The Vega Sector Read online

  Perry Rhodan

  The Third Power #5

  The Vega Sector

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  The Vega Sector

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  1/

  On a shrill, shouted command, two hundred gleaming metal arms raised upward. A hundred fluorescing ray guns pointed at the cloudless sky of the Gobi Desert. One hundred steel fighter robots poised motionlessly; their mechanical inner workings were operating, but this was not outwardly detectable.

  "Let's give our guest the full dress treatment," Colonel Freyt advised, with an ironic glance at the human commanding officer of the robot guard troops standing at attention.

  Captain Klein coughed discreetly. He squinted across at the ship that had just landed. "Looks kind of familiar," he said. "Will you take care of the ceremony, sir?"

  Colonel Freyt, chief of the Space Fighter Force, moved forward stiffly like a marionette. On the mighty tail unit of the landed jet bomber gleamed the emblem of the U.S. Space Force. Freyt stopped before the escalator.

  The figure emerging from the narrow hatch was huge and impressive. General Lesley Pounder, space force commander, looked about him silently. For a moment his gaze rested on the dress formation of the fighter robots. He acknowledged Captain Klein's salute distractedly. Far above the airport thundered ghostly shapes in the blue May sky of the Gobi Desert. It was shortly after 1300 hours. The sun's heat bore down oppressively.

  Crackling blasts of thunder confirmed that the ships up there, whistling toward outer space, had pierced the sound barrier. Before the sonic booms reached the ground, the silvery dots of reflected light had disappeared.

  Pounder cleared his throat "Quite a show," he acknowledged appreciatively. Then, "Hello, Freyt. It's been a long time, hasn't it?" Even Pounder found the first moments of their meeting a bit distressing.

  "About three years, sir," Freyt agreed diplomatically. "You sent me to the moon in a Stardust-class rocket. The mission went as badly as the landing we made. If the chief, Perry Rhodan, hadn't arrived with the space sphere, you'd have had to add three more test pilots to the crash list."

  Pounder, square built and always on a sharp edge, pressed his lips together. "That's right," he confirmed coldly. "For three years now you've been wearing the uniform of the Third Power. Hm-m—doesn't look so bad. A bit Utopian. I see you've been promoted, too."

  Colonel Freyt decided not to answer the innuendos. Pounder had come here to the sanctum sanctorum of the Third Power as a visitor. It would be senseless for Freyt to argue with his former superior.

  "The car is waiting, sir," he parried. "The chief is not here yet. We received a message from him just a half hour ago. He's somewhere near the orbit of Mars in a fighter ship, making a test flight."

  General Pounder also swallowed this pill. His former subordinate spoke casually of things that were still incomprehensible to mankind. "Near the orbit of Mars," he murmured to himself. "That sounds strange. You've come a long way, lad. Definitely further than would have been possible in the space force. You've really been building up around here."

  Pounder took a look around. Far to the north, near Goshun, the tower-like structures of Galacto City loomed skyward. He had not been here for three years. At that time the Third Power had possessed only a few provisional buildings. And now this! The two flight centers alone could serve as showplaces for any major power—but the port was the mightiest installation ever created by man.

  "We have further plans," Freyt told him expressionlessly. "The land area we've bought from the Asiatic Federation now amounts to exactly 14,400 square miles. Galacto City, according to the latest census, has 230,000 inhabitants. If you please, sir, our people will service your ship." With a glance at the mighty bomber, he added casually. "That old cow is a bit primitive, you know. Are you still using the old-fashioned nuclear propulsion?"

  "That's the propulsion that sent you to the moon, Freyt. Are you trying to rub in how terribly far behind you we are? Just remember that you and Perry Rhodan got your start in the space force. If I hadn't sent Perry to the moon he wouldn't have come across the Arkonides. That is what you call the aliens, isn't it?"

  "Precisely, sir," Freyt nodded.

  Pounder snorted. "Without this alien intelligence we wouldn't have made another step of progress. Rhodan lucked out when he gained their confidence. It's the only way the Third Power could have come into being. Well, enough of that. How is Rhodan making out as chief of state?"

  "Do you mean the president, sir?"

  Pounder fumed silently for a moment, then blasted out, "Freyt, for me your president will always be Major Rhodan, the shavetail I promoted and drilled personally until he was placed in that momentous expedition. You straighten him out on that!"

  "He hasn't forgotten it, sir." Freyt grinned. "But all barbs aside, I'm glad you're here. Are you going to negotiate with the chief about the pulse drive system?"

  The general paused in his stride. At the distant spaceport the weird roaring rang out again. Flashing shapes rode the skies on barely perceptible pulse streams. He waited until the infernal sound subsided.

  "That was the second squadron under Deringhouse," Freyt explained. "He's made good. You didn't select any bad candidates, sir."

  "Naturally! Otherwise, Rhodan wouldn't have taken them over as officers. And I wasn't happy to lose you, either. What do you know of my plans?"

  This was a sharp change of tactics. Pounder's glance was hard.

  "The chief has discussed some of this with me. Sir, I think it would be foolish to try to talk him into a delivery of the complete propulsion system. Faster than light spaceships are constructed only by the Third Power. Give it up, that's my advice. I'm authorized, if you wish, to show you through our new federal shipyards. Normally, nobody gets in. You see, sir—we want to do what we can for our old commander."

  Pounder turned away without a word. The younger man's subtle smile had got to him. Still silent, he clambered into the open turbo car. His eyes sought the gleaming energy shield not far from the airport. The great dome, six miles in diameter, was very conspicuous.

  Freyt squeezed his long frame in beside the general. Pounder involuntarily made a comparison. His secret glance took in the big, lanky man with the tiny wrinkles of humor at the comers of his eyes. Freyt and Perry Rhodan could have been brothers. Somewhere they had the same background; they were from the same school—hard and relentless.

  Pounder sensed a certain wave of pride. These youngsters—Freyt was only thirty-seven—had created an institution that appeared to exceed all previous human standards.

  Freyt nodded toward Captain Klein. "He used to be attached to the NATO Secret Service under Allan D. Mercant. Amazing, isn't it? Men appear capable of getting some sense into their heads once in a while. I can still do a playback on that moment when I gave the order to fire the three H-bombs. That was the time we destroyed the Arkonide cruiser. The old moon got cooked in a few places. Things have changed a lot. As I say, man seems to have comprehended a few things a little better."

  "Comprehend?" echoed the general hollowly. "Did you say, comprehend? If any idiot succeeded in wiping out the Third Power, the world would become a madhouse overnight. People would tear each other apart in a scramble for your technical and scientific developments. Nations would be 'regrettably compelled, in the interests of self-preservation, to adopt grave new measures.' That's the way it would go in diplomatic language, wouldn't it?"

  Freyt contracted his thin lips. The stern lines in his face deepened. The commander of the first space fighter force seemed suddenly to have lost all traces of humor. "Don't speak of the devil, sir," he said pensively. "That energy shield over there has been fired upon by
aver 6,000 artillery pieces of Earthly fabrication. Not only for hours at a time, but for weeks. All of them failed. Only an alien power can overcome us, a power that has not yet developed on Earth. We should all realize that the existence of highly developed alien intelligences is now an irrefutable fact. If we don't all wake up and take a proper attitude toward this, someday we're liable to get it in the neck. People are going to have to become basically more discerning than they have been. Perry Rhodan is proposing a Central Terrestrial Government, whose representatives will be assigned by existing nations of Earth. The distribution of parliamentary seats will hive to be arbitrated."

  "I think you're nuts!" asserted Pounder. "Freyt, you may be a good soldier and an outstanding astronaut, but you don't know diddley about these matters. Say, what's that over there?"

  Freyt thought, The old boy is getting evasive. Something was in the air that didn't smell just right.

  He looked across at the emerging outlines of the shop buildings. There were countless hangars and towers; yet there were no smudgy signs of the usual industrial pollution.

  This clinically clean complex was capable of the greatest production in the world.

  "This is the plant for final assembly and staging," Freyt announced in clipped tones. "The federal spaceship yards of the Third Power. We carved that out of the ground in a little over three years, sir."

  "Complete industrial plants in only three years!" Pounder asked incredulously. "Rocket plants, test stands, final assembly shops?" Freyt, other people would only be finishing up the foundations of such a giant installation in merely three years."

  "Here 10,000 special robots have been put to work," Freyt explained with a slightly arrogant smile. "The machines we used accomplished all grading jobs with the help of high intensity antigravity fields. Normally, a job like that would have taken twenty years. It's hard to comprehend the magnitude of Arkonide resources."

  General Pounder gave up. It was foolhardy to argue with people who thought in superhuman concepts and utilized extraterrestrial machines.

  The car stopped at the red line. Before him, barely visible at this close range, the wall of inconceivable energy arched upward.

  "That's a five dimensional field structure," Freyt grinned.

  Pounder ignored the professorial remark. "Who's on the inside that I can negotiate with!" he asked.

  He peered into the land area enclosed by the energy shield. It was fruitful and blooming. Only a few buildings loomed inside, but they were tremendous. The Third Power government palace was a marvel of Arkonide architecture. White and immaculate, the gigantic structure shone upon the observer.

  "His Excellency the Minister of Security will probably condescend to receive you," Freyt said with the hint of a devilish smile. "The Minister of Security, Mr. Reginald Bell, has been most favorably disposed to your imminent visit."

  "Reg!" groaned the space force chief. "That's all I need!"

  That grinning, addle-pated, undisciplined dunderhead—the kid that was always on the brink of being demoted to second lieutenant—you say he is going to condescend to receive me! Well, you tell 'His Excellency' that I might just possibly be inclined to recognize him as a spokesman for the Third Power, provided that he can scrape up the respect that a rookie should pay to a general!"

  Homer G. Adams was on the telecom, his expansive brow filling the width of the three dimensional color screen. The mysterious director of the General Cosmic Company, or GCC, was calling long distance from New York.

  "The chief is still en route? That's not good at all!" The man's voice rang coldly from the speaker. "Listen to me, Mr. Bell—I don't like the idea of you and General Pounder being alone together on this. You'll have to excuse my scruples in this matter, but I consider myself a pretty fair psychologist. Pounder is an outstanding officer. That fact in itself isn't so dangerous, but he's also a hell of a swell guy to whom you are indebted, and a man you hold in awe, whether you admit it or not. I say you are categorically unqualified to handle this; you've got to wait for the chief."

  The stocky man in the pastel green uniform of the Third Power twisted his mouth into a smile. Reginald Bell actually did feel unqualified in this instance. On Adams's distant picture screen his water blue eyes appeared like colorless flecks of light.

  "I'll bow to that opinion," he said, nodding. "What do you want, Adams? You're the one who set up this visit."

  "That's right, but I didn't know at the time that Perry Rhodan would be making a test flight. Mr. Bell, try to stall the general, or better yet, wait until I get to the Gobi. I don't think you're capable of handling a sharp negotiation like that. Pounder can wrap you around his finger."

  "You may be right; but then, that's why you're the Finance Minister," Bell grinned. "I'll admit I'd prefer to hug the old fire eater. It's been four long years since I've seen him. Are you available right now?"

  Adams hesitated. "Hm-m... bad. I'm tied up in conferences with a Latin American mining corporation. You're in need of cheap copper, aren't you?"

  Reginald Bell remained silent. Unconsciously, he fingered the shining rank insignia on the left breast of his flight uniform, meanwhile confessing to himself, with a feeling of uncertainty, that the deal with Pounder was becoming elusive already—and they hadn't even started it yet.

  "I'd feel subordinate to him, all right—emotionally so, I'm afraid," he said with unaccustomed gravity. "I'm fond of him. Pounder has gone through hell for us. He's taught us everything that we are putting to good use now. Without him we'd never have got started to the moon. Forget what you're doing and get out here, Adams. You've become the number one business tycoon, so you ought to be able to stash one of your own confabs."

  Homer G. Adams, the mutant with the eidetic memory, a man known as the greatest financial genius of all time, revealed a warm, human smile. "That's why I called you," he said. "We don't want to make any mistakes, right? I'll get started at once. Is there anything else?"

  But then Adams tensed as he noted the other's suddenly rigid countenance. Simultaneously over the perfect sound system came a shrill howl. Reginald Bell changed abruptly into the man with the cold eyes. Something was up.

  "Mr. Bell!" shouted Adams, alarmed. "What's happening?"

  "Abort that trip for now, Adams. Stand by till you hear from me. This is an alert—over and out!"

  Adams watched the concave picture screen of the telecom fade. He remained motionless behind his desk. His office suite in the giant skyscraper suddenly seemed empty and desolate.

  Seconds later, he heard the high pitched siren howl. It rang out less harshly here in the city than in the government palace of the Third Power, but its impact was the same.

  Homer G. Adams was not a man who could be unnerved by a mere blast of sound. Most definitely not in this age when the young Third Power under Perry Rhodan, former major and test pilot of the U.S. Space Force, was now the economic, political, and military center of the planet Earth. The fact that this great conglomerate of power was the result of the productive capacity and superior intelligence of an alien race from the stars was of secondary importance. The main reality was that a relatively petty pigmy state in the center of the Asiatic mainland, after its initial difficulties, had already been recognized.

  Because of this, the General Cosmic Company was on a very firm footing. Adams was in the process of revolutionizing the entire global economy by means of Arkonide technology and production. According to last reports, the share capital of GCC had climbed to 200 billion dollars. Newly subscribed issues in the amount of still another 70 billion were imminent. It was a sound business institution, clear and clean, which Homer G. Adams had brought into existence.

  Even for the fraction of a second, there was absolutely nothing that could cause this man to lose his head or his nerve. Therefore, it was doubly strange that he now listened to the howling notes with trembling body and wide staring eyes. Moments later the visual confirmation came through. A violet light began to flicker. Gradually its disturbing glow
replaced the natural light inside the half darkened office.

  Homer G. Adams started as though coming out of a deep trance.

  "No!" he whispered, as his lips paled. "Not that! Good God—not that!"

  2/

  "Move back, there!" shouted the young officer of the guard. "Are you blind or something? You can't come any farther. Back, I say! Get that car at least thirty yards behind the line!"

  The youngster was dripping with sweat. By the time the whine of the alert sirens subsided, the enclosed area of the Third Power looked as if all hell had broken loose.

  To make things worse, just now, of all times, a motorized transport column with a shipment of Mongolian machinery had arrived. But the lieutenant at the border station could not help the arriving Asiatics now. The Arkonides' fabulous positronic robot brain had taken complete control of the border. This was a machine that knew no compromise. From the instant of its first activating signal its programmed responses allowed humans exactly two minutes to get located safely. Then the energy gates were switched on. Now the circular fence of energy glowed and flamed along the borderline. It was absolutely deadly. Nothing could penetrate it, and any attempt to fly above the mysterious barrier of interwoven energy lines and spirals was inadvisable. The robot brain was connected to numerous radar stations, and it would not hesitate a second to pluck any flying infiltrator from the sky with concentrically positioned ray gun emplacements. Because that danger existed, a general warning had been broadcast.

  The lieutenant scurried back into a concrete bunker inside the energy screen. The heavy fighter robots, powerful machines with flexible weapon arms and miniature atomic power packs inside their body shells, now refused to accept human commands. They had been switched over to the robot brain's control.

  Moments later the automatic announcement came to all border posts and other control stations that the Condition One Alert had been established. No one could either leave or enter the area of the Third Power. The great dome of the force field, visible in the exact center of the 14,400 square mile land area, awakened with a blinding intensity. Its glistening brilliance pained the eye. It was as though a synthetic sun had come into existence there.