of the secret.

  I have to die no matter what, the Commander thought with mounting bitterness. That is just the price I have to pay—everyone before me paid it, just as all who will come after me.

  Nothing could interrupt the chain.

  Once again he was startled by the buzzing of the communication device. It was his duty to take notice of every call, so he rose and went to see whether it was Officer 1 again.

  This time it was Officer 2, the speaker of the crew.

  "Commander, PS5, D3 and R75 have requested an interview. When do you wish to see them?"

  The Commander considered a moment.

  The fact that the doctor and the psychologist wanted a talk was not unusual. That occurred almost once a week. However, that Repairman 75 wished to speak with him was no normal occurrence. Therefore it was with a mixture of curiosity and astonishment that the Commander said: "You may grant permission. I shall await them at the usual hour." Some inner feeling made him add: "I want to see only the three of them, O2. You make sure that O1 is not admitted with them, on no account."

  "Understood, sir," the speaker responded and switched off.

  The Commander resumed his seat and sank into deep thought. He sensed that trouble was brewing around him; only he did not yet know which sort of trouble.

  • • •

  A few days earlier, shiptime...

  The psychologist looked up in astonishment as the door opened and Dr. 3 entered his office unannounced. They were both about the same age and if their work clothes were not so different, a stranger would have found it difficult to tell them apart.

  "Well now, D3? A rare visit...?"

  "I must speak to you, PS5. Only you can answer all the questions I am constantly asking myself—and that are constantly put to me."

  The psychologist frowned. "Questions...? Since when does one ask himself questions?"

  "This life here poses the questions and I can understand anyone who passes them on to those in charge. That's us! And we are not allowed to answer."

  The psychologist smiled. "Not allowed, my friend? Even if we wanted to, how could we answer? What do we know about life? We are born here, we live and work here—and we die here when our time has come."

  "But—why? Why do we live and die? What is the meaning of our existence? Those are the questions, PS5, that I have been repeatedly confronted with in the past few days. What answer should I give? I know that questions like that are prohibited and should be reported to the Commander, but I know as well that the Death Squad comes to everyone who asks such questions and is reported. If we follow those orders, there would soon be no living beings in this world."

  The doctor leaned forward and gazed into the eyes of the other man. "What is this world—do you know that?"

  "Nobody knows." The psychologist shook his head. Then he suddenly smiled again. "Why do you want to know? We are born and raised in it, we receive our duties and fulfill them. Our world sustains us, it provides us with food, drink and air to breathe, it clothes us and grants us our vacation with the women once in a lifetime. And ultimately it provides for our quick and painless death. We should be thankful to our world for taking such good care of us. Are you of a different opinion?"

  "No, I am of the same opinion, but I want to know why things are this way and who is above us."

  "Who?" The psychologist mused a moment, ceasing to smile. "The Commander, who else? He gives the orders and he is—luckily—destined to die just as we are. That thought is comforting enough to many people for them to die joyfully when their turn has come."

  "The Commander," said the doctor calmly, "is not the one above us."

  The psychologist was visibly startled. His eyes narrowed to a slit and raised apprehensively to the flutes of the ventilator on the ceiling, as if he anticipated a surreptitious eavesdropper. A guarded expression mixed with fear appeared on his face. "Shhh. What nonsense! You will land both of us in the converter if you keep this up!"

  Death in the atomic reactor—that was the goal of their life. No one could avoid this goal but any lack of caution could hasten the inevitable end. The Commander was quick to serve a death sentence. And his command was law.

  The doctor brushed aside his friend's misgivings with a wave of the hand. "Ridiculous, PS5! We are no longer small children who can be seared with the converter. We are strong enough to fight back in a pinch if they want to fetch us. I have made my provisions. Do you think I would have started this without securing weapons?"

  "Weapons?" PS5 asked in astonishment and with a glimmer of hope. "You know that possession of weapons is forbidden. Besides—how should you have obtained them? No one in our world has weapons except..."

  "Right! Except for the guards no one has any weapons. They carry them concealed in their metal bodies. You must destroy one of the guards to get at their weapons."

  The psychologist stared incredulously at his friend. "You don't mean to tell me...?"

  "Yes I do. I cornered a guard and deactivated him. A machinist helped me. I've taken him into my confidence."

  "Just one of the men? Won't he betray you?"

  "He can't, my friend. I've made an addict of him. That is prohibited and if it were found out I would be punished—but M4 would not receive any more drugs and he would perish abominably. You see, I have made my provisions. And I am absolutely determined to find the truth. Do you want to help me, PS5? You may think about it for awhile. If you do not agree with me, forget our conversation. I trust your word."

  "Who knows about this other than you and that M4?"

  "Nobody!"

  The psychologist leaned back in his chair and regarded the ceiling of his room thoughtfully. Here he worked, gave his instructions to the Psychology Sector and enjoyed a certain degree of prestige. Should he risk all of this to satisfy his curiosity?

  Wasn't he more or less at the source of all information? Wasn't he the very one in this world, outside of the Commander, to whom all bits of news were brought just by virtue of his profession? Why should he be more curious than the others?"

  His glance fell on the face of his friend, who was watching him expectantly. In it he saw hope and faith mirrored but also fear and desperate determination.

  He suddenly got an idea.

  "Do you have one of those weapons with you?" he slowly inquired.

  D3 nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, compact rod with a glass lens at the front end.

  "You have never seen them in action, PS5, but I can assure you that the effect is terrible. If I so desired, I could even pierce the outer walls of our world and let in icy death. To kill a person with this is no problem."

  The psychologist suddenly shuddered. He sensed that he had never before in his life been as close to death as at that second. But the doctor was his friend!

  Or...?

  He stared directly into the glass lens and tried to imagine what the death looked like that inhabited that silver
rod. Was it quick and painless? Or...?

  Once again, question after question to which no one could supply the answer.

  "Yesterday a man came to me," he reported and closed his eyes so he would not have to see the silver rod any longer. "He had been sent by his section because he was not taking the necessary precautions while working. I could not get a thing out of him, he stubbornly withheld the reason for his absentmindedness. I had no other alternative than to put him under the psycho-ray apparatus. That loosened his tongue and I learned why he could no longer fulfill his duty as expected. Do you want to hear his story?"

  The physician nodded silently. He continued to hold the silver rod in his hand. It seemed as if he had forgotten it.

  "Good. Then listen, D3: the man belongs to the Repair Detail of the 10th Sector and is a plain worker. About 6 months ago shiptime one of the ventilators broke down and had to be repaired. R75 was instructed to do that. Together with a colleague he set about looking for the cause of the damage. The ventilation system had never failed before, which is why it was not easy to find the defect. Finally they were forced to break through a wall to reach the installation itself.

  D3 leaned forward with great interest. "I hope it wasn't the outer wall?"

  "No, it wasn't, otherwise R75 and his colleague would have been dead instantly. They welded an opening in the obstructive wall, just big enough to allow a man to climb through. Naturally they were acting against standing orders to make no changes whatsoever, as a hole in the wall is a change. At any rate, they crawled through the opening and landed in a large, dark room. In the ceiling, as he described it to me, small lamps were glowing that gave off very little brightness. But the back of the ventilator was now accessible to them. They quickly found the defect and could correct it. However, instead of turning back immediately and disposing of the opening, the two men investigated the mysterious room—at least that was their intention when they were disturbed in the process. Even in those unexplored parts of our world there are guards. R75 succeeded in quickly reaching safety but his colleague was hit by an energy ray and died instantly. The guards did not pursue R75, as he had feared. Perhaps they had meanwhile received an order to the contrary, since they withdrew. R75 welded the hole shut and reported back to his superiors. He told them what had happened and described the death of his colleague but he kept secret what he had seen in the room. He could not keep it secret from me, however, since he was under psychotreatment, and so I came to know what had impressed him. It was a great and terrible secret, which no one may know without dying. That is just why R75 is still alive today."