The Columbus Affair Read online

  PROLOG

  Perry Rhodan's discovery of the Moon-stranded Arkonide spaceship had been the impetus for the political unity of Mankind and had formed the cornerstone of the Solar Imperium, the stellar empire of Terra.

  Minuscule by comparison with the many other powers of the universe, the fact that this small empire exists at all or hasn't dissolved in an inferno of atomic destruction or been degraded into a colony of Arkon can be attributed to the shrewd moves of Terranians surrounding Perry Rhodan in this cosmic chess game—and to the luck that eventually comes to the most proficient...

  However, the very fantastic streak of luck that has so far followed Rhodan in his efforts to conceal the galactic position of the Sol System now seems to be nearing its end.

  Recently the Solar Imperium of Mankind has had to take a goodly number of setbacks—even aside from the emerging COLUMBUS AFFAIR...

  But now the time has come—and the question arises as to whether or not this still-adolescent stellar empire of humankind is strong enough to withstand a direct attack...

  Perry Rhodan

  Atlan And Arkon #80

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  The Columbus Affair

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  1/ THE MESSAGE OF THE CENTURY

  THE INCREDIBLE had happened.

  In clear, uncoded text the unmistakable signature appeared on the tape. Mute, cold, inanimate—yet possibly signifying a turning point in human history...

  Sgt. Bidge had been carefully checking his entries into the radio log for 11 May 2044. What had caught his attention was a hyperspace message designated as 76-Hy-11-5-44. It had been sent out under the pulse-burst coding used by the Fleet, duly modified by the recognition coding for that particular security period. Duration: 0.1 second. According to directional beam angle its point of origin had been in space sector M-13 Hercules.

  Ordinarily Bidge's task would have been taken care of at this point with regard to the message if it had not been for the fact that the automatic rectifier had added that special signature to the usual ID marks on the punched tape. Those final marks were in clear text. For this part, Sgt. Bidge did not have to wait through the tedious process of decipherment of the pulse-burst message, which contained a variable probability factor ranging over a possible 4.6 million data bits.

  He caught his breath sharply when the machine rang its small bell to designate the end of the rectification cycle. On the plastic tape strip in his hands was a completely meaningless maze of dots, lines and geometrical figures compressed into a mosaic pattern. It would require a high capacity electronic brain a half hour to perform a proper data retrieval on this. It was impossible for Bidge to gather the import of the message itself by visual inspection-but he could clearly read that end signature.

  He repeated it softly aloud: "I-Rho-Ad-T"

  For a moment he ceased to be aware of the monotonous humming and clicking of the operating equipment Sgt Bidge was the subordinate duty officer in the crypto room of Solar Intelligence.

  One glance at the clock apprised him of the fact that he had already lost valuable seconds. The code man next to him was startled when Bidge reached out suddenly and decisively hit the alarm button.

  "Huh? What the...!"

  The penetrating howl of the sirens left him speechless.

  Bidge waited until the armorplate hatch slid upward automatically and the chief duty officer appeared on the threshold. The crypto room of Solar Intelligence was under Class one security control.

  Maj. Raynold Abucot had the reputation of being a superior officer who was a stickler for regulations. He came forward with carefully calculated steps, not too fast and not too slow. His face was expressionless.

  "Who activated the alarm?"

  The sergeant raised his hand. "I did, sir."

  Abucot looked at him sternly. "Who is 'I'?" he asked, unmoved.

  "First Sgt. Bidge, sir, second duty officer, Crypto."

  "That sounds more proper. What's happening?"

  With some irritation, Bidge reflected that the question wasn't any too proper, either. Abucot was apparently having one of his stiff-necked days again. Bidge stood up, came to attention and reported in sharply accentuated words: "Sir, a pulse-coded message from Sector M-13 Hercules has just been received and printed out by the rectifier. It bears the personal signature symbol of the First Administrator. And sir—it's in clear text!"

  It would not have been necessary for Bidge to accentuate his last statement to get such a ludicrous jump of alarm out of the Major. Bidge watched him curiously but with a sudden sense of being on his guard as the latter stared at the tape, his eyes futilely trying to virtually bore through the plastic strip he held in his hands.

  "That's it, alright!" muttered Abucot, flabbergasted. He looked about him almost imploringly. "Sergeant—are you sure this isn't some kind of sick joke?"

  "I wouldn't stick out my neck that far, sir."

  The senior duty officer swallowed audibly. Finally the Major struggled to put his famed self-composure to the test. Once more his lean, narrow face became expressionless. "Thank you very much. You may terminate the alert."

  After briefly touching the wide peak of his service cap in a hasty salute of dismissal, he strutted toward the still-open security hatch. However, before he had fully disappeared beyond it the men in the Crypto Center noted that Abucot's feet suddenly picked up a frantic acceleration.

  Bidge looked at the clock again. Smiling a bit uncertainly, he remarked: "The Old Man came to life pretty much in a hurry, didn't he? He was able to play the ice-berg until he got to the door but I'll bet a month's pay that he's running through the corridors now at half the speed of sound."

  "Make that about 20 km per hour," interjected another Communications man. "That ought to be about right."

  "Fast enough, anyway," Bidge conceded. "Does anybody remember any other time that Perry Rhodan has beamed such a message? I mean straight across, directly, without channeling through camouflaged relay stations in deep space?"

  Sgt Bidge had to wait several moments for an answer. The man sitting next to him wiped his forehead and ventured to reply. "I only know that during our special training it was always drilled into our noggins that the galactic position of the Earth was such a high-level security item that nobody could even dare think of sending a direct message to Terra."

  "There you are! That was due to the danger of being traced, isn't that right? So how come the very man who put out this order has violated his own restriction in this risky manner?"

  A silence fell in the deciphering room of Solar Intelligence. The service men stared at each other thoughtfully. They suddenly realized that something had happened out in the Milky Way which they were far from fathoming as yet.

  From then on the Crypto crew concentrated exclusively on the fully positronic operation of the deciphering equipment, which had already swallowed up the pre-punched tape strip for decoding.

  A minute later the Major called in over the intercom. He ordered an immediate transmission of the decoded text.

  Bidge nodded. "In about 20 minutes, sir. It's in progress now."

  "Please hurry," answered Abucot nervously. He knew very well that the operation could not go any faster.

  • • •

  "...if you'll permit me to ask it, my dear fellow: are you sober?"

  Solar Marshal Allan D. Mercant, Chief of Solar Intelligence, smiled softly. With slow deliberation he replaced a wonderfully wrought letter opener of Luurs metal on the blotter of his desk. A narrow beam of sunlight came through the high, hermetically sealed window, producing a shimmer of reflections in Mercant's straw-blond crown of hair.

  His smile widened as
Maj. Abucot strove to improve his already exemplary posture.

  "Sir, if you please! I've come as quickly as possible to give you this message personally!" He stepped forward in order to place the decoded text of the dispatch on the desk and then he stepped back quickly.

  Mercant's smooth, unwrinkled face betrayed none of the tension he secretly felt. With seeming indifference he picked up the sheet of foil and began to read. Finally he looked up. If Abucot had expected to be more clearly informed as to the meaning of the message, he was immeasurably disappointed.

  Mercant spoke succinctly. "I see that you've had the strength of the alien transmitter calculated, using your receiver sensors. Are you sure your mathematicians haven't let some kind of error creep into this?"

  "Out of the question, sir!" the Major asserted. "That station is operating with a broadcast power of at least 50 million kilowatts on the hypercom bands. I know of only one planet that could possess such a gigantic installation."

  "Which is..."

  "Arkon 3, sir!"

  Mercant nodded thoughtfully. His lean, sensitive fingers still held the foil sheet in front of him. "Thank you very much, Major. You may go now."

  Disconcertedly, Abucot walked past the two robot guards, entered the security lock and disappeared.

  Only when the red signal light indicated the closure of the outer gate did the Security Chief venture to move. His right index finger flipped a switch labeled Fleet High Command. On the big viewscreen of the secret closed circuit the plastic face of a robot appeared, wearing a stereotyped smile.

  "Marshal Freyt, quickly," said Mercant. His voice sounded loud and hurried. "Class one priority."

  "The Marshal will be notified, sir. Kindly wait a moment."

  Mercant had to wait two minutes until Freyt's lean, expressive countenance appeared on the screen. He was breathing heavily. Apparently he had sprinted the last few yards. The Security Chief allowed the other a moment to catch his breath. They had known each other too long by now to waste such moments on polite amenities.

  Without preamble Mercant said: "Freyt, we have a hypercom message from Perry Rhodan. Are you alone?"

  Freyt nodded without saying a word.

  "OK, then prepare yourself for the biggest shocker of the past 50 years. Rhodan has broken all communications restrictions and made a direct beam transmission from Arkon to Earth. The trace and measurement data are not in error. There's only one transmitter with 50 million kilowatts of output and that's on the war planet of the Greater Imperium."

  Marshal Freyt, the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Solar Space Fleet, breathed even more heavily than before. "You mean he radioed us directly without using an advance cruiser station as a relay? If that message has been traced to us we'll be smack in the pits of hell!"

  "There is such a possibility but he's made allowances for that. Conditions have changed over night." Suddenly Mercant's voice took on a note of celebration. "Freyt, the ruling robot Brain of Arkon has been conquered! Our strenuously prepared commando mission has succeeded. As an Arkonide who has survived the degeneration of his people, Atlan has been recognized by the actual security circuits of the Brain—and by that I mean he's been recognized as the direct descendant of a famous emperor of the House of Gonozal. All of which gives rise to a very momentous situation. From today forward there'll be some changes in our galactic policy."

  "Is that what the Chief says?" Freyt broke in excitedly.

  "Yes, quite unequivocally. I'll send the decoded text to your headquarters by courier. Rhodan is presently with his commando troops on Arkon 3. Atlan has taken over the power but it's still made to look from the outside as though the giant robot were still in the saddle. That way he can conceal himself behind the machine, which was known to be merciless, and he's able to make clever use of its authority. I go along with that myself. If it got out that a living Arkonide has taken the Regent's place there'd be some heavy unrest in the colonial areas of the Greater Imperium. Rhodan informs us that the situation is under control. The only remaining functions of the Brain that are independent are connected with questions of administration and support Important decisions are handled by Admiral Atlan, whom we have to consider from now on as the Arkon ruler and Imperator."

  After intensive reflection, the Marshal said: it's a surprising situation, alright. Are you aware of the fact that Atlan knows the Earth's location better than you or I?"

  Allan D. Mercant again revealed his famous smile. "Only too well! If he goes sour on us it will only take a single order from him to send a giant fleet against the Earth. Perry is weighing such possibilities. In the dispatch you are instructed to send the Fleet flagship Drusus to Arkon at once. In the same message, Lt.-Col. Sikerman has been promoted to full colonel. He is to command the Drusus. He has orders to fly to the planet Zalit. There he will take on board the commando troops that were left behind—scientists, technicians and mutants. Then he will go directly to Arkon 3. That about covers the contents of the message."

  "Pretty scanty contents, I'd say, in view of such a revolutionizing state of affairs," the Fleet Commander fretted gravely.

  "It's plenty for me. I see some pretty cloudy times ahead, Freyt. The future of Mankind depends upon the goodwill of an Arkonide by the name of Atlan. After he's taken over the robot Brain, all doors will be open to him. Basically I don't doubt his friendship for us. But since I'm no alien race psychologist I can't predict how this sudden acquisition of super power will sit with him. Just prepare yourself for anything and keep the Fleet on standby alert. Send Col. Sikerman to me before he takes off. I'd like to give him some detailed information about the Druufs' unsuccessful invasion. It will be of interest to Rhodan that these insect offsprings of an alien universe succeeded in setting up a transmitter base in the U.S. state of Wyoming. Or better yet, wait! I'll come to your place. Keep Sikerman on hand. See you!"

  Mercant cut off the connection. For a moment he sat motionlessly behind his large desk. The light of the sinking sun was reflected from the keys of the switchboard installation.

  When the Security Chief got to his feet he had an unconscious awareness of how old he was. The bio cell shower he had received on the planet Wanderer would soon have to be renewed if the cellular deterioration of his synthetically reactivated body was not to take him by surprise.

  Mercant walked slowly past the saluting robot guards. In his hand he clutched the plastic sheet that contained the overwhelming news.

  The robot Regent of Arkon had been partially shut down and reprogrammed! Mercant knew that this meant the dawn of a new era.

  • • •

  Col. Baldur Sikerman took the highly classified secret documents and handed them over to his personal robot bodyguard. The briefing in the Fleet headquarters was at an end. There were no further questions.

  "I wish you safe journey," said Marshal Freyt. "Keep your eyes open and in spite of everything you should continue to avoid any action that could lead to a discovery of the Earth. In outer space there are plenty of intelligences who have good tracking devices. Make your transitions under protection of your hyper-shock dampers and remain extremely discreet and uncommunicative. Presumably you will be given a friendly reception, especially on Zalit. Take our people on board there and then fly the remaining a light-years to Arkon. If in that area you are attacked in spite of our hopeful expectations, pull back at once. In the latter case, Rhodan will have to find another way. Advise the Chief that everything here is in order."

  "Including the matter of the Druuf station in Wyoming," interjected Mercant

  "Yes, report that verbally to Rhodan. Then he'll decide whether Atlan should be informed about it or not."

  Freyt looked at his watch. "It's time. Take it easy with those hypertransitions. We are quite interested in seeing you arrive all in one piece in star cluster M-13. And..." Freyt smiled suddenly "... may those shoulder trimmings continue to expand, Colonel Sikerman!"

  The super battleship Drusus, the most modern of heavy class warships in the S
olar Fleet, took off on 12 May 2044 at hours 05:13.

  The spaceport of Terrania was flooded in the brilliant light of the impulse-engines opened at full thrust. Before its deep-throated thunder could startle people out of their sleep in the nearby capital of the Solar Empire, the spherical giant, measuring almost a mile in diameter, had already reached outer space, where Sikerman set course for transition under an acceleration of 500 km/sec per second. He had received clearance for making his first hyperjump from within the Solar System itself.

  • • •

  Col. Poskanov received the first tracking report from Maj. Untcher, chief of the 4th Security Patrol Wing. A massive figure of a man who was known as an outstanding space tactician, Poskanov functioned as commanding officer of the 16th Space Pursuit Force in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter, Surveillance Zone 12-14A-3746.

  His flagship, the battle cruiser Osage, picked up Untcher's pulse-coded message just as the announced flight of the Drusus was bringing the latter vessel close to the speed of light.

  Being a logical thinker, Poskanov issued a general command for his ships to switch all available power into a hyper-phase operation of their defense screens and for the time being to avoid any changes of course. In all units of cruiser formation 16, every thrust engine went into an idling mode. Their gleaming spherical hulls were inclosed by invisible screens of energy. Thus they were well-protected when the gigantic Drusus went into its first transition close to the orbit of Mars.

  Although all hypersensors had been secured, on board almost all vessels there was a breakdown of their hyper-shock absorbers. Poskanov felt the Osage shudder in every joint of its 500 meter hull. During such major transitions the 'space quake' generated in the fixed 4-dimensional continuum was like a shockwave of unimaginable magnitude.

  As the effects of this ebbed away the commanders of smaller vessels reported damages to outer compartments as well as to internal installations. Four Gazelles, which were fast auxiliary craft attached to light cruisers of the State class, requested permission to turn in to repair docks for overhaul. Col. Poskanov issued the necessary authorizations. Auxiliary unit G-275 announced that its thermal equalizer screens were out of order.