Crimson Universe Read online

  RED ALERT!

  6,562 LIGHT-YEARS from Earth, the Solar Empire's base on the former colonial world Grautier is in a state of alarm as the Spacefleet of Terra prepares to battle the hordes of Druufon. Out around Grautier, two time-planes are beginning to stabilize—Earth's Einstein continuum and that of the alien universe of the Druufs.

  Perry Rhodan, Atlan, Bell, watch developments expectantly and Rhodan develops a bold plan. Atlan is more than apprehensive for already 10,000 years ago this Prince of Arkon fought the monstrous foe.

  A scarlet geyser of blood must surely erupt again as conflict flares in—

  Perry Rhodan

  Atlan And Arkon #67

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  The Crimson Universe

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  1/ MYRTHA SECTOR ALERT!

  I WAS DEEPLY IMPRESSED.

  They were more industrious than bees in a hive and more unrelenting than a pack of starving wolves on the trail of an exhausted elk.

  Without fanfare or show they worked with a natural eagerness. Every switch and control was set, all calculations had been checked out and each man knew precisely what he was to do in the next moment.

  In spite of their unquestionable initiative they were so well coordinated that each individual effort became a concerted part of the overall action, without duplication or any serious competitive conflicts.

  They accomplished everything with such a good-humored esprit de corps that difficulties seemed to take care of themselves; and the general rapport between scientists, officers and crewmen was so easy and relaxed that to any outside observer this appeared to be one big family working in unison.

  There was a teeming hustle and bustle and a roar of industrious activity such as could only be seen and heard at a great spaceport and interstellar shipyard.

  One hour before, the chief engineer of Armament Wharf 14 had begged me to vacate the upper cupola of the new super battleship Kublai Khan so that I would not get in the way of his technicians. I had left the dome with a slight sense of outrage. After all, I was the one who had been brooding all day over the problem of dismounting the teletransmitter from the old battleship Ganymede and reinstalling it in the weapons room of the Kublai Khan. By the time I reached the small personnel lock some 3900 feet below, my feeling of resentment had subsided.

  One thing you had to grant these barbarians: they were straightforward and frank! Being accustomed to subject my actions and feelings to severe self-criticism, I was forced to reflect later that I had really been standing around in the way of the qualified personnel from the shipyard. Scientists were supposed to lay out a specific plan for the specialists, and since I had completed my calculations and recommendations I had actually become superfluous in the area. Even without precise direction, the engineers from Michel's team knew how to anchor the transmitter and install the power plant.

  So here I sat on a plastic case that I had selected some 30 minutes ago as a safe resting place. From this position I had a fairly good view of the arching hull of the giant spacesphere, which measured just about one mile in diameter. They had named it the Kublai Khan. Evidently Perry Rhodan placed great store in the famous Mongolian who had once carved out an entire world empire for himself.

  I laughed silently to myself. What Rhodan still did not know was the fact that I had known the Khan very well. At the time I could not have dreamed that one day a giant spaceship would be outfitted which would bear the name of the warlord.

  These Terranians seemed to be extraordinarily interested in their own history. If it had been up to the men at this space dock area I would have had to recount my long life at least four times a week. But I avoided such narrations as much as possible because I was all too familiar with the consequent pains of my extra brain. Once its memory sector was fully awakened the normal course of my thinking processes was shut off.

  A barely perceptible pulsing made me aware of the biological cell activator that was suspended against my chest. I frowned in some surprise and puzzlement. The mysterious, egg-sized apparatus always stirred into activity when my cellular tissues were in need of certain stimulus impulses. Was I merely tired at the moment or was my body undergoing that process again which had once been described by a Terranian biologist as 'a timely regeneration of cells which would otherwise have atrophied long ago'... ?

  I shrugged it off. I would probably never solve the mystery of the microactivator that had preserved my youth and vigor for practically 10,000 years. The only entity or being who could have enlightened me on the subject had disappeared after the trouble on the synthetic planet Wanderer.

  It had expressed an intention to merely rest up a bit and catch its breath for a few moments but in accordance with its own time standards. What this could mean for such a disembodied intelligence I could well imagine. Perhaps in 50 years I might raise the question as to whether or not those 'few moments' had passed. In this respect I did not deceive myself.

  The nearest landing strut of the Kublai Khan was about 100 yards distant from me. The towering support cylinder partially blocked my view of the vast groundlock area which opened like an inverted abyss to swallow up a countless stream of men and material. No doubt, like myself, the men had required weeks or perhaps months to overcome their agoraphobia or claustrophobia, depending on the individual's point of view. After all it was no light matter to be constantly aware of all those millions of tons of Arkon steel looming close overhead. If just one of the extended struts were to collapse, or if a support pad were to sink through the pavement underneath, it would result in a major catastrophe.

  I started suddenly as I became aware of a shadow. Someone had approached me silently from behind. It was only in the nick of time that the logic sector of my brain reminded me that there were no enemy assailants here and so my rather 'jumpy' constitution relaxed again.

  "Hello there," I drawled casually. "Are you trying to give me heart failure? You shouldn't sneak up on a human bundle of nerves like a cat in the dark, you know." Meanwhile, I turned slowly to observe the visitor.

  Dr. Michels, Chief Engineer of Wharf Sector 14, gave me a broad grin. His straw-blond hair dangled carelessly from under his crumpled service cap and his uniform looked as though it had been retrieved from a disposal tank.

  Taking a breather for the moment, he rested one foot on the oblong plastic case and wiped sweat from his brow. "This is a real grind, isn't it?" he remarked. "Considering everything that's expected of us, hm-mm..."

  "Oh quite!" I ventured to say. "Practically a dog's life!"

  Michels nodded somberly. There was something up this fellow's sleeve—I could sense it! These Terranians were capable of a brand of humor that could drive an Arkonide to the brink of madness. I was always taken in by their characteristic playfulness in spite of my long experience among humans.

  Five other men were approaching us. Gliding soundlessly behind them was an antigrav platform used as a cargo loader. One of the men guided the massive vehicle through the air with casual indifference, holding the remote-control apparatus in his hand like a half-eaten sandwich.

  When the newcomers became aware of me they began to grin like a triumphant commando squad. I frowned as I sensed a certain uneasiness rising within me. Once more I regretted that I was not a telepath.

  Michels stood close beside me, providing welcome shade. It was shortly before the noon hour and the cloudless blue sky of the former Gobi Desert arched above me. From this location, nothing could be seen of the towering structures of Terrania, the capital city of Earth. Here the mighty silhouette of the Kublai Khan was overpowering, completely dominating the field of vision.

  "Are you guys ready for this?" said a shavetail lieuten
ant from Security. He was attached to the 5-man transportation detail.

  I glared at him sharply, not realizing that my heel boots had begun to tap nervously against the side of the plastic case I was sitting on. That is, until Dr. Michels quietly addressed me again. "May I advise you, Admiral, that you happen to be sitting directly over the fuse mechanism of a 500-megaton catalysis bomb? So if you would be good enough to..."

  By that time I was already on my feet and running pellmell away from the place. Behind me a roar of laughter rose up from the men. These youngsters didn't seem to have a nerve in their bodies. Now I realized why the armed guards in the area had regarded me so strangely when I had originally sat down on that confounded case. They hadn't even bothered to apprise me of my hair-raising mistake. And besides—how could they just leave containers of nuclear devices lying so casually about in the spacedock area?

  Final armament phase, dummy!This was the laconic reprimand I received from my auxiliary brain.

  At any rate I did not halt my mad dash until my tormentors were out of sight. Panting from my exertions, I leaned back against the switch box of a remote-controlled automatic tester device which was capable of irradiating all kinds of goods and materials with test beams in order to detect manufacturing defects.

  Since I almost became a subject for examination, I was soon chased from that area, as well. Obviously the armament dockyard was no place for me. Actually I had not experienced such a stir and bustling of men and arms and equipment flow since the Great War of 10,000 years ago. In those days my people battled for the survival of the humanoid races and our bitter enemy was a non-Arkonide species of methane breathers from the nebula sector of the Milky Way.

  However, that was all long ago. Today there were other problems involved. Once more the galaxy was in turmoil but this time there had been no attack from poison-gas breathers. The aliens who had emerged from another time-plane had simply been dubbed the Druufs. Aside from Rhodan, there were still very few people who knew anything about how the name had originated. Shortly after the first penetration into the other time zone, some kind of creatures had been met whose peculiar calls sounded like a muffled 'druuuf'. And right away some whimsical lieutenant of the Solar Fleet had come up with the name—and it had stuck. In such things these humans were characteristically adept.

  I shook off the last traces of vexation and was about to call for my aircar when my wrist visiphone came to life.

  In the viewplate, no larger than a thumbnail, I recognized Gen. Deringhouse, one of Rhodan's oldest battle companions, who had been rejuvenated by means of a cell-shower treatment on Wanderer. His freckled face was arresting by its startling lack of expression.

  "A message from the Chief, Sir," he announced curtly. "Could you come immediately to Intelligence Head-quarters?... OK... thanks very much."

  I watched in perplexed amazement as the small screen darkened again. Deringhouse had already cut off. That had been a very strange request!

  I was aware of the fact that Rhodan was presently located with a large contingent of the Terranian Fleet in the Myrtha System. The planet Grautier, seventh world of that distant star, had been converted during the past 10 months into a Solar Fleet stronghold.

  We knew full well that a Druuf-generated overlap zone would soon appear in the Myrtha vicinity but this time we were not going to wait around until calamity overtook us.

  I could imagine what it looked like on all those depopulated worlds of the Milky Way. The same thing had happened there that I had experienced 10,000 years ago in my capacity as a fleet squadron chief.

  Ten minutes later I landed on the skyscraper roof of my destination. I was soon brought into a briefing where the responsible people of the Solar Empire advised me succinctly that tremendous overlap zones had been sighted, as expected, in the region of the Myrtha System. During the discussion I was introduced to a giant of a man who had wiry blond hair and a wide-awake pair of penetrating blue eyes.

  He was a colonel named Marcus Everson. One glance at his medals and campaign insignia was enough to tell me that I was looking at a very seasoned space veteran who had proved himself a 1000 times over.

  "Pleasure to meet you, sir," he said.

  "Effective immediately, Col. Everson has command of the Kublai Khan ," explained Deringhouse briskly. "Let Marc tell you what he experienced during his return flight from Eppan. His only assignment there was to pick up our cosmic agent Goldstein and bring him back."

  Everson laughed ironically when he recalled the adventure. "A certain man who called himself Mataal and pretended to be an Eppanian native developed a sudden interest in taking over my guppy. Do you know of any race in the galaxy whose members look like giant bats? The creatures are capable of making molecular transmutations. This particular customer was able to paralyze my men, one by one, but he finally made one mistake. It was his last one."

  He ended the short account with a reflective nod and I remained silent although I had a vivid mental picture of what must have happened on board the small scoutship.

  Deringhouse distracted us with a further announcement. "Michels reports that the installation of the teletransmitter has been completed. We'd like to request that you two take off at once in the Kublai Khan. It's just now being manoeuvred clear of the dockyard. You should be quite satisfied with Everson's command, Admiral. He is completely familiar with our new super giants."

  A closer look at the man served to convince me entirely of his qualifications. Everson had shared with Perry Rhodan the rise of the former New Power from the ground up. In that earlier period I had still been determined to give humanity a bitter lesson.

  Times had changed. On the three Arkon worlds of my former homeland a robotic brain had come into power whose influence was despotic and overwhelming. Apparently its programming circuits were insufficient for conducting a major space policy in a reasonable manner.

  A few minutes later I was discussing the possible capacities and applications of the Kublai Khan with the colonel when a hypercom dispatch came in from the depths of the Milky Way. The coded pulse-burst transmission had emerged from the Myrtha Sector, 6,562 light-years distant from Earth.

  When the deciphered message came out of the hopper I noted that Deringhouse suddenly paled. Glancing at me in some uncertainty, he handed over the tape strip without a word.

  Condition POTOMAC activated. Emergency phase starting 1 Aug. 2043, hrs 24:00, alert procedures henceforth in effect. Fleet movement per instruction A-3. Commercial traffic ban until further notice. Atlan return this base. Signed: Rhodan, Chief of Solar Fleet, First Admin. Solar Empire.

  I needed a few seconds to absorb the import of the message. So it had finally happened! Our calculations concerning the statistical probability of a total dimensional overlap near the Myrtha System had proved to be accurate.

  I placed the plastic strip on the table and looked at each of the officers who were present. The new emergency regulations now in effect as a result of this action were going to entail some inconveniences for the population of the Earth—not to mention a few urgent questions which we would not be able to answer directly in view of the required secrecy.

  With these facts in mind I was forced to remark:

  "Condition Potomac, is it? That means that the time fronts have interlocked. Gentlemen, you're going to have your hands full trying to convince large segments of the populace that you have not become the willing subjects of a heavy-handed dictator. Lots of luck, Deringhouse!"

  Again his look was uncertain for a moment but then he straightened up. "We'll see," he said with a new composure. "Sooner or later it had to come to this. Sir, you are to take off at once. Apparently your presence is more urgently required in the Myrtha System than on Earth. We'll manage here on our own.

  Twenty minutes later I stepped out of my aircar as the tremendous hull of the super battleship loomed above me again. The Kublai Khan was cleared for takeoff.

  The First Officer of the flying behemoth put in an appearance at the
boarding lock. I was received with all the pomp and ceremony that Rhodan's orders demanded. On a discipline basis it could not have been otherwise, especially since similar regulations had been in effect in the old Arkonide fleet.

  I caught a last glimpse of the battle-ready units of the planetary defense squadrons which were under Deringhouse's personal command. Among the ships that were to remain behind to protect the Solar System were the two older super giants, the Titan and the General Pounder. In addition there were numerous battle cruisers of the Solar class as well as heavy and light cruisers of new design. It was astonishing what the Terranians bad brought into being in the relatively short timespan of only 70 years or so.

  I listened to the muffled thunder of several State class cruisers as they took off. Before the warm shockwaves reached us I was already in the antigrav lift of the main lock. Overhead was the vast bulk of the Kublai Khan, a spaceship which incorporated all the technical advances of the modem age.

  Marcus Everson greeted me by touching a hand to the peak of his light service cap. In the great Control Central of the super battleship there was a stimulating atmosphere of seemingly incomprehensible industry, which always captivated me. Messages came through in rapid succession from the machine and power rooms. Deep beneath the deckplates the monstrous reactor generators of the multiple power plants began to rumble into life. It was a sound that could arouse every last nerve fiber in a man of my background and training. Fascinated, I watched the great screens of the panoramic observation gallery. The vast scene of the sprawling installations at this greatest of Terranian spaceports still glittered and gleamed in spectacular 3-D but seconds later the circular picture changed.

  Actually the only non-visual sign of the Kublai Khan 's takeoff was the deep-throated thundering of the colossal propulsion engines. Although operating at only 2% of maximum power, the resulting thrust was sufficient to send the 1-mile spaceball hurtling upward into the noonday blue of the heavens.