Beware the Microbots Read online

  Everything had been done that was humanly possible.

  • • •

  Julian Tifflor performed his duty with an enthusiasm only a young officer could muster. His team consisted of four amphi-carplanes. The vehicles glided close above the ground along a high narrow valley. Tiff had arranged for the telecom connection with the Titan to be taken over by another vehicle every hour.

  Each amphi-carplane was occupied by five men who were equipped with compressor masks which were required outside the protected vehicle due to the insufficient oxygen content of the air. The masks dangled under their chins and could be fastened with switched-on compressors by a twist of the hand.

  2 hours had elapsed since they debarked from the Titan. Tiff saw to it that the vehicles advanced with moderate speed and were held close to the ground.

  The mountains looked desolate. Tiff followed the little creek coming down from the mountains and feeding the lake at the base of the cliffs. A 600-foot-wide strip with peculiar prairie plants ran through the valley to the sides of the naked rocks forming virtually vertical walls and rising thousands of feet up to the top of the mountains.

  The reddish light of the sun didn't penetrate very deep. Down where Tiff's four vehicles cautiously wended their way it was semi-dark, which was another reason Tiff proceeded slowly with the search.

  • • •

  Maj. Chaney made the mistake of treating his mission as a routine flight, which it would have been under normal circumstances—anywhere else. He considered it strictly as a reconnaissance flight to get the feel of the physical and geographic features of the land.

  The crews of the Gazelles had little to do. The synchronized automatic pilot kept the vehicles at a constant altitude of 100,000 feet and changed the course as they circled above the planet. The measuring instruments were designed to record everything without requiring their attendance.

  In his morose mood Chaney questioned the wisdom of sending him on this mission that could have been carried out in an unmanned flight by remote-controlled steering, forgetting that the synchromatic was incapable of conducting such difficult operations as air battles.

  On the other hand this was understandable. In the two hours the flight had already lasted the instruments registered not even a settlement of the natives let alone the base of an opponent who could have fighter planes at his disposal.

  • • •

  "Damn it, just when I'm beginning to think we get some light, the sun goes down!" Sgt. O'Keefe narrowed his eyes and stared at the pilot screen where the walls of the valley retreated to both sides and a high plain spreading out before them was barely visible.

  In the background to the right the murky red circle of the sun Thatrel had already half-disappeared below the horizon.

  It was the turn of the carplane in which Lt. Tifflor rode to maintain communications with the Titan. It was steered by O'Keefe, who lamented the fading light.

  "We're approaching an unobstructed mountain plain," Tiff reported to the officer on duty. "Request instructions whether to continue the search during the night."

  "The Chief said no," the officer replied. "You're to stop at a safe place and wait till dawn."

  "Very well, sir!"

  Tiff considered it inadvisable to leave the valley. He made O'Keefe move the vehicle to the southern wall of the valley and take cover beneath the cliffs. The other vehicles followed his lead.

  Watches were set up. The hum of the antigrav-motors faded and calm spread inside the carplanes.

  Julian Tifflor had picked one of the intermediate watches. Contrary to his custom he was wide-awake when his predecessor called him to change watches. "Anything unusual?" he whispered.

  "No, sir. All quiet."

  Tiff slid down from the seat on which he had stretched out and made room for the first guard. He went up front to the pilot seat and slouched in its soft contours.

  The observation screen showed the exit of the mountain valley in the bright shine of the countless stars radiating from the enormous globular cluster. The light was better than on a night with the full moon shining on Earth. Tiff was able to see clearly at least 600 feet away. One of the telecom sets was in service. The green control lamp glowed comfortingly in the semi-darkness. Carplane #4 kept in contact with the Titan at this hour but carplane #1 was ready to take over the communication at any moment.

  Tiff was satisfied that everything was in order. After 15 uneventful minutes he poured himself a cup of coffee which had been prepared by the man on duty before him and took a sip. While getting his coffee he had averted his glance from the observation screen for a few seconds. When he put down his cup and looked again at the screen, the picture had changed.

  The tall spindly figure of a native stood out against the star-studded sky. Tiff saw the stranger raise his arm and wave. After a minute he repeated the gesture.

  Without looking, Tiff flicked the switch of the telecom. A second screen lit up. "Get off the line!" Tiff ordered. "I've got to call the Titan." The picture flickered for a second and became clear again. It was Capt. Brian aboard the Titan. "I've got something for you," Tiff announced and transmitted his observation to Brian's screen.

  "Why is he waving?"

  "He's been doing that ever since he appeared, sir. He probably wants us to come out." Brian looked up. Tiff disconnected his observation screen so that the captain saw his face again.

  "Of course you're not going to do it," Tiff smiled.

  "Is that an order or good advice, sir?" Capt. Brian hesitated.

  "Why, it's an advice of course. Do you know a better way?"

  "I could go out..."

  "...and get yourself poisoned?"

  "To begin with I'd put on a spacesuit for protection and secondly I don't have any intention of getting so close to the man that I can reach him or his Nonues with my hand. And thirdly I've got 19 men to back me up who'll keep a sharp eye on me." Brian scratched his head. "You know," he growled, "the Chief wants me to let you have a free hand. If you promise to be as careful as possible I don't want to talk you out of it. But look out! That codger might have another 100 men with him hiding behind the rocks."

  "I'll watch myself, sir," Tiff promised.

  "O.K. Relay the picture again! That'll be all." The men in car #1 had been awakened by the conversation. They sat up on the benches and stared at the observation screen.

  "What did he do in the meantime?" Tiff inquired. While talking to Brian he'd had no time to watch the native.

  "He's raising his hand each minute and waves," O'Keefe reported.

  Tiff slipped into his protective suit. The elastic covering was made of an especially tough plastic material. Since it had been designed to withstand cosmic dust particles up to a certain size, it should be able to protect him from the touch of a Nonue or even the native himself. "O'Keefe, warn the other vehicles! Order state of alarm #III"

  Before Tiff had closed his suit the crews reported back. Twenty men were alerted. Tiff felt reassured. He removed the compressor mask since his suit had its own oxygen supply. Before locking his helmet he told O'Keefe: "Keep in touch with me! Don't do anything without my instructions!"

  Then he flipped the spherical helmet with the wide faceplate, the circular grid of the outer mike and the small cone of the amplifier, over his head.

  A corporal opened the hatch and Tiff stepped outside. He saw the native raising his hand to wave again. When he saw Tiff's figure emerge from the shadow of the carplane and the mountain wall, he dropped his hand and waited motionlessly.

  Tiff slowly walked toward him, casually carrying his impulse-beamer in his right hand.

  • • •

  "The radar set is out of order, sir," Sgt. Dee complained. "It's making double images."

  Maj. Chaney was a radar expert. He unfastened himself and shuffled across the room to Dee. Wordlessly Dee pointed to the oscilloscope of the Gazelle. Normally the screen showed the transmitted impulse and below it the smaller reflected blip. The distance between
the grid lines was a measurement of the distance between the sender and the reflector, in this case, the surface of Honur.

  What Chaney saw, however, and what worried Dee, was a third tiny impulse visible below the reflected blip. Chaney turned a few knobs. The impulse dots faded but each time they appeared again the little blip was also present, causing Dee to conclude that the radar wasn't functioning properly.

  Maj. Chaney called the other Gazelles. Their oscillographs showed the same picture and the observers had drawn the same conclusions about their instruments as Sgt. Dee.

  "Something's wrong," Chaney murmured rather confused. "The third impulse is genuine. Is the oscilloscope still on?"

  "As always, sir."

  "Good, then we can..."

  He didn't get a chance to say what they could do. A terrible jolt knocked Chaney and all those who weren't fastened to their seats off their feet and hurled them to the floor. The shrill whine of the alarm signal started up the same instant.

  The men screamed in surprise. Dazed, Chaney pulled himself up, grabbing the back of a chair. He felt a peculiar light sensation in his stomach and realized the same moment that the neutralizers had stopped functioning.

  Chaney saw the lighted indicator of the altitude meter sinking rapidly. He crawled back to the telecom as quickly as he could and saw Capt. Brian's troubled face on the screen.

  "We're going to crash!" Chaney shouted above the din of the alarm sirens. "I guess we're caught in a tractor beam."

  "We've got your position," Brian replied. "Try to pull your machines out of the dive. We'll be with you in a few minutes."

  Brian disappeared from the videoscreen and Chaney eased himself into the pilot seat. With great determination he shoved up the thrust lever of the engines as far as it would go.

  A second jolt shook the Gazelle. The fall was braked. Chaney glanced at the altimeter and saw he was still losing height but no worse than in a steep downward glide. His face broke into a grim smile.

  It took a few seconds to send the message to the other machines. They all pulled out of the dive at 20,000 feet and went down to the ground in a flat curve.

  Suddenly Chaney had an idea. The telecom screen still showed the empty place of the officer on duty in the Command Center of the Titan. Chaney pressed the alarm buzzer till Capt. Brian showed up again. "A suggestion, Captain!" Chaney panted. "Call back your men! We've pulled out and will manage to make a fair landing. I think our enemy will come to inspect what he shot down. Your people would only drive him away."

  Brian agreed at once. "Alright, sir. I'll hold the men back and wait till you've landed. If you land smoothly we won't come to help you."

  "Thank you!"

  Chaney turned to his men. "Fasten your seat belts and pull in your necks! You might get a big bang."

  Lt. Hathome, pilot of machine G-021 called, "I'm going to touch down, sir. The terrain looks quite favorable."

  "Good luck, Hathome!"

  The G-021 was the last machine to pull out of the plunge. Hathome was therefore the first to approach the ground.

  Chaney took a last look at his radar relief profile. Hathome was right: the terrain was the best a pilot could wish for a crash-landing. Flat as a pan. Around the edges of the picture the landscape was highly uneven. Probably mountains of considerable height. The area directly below the three Gazelles seemed to be a high plain.

  The G-021 appeared as a little bright blip on the radar screen. Chaney watched as its movement suddenly slowed down and its direction changed. From the receiver still tuned in to the G-021 came a resounding roar, the screeching of tearing metal and finally a thunderous crash. Then everything was quiet.

  "Hathome?" No answer. "Hathome...?"

  Finally a weak voice, "Yes, yes-sir...?"

  "Did you all make it?"

  "I think so, sir. Yes, they're back on their feet again." Chaney's attention was diverted. His altimeter showed only 500 feet. The G-020 was about to hit the ground together with the G-022. He braced himself firmly against the pilot console. When the altimeter almost reached zero he blasted the last bit of energy out of the forejets to brake his speed. A violent blow struck the machine. Chaney saw that the radarscope began to rotate and that the blurred shadows on the observation screen bounced wildly around. An infernal noise drowned out the moaning of his men. Chaney held his breath till the final crash came, which meant that the G-020 had run into an obstacle and that its momentum had been stopped.

  Chaney's head hit a hard object and he was knocked out for a few moments. When he came to again it was still around him except for some scratching noises made by the men trying to get back on their feet. "Everybody here?" Chaney asked.

  They answered with a loud "Yes!" out of pure joy that they had got away with their lives. It was dark inside the Gazelle. The power generators had quit working, putting the transmitter out of commission as well. The telecom screen was blank.

  "Let's get out of here!" Chaney bellowed. "But keep under cover of the machine!"

  They snapped the helmets of their protective suits shut and climbed out. The hatch worked perfectly since it was connected to its own emergency power supply, being the only exit and entrance to the ship. Chaney waited quietly till the noise from the mikes abated and then called over the helmet radio:

  "Hathome? Crimson?"

  Hathome reported at once but from the G-022 came the answer: "Lt. Crimson is unconscious, sir. This is Sgt. Halligan speaking."

  "How many of you have been hurt, Halligan?"

  "Two, sir."

  "Alright! Hathome, this goes for you tool Take your weapons and leave your ships. We'll be hiding under our machine. Don't use your searchlights—and hurry up!"

  Hathome and Halligan got the message and Chaney signed off. He picked up the heavy disintegrator from the floor. It had scooted across the room under the strong impact and put a big dent into a console. Then he too left through the hatch.

  Outside the view was brighter than it had appeared to Chaney when he last looked at the observation screen. The M13's voluminous mass of stars covered the northern firmament like a huge bunch of grapes and cast a light of considerable magnitude.

  Chaney's men crouched in the shadow of the machine, which was shaped like an ellipsoid. They held their weapons at the ready and stared out into the semi-darkness.

  As they waited Chaney tried to guess what action the Titan would take. All communication was lost since the emergency landing. If Chaney could have given his advice to Capt. Brian he would have recommended leaving the other Gazelles on board if he didn't want to come with the Titan itself. The suction effect of the field produced by their unseen enemies were so strong the best efforts of the Gazelles' engines were no match for it. If Brian's rescue team used the same reconnaissance crafts they would fare no better than the three machines, G-020, 021 and 022.

  Unfortunately the telecom was inoperable and Chaney had no way of informing the Titan of his experiences.

  While he racked his brain about this his helmet receiver clicked and he. heard Halligan's voice: "We can see your machine from here, sir. We'll be with you in 15 minutes."

  "Alright," Chaney muttered. "What do you hear from Hathome?"

  "Nothing so far, sir."

  However Hathome soon called in from a greater distance. "We're just passing Crimson's machine. We should be there in about half an hour."

  Chaney peered anxiously into the distance. He didn't expect the machines to come down so far apart. A lot of things could happen in half an hour and 15 minutes had already elapsed since the crash-landing.

  But for the present he could see nothing that looked suspicious. There was little Chaney could do except urge Hathome and Halligan again to speed up.

  • • •

  Tiff stopped at a distance of 30 feet from the skinny figure. "What do you want?" he inquired, using the Arkonide language.

  The Approved People—or Honos as the crew of the Titan had baptized them—spoke a variation of the

  A
rkonide language.

  The lean figure started to move. When Tiff saw that the Hono wanted to walk toward him, he called: "Stay where you are and tell me what you want!"

  The Hono complied obediently and answered: "I'd like to show you something." His voice sounded ridiculously high and thin in the oxygen-poor atmosphere.

  "Like what?" Tiff demanded. "Do you have some more Nonues for us to pat so we can get poisoned too?"

  "You shouldn't talk so nasty about our Nonues," the Hono quickly replied. "They're very friendly and we can't live without them. No, there's something else I want to show you—a track of the Gods."

  Tiff laughed. "Since when do your Gods leave tracks?"

  To be truthful Tiff was not in a very scornful mood. Perry Rhodan was convinced that the mysterious Gods of the Honos were somehow connected with his invisible enemies. The offer would have sounded very tempting to Tiff if he hadn't learned already that a real Hono would never think of betraying his Gods even if they were so careless as to leave a trail behind.

  The man was obviously putting on an act and he did it with so much insistence as to be incompatible with the nature of a Hono. Tiff was convinced that the unknown foe was setting a trap for him and he tried to gain time. "Why do you want to put us on the trail of the Gods?" he queried.

  The Hono raised both arms in an explanatory gesture. This was unusual too because gestures meant physical efforts, which the Honos strictly avoided.

  "I belong to a clan that is considered less pure by the others," he explained. "We're virtual outcasts and shun all relations with the Approved ones. When we learned what happened to you we wanted to help you."

  "And what guarantee do I have that you aren't leading us into a trap?"

  The Hono took his time before answering. "Why would I do that?" he finally asked. "You're so much stronger than we are and you can kill me any time you become suspicious. I'd be very foolish to expose myself to such a danger."