Death Waits in Semispace
BETWEEN DIMENSIONS! DIMENSION 4... DIMENSION 5... AND SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN–
SEMISPACE!
The unknown realm of the halfplane must be penetrated if the planet Wanderer is to be reached in time. For it is the year 2042, the critical date when Perry Rhodan and Reginald Bell must have a biological booster from the physiotron on the artificial world: without the cell shower renewal they will degenerate into old age!
The venture between the dimensions turns them temporarily into giants who cause devastating storms as they cross an entire ocean with one step!
But even giants can be felled (as David demonstrated to Goliath) and our intrepid Terranians discover that—
DEATH WAITS IN SEMISPACE
1/ TSCHUBAI: TRAPPED!
A PLANET: MISSING!
An emptiness, a void, a spatial nothingness where a world should whirl on its axis and revolve in its orbit.
Mystery was all that the dark green vidscreen of the sensor device reported to Perry Rhodan as he scanned it in vain for any evidence of the planet Wanderer.
A few minutes before, the super battleship Drusus had entered hypertransition a few light-years from its present position. The hytrans should have terminated within 10 light-minutes of the location where, according to the mathmen's calculations, the mysterious planet Wanderer should now be found.
Wanderer was the artificial world to which Perry Rhodan had to return by May 1, 2042 if he were to remain a limited basis immortal. Only on Wanderer—also known as Pel, the Planet of Eternal Life—was the miracle-working device to be found, the instrument of new strength for the human body, the process that would protect flesh and bone from decay.
It, master of Wanderer, the accumulated, amalgamated consciousness of a long-vanished race, had first given Rhodan the right to receive the cell renewal 62 years before. The privilege extended also to all those in Rhodan's company whom the Terran deemed worthy of immortality. At the time the robot Homunk had advised him that the cell renewal had to be undergone again every 62 years if it were to remain effective and continue to ward off the deterioration of age.
Those 62 years would be up in eight days.
Eight frightfully short days, fraught with destiny.
Without Wanderer and its wonder-working entity, death lay waiting for the Administrator of the Solar Empire and his second-in-command, just a week and a day away.
Perry Rhodan had already lost invaluable time, following the trail of Pel through an alien time-plane. He had obtained information about the planet's galactic position only at the penultimate moment.
The Drusus had immediately shot off to seek out the artificial planet.
Considered rationally, there could be no doubt whatsoever that Wanderer was to be found somewhere within 10 lems—10 light-minutes—of the ship... a radius of 180,000,000 kilometers. The information obtained from the captured Druuf robot had indicated as much without any possibility of error.
But Perry Rhodan had increased the range of the sensor to 25 lems—and the depths of space nevertheless remained devoid of planetary mass.
The command center of the Drusus was fully manned. Feverish activity reigned at every post where one could hope the equipment might unravel the mystery of the vanished planet Pel—the Wanderer. Matter sensors microwave and hypercom locating devices operated, radiating their waves, but no echo returned. Wanderer remained hidden. Meanwhile, the astrogation section had reported that the transition had smoothly taken place and the ship had arrived with minuscule error at its intended destination. There seemed to be only one explanation: the information taken from the captured Druuf robot had been wrong. Either the Druufs themselves did not know where Wanderer had gone or else the robot had the ability to falsify programmed information when it realized an alien wanted it.
The first faint clue as to the fate of the artificial world came from a direction no one would have suspected. While Perry Rhodan was busy expanding the radius of the matter sensor, which in reality was no more than an indicator of gravitational fields, to 50 light-minutes, the red cell-light on the intercom screen on the upper edge of the pilot's console lit up. Rhodan closed the connection with a mechanical hand movement and looked absentmindedly at the face appearing on the screen.
"Structural sensor station, sir! Sgt. Sullivan reporting," said the man. "Our equipment is registering an effect we've never observed before, sir. I thought it important enough to call you directly."
Rhodan nodded. It still seemed unlikely to him that of all things the structure sensor would have discovered something in connection with the disappearance of the planet Wanderer but in the present situation he could not let even the slightest clue go by without taking a look at it. "Describe your readings and show me the oscillogram. Or is there an oscillogram?"
Sgt. Sullivan looked unhappy. "Yes, there is one," he admitted hesitantly, "but it looks as though the oscilloscope is deranged."
Rhodan smiled. "Show it to me, anyway."
Sullivan's face disappeared and a few seconds went by while he connected the vidscreen with the oscilloscope.
Then the screen lit up again. The coordinate grid of the oscilloscope field became visible and through the network snaked a confusion of irregular lines that moved constantly up and down.
Sgt. Sullivan's voice began to explain. "A normal reception consists of a single bundle of waves which are short or long depending on the object's ultimate velocity as it returns to the 4-dimensional continuum, as well as the distance and size of the object being spotted and fixed. The bundle displays the structure of a damped wave: large amplitude at the beginning, then an exponential dying away.
"But as you can see, sir, that isn't the case here. Here we are not dealing with a damped wave. The amplitude of the different vibrations is smaller by a factor of a hundred than the weakest shockwave we've ever registered. We first received this 15 minutes ago and it's continued unchanged ever since. A normal such reception lasts at most a few milliseconds, sir."
Rhodan had listened attentively while studying the irregular wave-pattern. Sgt. Sullivan's explanation was complete; there was nothing Rhodan could have added to explain the situation.
"Do you have any ideas, Sergeant?" he asked. "Any guesses as to how this phenomenon has come about?"
Sullivan hesitated in answering. "N-no, sir," he said finally. "No idea at all. Only..."
Rhodan patiently waited until Sullivan had overcome his misgivings.
"...Only it looks like there is something in the area that would like to enter hyperspace but can't decide one way or the other. Perhaps it doesn't have enough power or perhaps the pilot is only probing hyperspace carefully first before venturing in. That's all I can say, sir."
"Yes, your guess is a logical one," Rhodan freely admitted. "Give the oscillograms to the mathematicians and ask them for an evaluation, Sergeant."
Then he broke off the connection. The odd flickering disappeared from the vidscreen but it remained in Rhodan's mind where it produced some thoughts that seemed absurd at first. Only by closer examination did they prove to have nothing impossible in them, especially when one considered that here was a phenomenon no one had ever observed anywhere else: the passage of a planet through an alien time-plane.
Rhodan had a number of ideas and as he looked at the automatic calendar he knew that he did not have the time to toy with them and finally pick out the most likely one.
He would have to go down the list of his ideas and try them out one by one.
• • •
"I'm afraid," said Rhodan, "that the problems in connection with the disappearance of Wanderer are not easy to understand and for those of you who have not yet had the time to study the theory of differing rates of time those problems
will be well-nigh incomprehensible. In any event, however, we must not lose any time with explanations.
"Wanderer has crossed into an alien time-plane. The Druufs captured it, but It , the incomprehensible lord of the artificial world, was able to outwit them. It left the Druuf plane at another location, taking Its entire planet along.
"But evidently the Immortal Unknown was not entirely successful. Something strange happened to Wanderer when it left the alien time-plane. It does not exist in our space. Perhaps it emerged from the alien time-plane carrying a thin edge of alien time with it or perhaps it has created a zone of spatial instability around itself. We don't know but we must find out.
"Here you see a Lens System has been installed. With the help of these devices we have already been able to penetrate the alien dimension a few times." He pointed to a small box-shaped mechanism sitting on the table in front of him and to two opaque shimmering rings of light floating motionless in the air. The lower edge of the rings was only a few centimeters above the floor. Rhodan continued: "Lt. Rous has already announced himself ready to take the step. For now we can only hope that he will succeed in reaching Wanderer in this manner."
Marcel Rous stepped forward. He wore a spacesuit and had already closed the helmet. He did not know where he would come out. It was plain to see that he was feeling uncomfortable. The Lens System, known also as the Mirror Field, created a bridge between the two time-planes at those points where the planes were at the moment overlapping or had intersected in the past. If Wanderer had really taken along some of the alien rate of time and was to be found in the area, then Rous would disappear as soon as he had stepped into the first light ring and emerged on Wanderer. If not—well, no one had yet experienced what would happen by stepping through the Mirror Field when no alien time-plane waited on the other side.
Rous gripped the weapon he wore at his side for one last time then saluted briefly and stepped into the light ring. For a moment Rhodan had the impression that Rous had disappeared but then he saw a leg, then the other leg and finally the entire lieutenant emerge from the other light ring.
The attempt had failed. Rhodan's first idea had proved wrong.
Rous was surprised: one could see that much on his face through the faceplate of his helmet.
Someone started to laugh. Another person joined in and finally the almost unbearable tension that had held everyone spellbound dissolved in resounding laughter. Even Rous laughed: it could be heard from the exterior loudspeaker on his helmet.
Rhodan was the only one unaffected by the general merriment. He looked at the calendar. The date was 24 April, just after 0200 hours. Remaining to him now were just 190 hours in which to find out what had happened to Wanderer and to enter the Physiotron with the life-prolonging cell shower. Rhodan had no reason to laugh. Now he remembered the second idea he had had. Wanderer was no longer moving through the alien time-plane. It was subject to the same rate of time as the Drusus , the Earth and all the billions of stars visible on the vidscreen. If Wanderer could not be reached with the help of the Mirror Field, then perhaps someone would be able to find it if he had the help of natural, inborn powers.
It was time for the mutants to go to work!
• • •
Ras Tschubai knew what was being asked of him. Up to now no mission had frightened him off but this time he was afraid.
Perry Rhodan had left it up to him to decide whether he wanted to make the spring or not. Rhodan had described the situation and openly admitted that not even what little paramechanical theory, which had been worked out, was enough to reckon any odds about the success or failure of the proposed leap. No one knew what would happen when Ras Tschubai, the tall African, mobilized his psychic power and attempted to reach Wanderer with a teleportation jump.
Nevertheless, Ras Tschubai had decided to make the jump. He had put on a spacesuit and had made his appearance in the control room. With their tense but friendly faces, the officers around Ras Tschubai seemed to be trying to encourage him but he knew they would not be able to help him if he got into trouble. His paramechanical talent operated in a higher, 5-dimensional space; if something happened to him there, he was lost. He would float through a grey universe in which there was nothing but himself as a dematerialized figure until the end of time.
Ras Tschubai closed his eyes and began to concentrate. He knew where he was to look for Wanderer. The crew at the Warp sensors had previously reported the location in space that was the source of the unusual signs of spatial instability.
He forced his thoughts in the direction of where he wanted to spring. He had no more time to be afraid and waste a portion of his attention on his feelings. He had to see something—at least an outline of his goal—in order to spring at all.
The darkness before his eyes began to lighten. He saw colored rings dance in the gloom and in the distance a bright but indistinct spot. The spot attracted his attention; if there was a place to spring at all, then the spot had to be it. Ras began to tremble with impatience. He felt how the sweat ran down his forehead and how the individual drops were sucked up by his suit's air conditioning, leaving a salty crust behind. As he sensed that, the pale fleck shrank into the distance, becoming almost invisible.
What's the use, Ras Tschubai thought desperately: I'll never get there. He concentrated his attention for awhile on the colored rings dancing about in front of the light spot, which were nothing more than an optical illusion brought about by his eyes being so tightly closed. He followed their flittering over the entire black range of his vision, trying to count them. It kept him so occupied he forgot the surroundings and his fear. When he turned his attention to the light spot once more, he saw that it had grown brighter and larger than before. Ras Tschubai stared at it and as he realized that it was not getting any bigger, he decided to go ahead.
Now!
The spot came whirling towards him. He felt himself being drawn weightless through space. The darkness at the edges of the spot grew smaller and after an immeasurably small span of time, only the bright and burning light was before Ras Tschubai's eyes. He wanted to relax, wanted to put his feet on the ground and open his eyes like he did on all the other occasions when he had made a successful spring. He knew that now he was there , or here , wherever it might be, and for a moment he felt a dull surprise because everything was different from the usual.
He tried to stretch out but there was no ground to be reached with his feet. There was also nothing to hold on to. Only the light was before him, burning with the brightness of a sun—and Ras was hurtling straight towards it. He raised his hands to protect his face but that was of no use: everything he saw was through closed eyes by way of the strange powers of his mind. He wanted to scream, not realizing no one would be able to hear his scream—but at that moment the torture came to an end with a thundering explosion that struck him full force and knocked him into the void. He saw how the light grew smaller and disappeared into the dark distance. He heard the ringing of metal as his feet struck something.
Then he lost consciousness.
• • •
As he came to, he tried to stand up. And he realized he could not. He seemed to be confined in a space that had been molded around his body. It was just as long as he was and had the same girth as he did.
Minutes went by before he had won back enough of his memory to know what had happened. He had tried to reach Wanderer by way of teleportation. He had sprung and for a brief time had had the sensation of a normal leap. Then something had exploded and thrown him into this coffin-like chamber. What kind of chamber was this? Where was it? On Wanderer... or someplace else?
He tried to turn to the side but was unable to. He suddenly had the feeling that the walls of the chamber were pulling together to crush him. Sweat slid down his forehead and he began to scream. That relieved him.
The screaming had given him an idea. No matter where he might have landed, the helmet of his spacesuit contained a functioning radio and if he were only to speak loud
enough, he would probably be heard over a loudspeaker aboard the Drusus. He knew that the radio had been turned on when he concentrated on his spring: he remembered that he had heard the faint but high-pitched hum of the small device. He forced himself to stillness and listened. At first he was quite certain that he could still hear the transmitter humming: it was a noise one took for granted and ignored as soon as the helmet of a spacesuit had been closed. But then he grew uncertain. He held his breath, hoping not to be disturbed by the sound of his own breathing but then he could hear the pulse of blood in his ears. He relaxed as much as he could in the narrow confines and listened further. And after two minutes he knew that his radio no longer worked. The humming had died; something must have happened to the small mechanism when he materialized in this space.
In any event, he had no more contact with the outer world. He could not even raise his arm to press the switch on his helmet that activated the distress signal transmitter.
• • •
In the control room of the Drusus the tense waiting slowly turned into painful nervousness. Ras Tschubai had been instructed to return as soon as he had made the spring. Now 30 minutes had gone by since he had last been seen in the control room and neither had he returned nor were there any clues as to where he was.
No one spoke. Each man was occupied with his own thoughts. What had happened to the African? Had he reached his goal? Why didn't he come back? Had he materialized someplace from which there was no return? Had he made a one-way leap into the instability zone and now could not get back out?
There was no one on board the Drusus who could have said exactly or even given a few ideas as to what might have happened to Ras Tschubai. There was nothing to do but wait.
It was 06:00 hours on the morning of April 24, 2042. Now there were only 186 hours remaining until the end of immortality.
• • •