Blazing Sun Read online

  The other three...

  They regrouped for a new attack and the manner in which they did showed only too clearly that thinking beings were at the controls. But Rhodan had no intention of taking that into consideration in his counterattack. He wanted to set a terrifying example. Druufs on one side and Springers on the other could be only impressed by force.

  "Attack!" he ordered for the second time inside a few seconds.

  Grenoble and Raft were witnesses to an event which previously they could only have imagined in a dream. Filled with admiration, they watched their chief, Perry Rhodan, standing next to Col. Sikerman at the controls and giving his orders. The Administrator's eyes were a little narrower than usual but otherwise his face showed no signs of excitement. And yet Rhodan had just pronounced the death sentence for several hundred Druufs. He would not do it without reason, for when he could avoid it, Rhodan preferred not to kill his enemies. When he killed them, it was only to save the lives of others.

  The Drusus wheeled about and climbed into the sky at a crazy speed towards the waiting Druufs which had now recovered from their surprise. They had allowed the time that had remained to them for fleeing to tick by without doing anything. On the contrary: they attacked the Drusus, seemingly scorning death.

  Two of them streaked straight into the destructive fire of the battlespacer and then hurtled relentlessly to the surface of the planet below. Finally the third ship had turned away soon enough to avoid destruction and increased its speed. Rhodan noted with satisfaction that it was taking course towards the two tiny points of light between the stars.

  "Follow it but don't destroy it," he said to Sikerman.

  The two observers—Springers or Aras—evidently recognized the danger threatening them for in the space of two seconds the points of light vanished. The structural sensor of the Drusus registered two hypersprings of low intensity.

  Rhodan smiled grimly. "There is no longer any need to destroy the Druufs," he told Sikerman. "We'll let them return to their own universe and report what we do to intruders. Perhaps then they'll see how pointless it is, trying to set up a base in this universe."

  "The Druuf ship is changing its course," Sikerman replied, unmoved.

  Rhodan nodded. "Yes, in the direction of the discharge cone. Good, Colonel. Prepare the Drusus for the spring. We're going back."

  "Aren't we going to examine the seven destroyed ships?"

  "Why should we?"

  "Clues. Perhaps they aren't the first ships there—there might already be a base on the planet."

  "It isn't very probable, Colonel. But if you really think so..."

  Their research proved fruitless. The seven ships were destroyed beyond recognition and offered no data about their crews or their mission. Moreover, Rhodan found no indications that Druuf ships had ever been there before.

  Reassured that he had left no stone unturned, he finally gave Sikerman the order to return to the discharge cone.

  The Springer commanders, he knew, had already been informed of what had happened.

  • • •

  Just as Lt. Grenoble and Sgt. Raft had been sent out in their Gazelle to return to their mothership, a hypercom call came in from Arkon.

  The hypercom installation lay next to the Drusus control room and was manned by the personnel on duty. Lt. Stern had just been relieved, so it was Cadet Hans-Otto Fabian who came running into the control room, showing the signs of utmost excitement. "Sir! There's a call from Arkon!"

  Rhodan, just then in conversation with Sikerman, whirled around. "From Arkon? Is it the Imperator himself?"

  "Yes sir. Gonozal VIII wishes to speak with you."

  Rhodan left Sikerman standing where he was, walked past Fabian and went into the radio room. He stopped before the oval hypercom vidscreen, on which the sharply focused features of Atlan could be seen.

  Atlan the immortal Arkonide called himself in, accordance with ancient custom, Gonozal VIII now that he had replaced the Robot Brain on Arkon in rulership over the Imperium. A fleeting smile flitted over his tense features when he saw Rhodan. "Hello, barbarian! I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

  Rhodan smiled back and sat down. He knew that Atlan could now see him. What was unimaginable fantasy just 100 years before was now taken for granted: communications over tens of thousands of light-years—without any loss of time.

  "You never interrupt anything that is more important than your calling," Rhodan answered, mildly ironically, "but I assume that you have a reason for wanting to talk to me. Where's the fire?"

  "I don't know if there's a fire but at least there's some smoke."

  "The races of the Arkonide Imperium?"

  "Yes, them! They have been rebellions ever since I deposed the Robot Brain. The merciless strictness of the Robot Brain was feared and obeyed. Now, however, an Arkonide with heart and soul is ruling once more. There are intelligences trying to take advantage of that. True, I have the same power as the Robot Brain but I have scruples too—and people know that."

  "In other words, you're having the same problems I am. I myself just had to show our friends the Springers with an impressive demonstration of might against the Druufs how strong and determined the Terrans are. And what do you propose to do? Shall I turn a planet into a ball of energy for you?"

  "Nothing so dramatic, Perry," said Atlan, shaking his head. "That can wait until later if they aren't any more reasonable. What I need are capable men to work with, capable Arkonides and not cowards and donks—of which there are more than enough on Arkon already. I'll give you this much, barbarian—my race is degenerate. But merely 1,000 or 10,000 Arkonides of the old sort would suffice to make the Imperium what it was once more. Will you help me with it?"

  "Aren't I doing it already?" asked Rhodan.

  Atlan nodded, smiling, as though asking for an apology. "Of course you're doing it, old friend, but I spoke of yet another possibility. I spoke of the old Arkonides that I lack for leading the Imperium. I need officers for my ships, commanders for my training schools, directors for the hypno-universities, managers for the automatic factories, programmers for the army of robots and..."

  "Hold it a second!" Rhodan interrupted, throwing up his hands defensively. "The way you talk, you sound like you want to raise an entire generation of action-ready Arkonides just like that! Atlan, you can't get something where there isn't anything."

  "There is something there," Atlan replied meaningfully. "Or has your memory declined in your old age?"

  Rhodan was surprised for a moment. He had no idea what Atlan was getting at. He could only ask in all honesty, "What do you mean?"

  "You really don't know? Well, I'll have to remind you of a small incident that took place eight or nine months ago, earth-time. At that time, you had been given up for dead and I wasn't yet Imperator of Arkon. It was the end of 2043. Then a fast cruiser under Commander Wilmar Lund returned to Earth, bringing Pucky with it. Pucky was the one who gave us a rather peculiar report. Now do you remember?"

  "The Ship of Ancestors!" Rhodan exclaimed. He remembered. So that was what Atlan was referring to.

  "Yes."

  "I'm listening," said Rhodan calmly.

  "I'll refresh your memory. I need Arkonides of the old school to build up the stellar empire. Perhaps if I'm lucky I'll find a few hundred. But I need more. Thousands of them. So—the Ship of Ancestors! During a patrol flight, Pucky discovered an unguided ship of the Imperium class. He sprang on board and found 10,000-year-old Arkonides of the highest class, all in deep-sleep. 10,000 years ago, the ship took off with thousands of Arkonides aboard. Men and women. When they reached a certain age, robots put them forcibly into cold-sleep and stacked them in a special freezing chamber in the interior of the ship. The exact number of Arkonides preserved in that manner over the millenniums is unknown. According to Pucky's claims, there must be more than 100,000. Perry, I need those 100,000 Arkonides to rebuild the Arkonide Imperium."

  So that was it!

  Rhodan thought for a m
oment, looking pensively at Atlan, then said at length: "Then you want me search for the ship and bring it to Arkon for you?"

  "Yes. Am I asking too much?"

  "No, not at all. But you're altering a plan of your own forefathers. Do you know what the purpose of the Ship of Ancestors was?"

  "I don't know what purpose it originally had but I know only too well what purpose it can and must have now, Perry. The Ship of Ancestors and its valuable cargo are a gift from the gods, you might say. Pucky's discovery is a lead that we have to follow up on. The sleeping Arkonides are needed right now to save the empire. Perhaps it wasn't just chance that Pucky discovered the ship."

  "Help from Providence, perhaps?" said Rhodan questioningly. "Alright, maybe you're right. Data concerning the Ship of Ancestors is stored in the positronic brain of the fast cruiser Arctic. Commander Lund is on Venus at the moment—he and his men are undergoing training. I can seek him out there."

  The relief Atlan felt was evident in his face. I thank you, my friend. The Druuf menace will soon be over but then there will be new dangers. Up to now, the Druufs have been the ones who have held the people of the Imperium together because they were a common danger. When the danger disappears..."

  Rhodan also knew what Atlan meant. Perhaps the Ship of Ancestors offered the solution. They would have to see.

  "Take care that the discharge cone doesn't go unwatched," he told Atlan. "Don't pull any units back. In a few weeks, perhaps..."

  "I wish you much luck—for my own sake," Atlan answered. "There's something else that I must tell you: I have enemies! Mysterious forces are appearing everywhere and are struggling against me. The enemy can't be found—as if he's invisible or is capable of magic. I can't explain it in a few words but it's a certainty that all means are being used to shake Arkon's might. Perhaps this was going on before I became Imperator, I don't know, but the enemy must consider the current situation as especially favorable."

  "Enemy? And you don't know who he is? Springers, perhaps?"

  "I couldn't swear to it, Perry. Up to now I haven't been able to catch even one of these mysterious saboteurs. They work in shadow and seem to be the very personification of caution. But enough of that for now. Find the Ship of Ancestors and bring it to Arkon. I'll have ready for you and your men a welcome like no mortal has ever been given."

  "Now you're being too dramatic," smiled Rhodan, stretching his hand out to the video image. "You have my word that I'll search for the ship. You worry about the Druufs. I think you won't be having any more difficulties with them. Much luck to you, too, Atlan."

  They looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds and then the image dissolved. Each of the two extraordinary men knew that he could depend on the other—no matter what happened.

  When Rhodan returned to the control room and sent the radioman Fabian back to his post, his face was earnest. Col. Sikerman noticed it. "Bad news?" he inquired cautiously.

  Rhodan raised his head and looked at him. "No—not really. At least not for us. Arkon is having trouble." He paused for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the colorful vidscreens. Set up the spring coordinates, Colonel. We're going back to Earth. But first I want to give the units remaining here some instructions. Would you please take care of the necessary details?"

  The rest was routine.

  Two hours later, the Drusus began its long journey back to Earth.

  Long only in terms of distance.

  Not of time.

  • • •

  It was afternoon. Sunday afternoon.

  Even in Terrania, capital of the Earth, Sunday was observed as a day of rest. The gigantic complex of the city that had grown like wildfire where there was once only desert, seemed to be deserted. The straight lines of the avenues lay quietly under the burning Asian sun. Work was going only in the administration building. The nearby spaceport was also never without the necessary personnel.

  The once so-feared Gobi Desert had been converted here and there into fertile land. Nothing was reminiscent any longer of a desert, especially in the vicinity of the small salt sea where the bungalows of the city's inhabitants stood. Almost everyone owned a small piece of land with a vacation house where he and his family could spend the weekend. In an age of the highest civilization, freely chosen primitiveness among the simple pleasures of nature seemed to be the best way to relax.

  But not entirely without technology.

  The low bungalow stood somewhat elevated along the shore of the mirror-smooth Goshun Salt-sea. A tall antenna showed that its owner stood in contact with Terrania and could be called at any time.

  Otherwise Bell would have been unable to take a vacation.

  Reginald Bell, Rhodan's best friend and second-in-command, had spent the last three days at his weekend cottage. He needed no servants nor maids as the kitchen robots fulfilled his every wish.

  The cottage on the right belonged to Mercant who, however, was not there. The owner of the cottage on the left was present.

  The two pieces of ground were divided by a disorderly hedge. While Bell favored a wildly growing lawn, the neighbor seemed to be a devotee of flowers and vegetables. The bungalow was surprisingly low and small but the veranda was surrounded by a right-angled wreath of gorgeously blooming tulips. The latter came in five different colors and stretched their conspicuously large cups towards the blue sky.

  Below the veranda, rows of vegetables ran in straight lines down to the beach. An expert would have easily determined that the vegetables were mostly Daucus Carota vulgaris, otherwise known as carrots.

  Thus there can be no further doubt who Bell's neighbor was.

  Pucky the mouse-beaver.

  The little guy, about a meter high and covered with rust-brown fur, lay in the midst of his rows of vegetables on his back, blinking in the sun. With his broad beaver-tail he fended off the bothersome flies which had not died out even in an age of robots. His arms were folded across his chest. All in all, Pucky was the perfect picture of a contented small farmer enjoying his free day.

  It would have remained that way if Pucky had not also been a telepath besides being a teleporter and telekineticist in the Mutant Corps. Without wanting to, he picked up the most intensive thoughts of his nearest neighbors. Generally he ignored them and shut off the receiving portion of his brain but sometimes he listened in amusement.

  "The gardener's battery needs charging," someone somewhere off to the east was saying to his wife. "He only crawls now and needs nearly an hour just to water the flowers."

  Pucky shook his head. "Lousy bones!" he said disapprovingly, presumably meaning lazybones. I water my flowers and my carrots myself."

  His thoughts strayed onwards and reached the powerfully built man lying in the shallow shore waters of the sea, letting the sunshine on his brown belly. The red hair bristles were wet and stuck to his head. His eyes were closed and it looked as if the vacationer were sleeping.

  But he was not sleeping. Bell tended not to sleep in the water, not even here where the high salt content would not allow him to sink.

  "...I could do with a few more days of this," he thought contentedly and lazily. "I hope Rhodan stays away awhile longer. I've really earned this vacation. Freyt's taking care of the government business..."

  Pucky sat up a little and looked out over the garden-gone-wild of his neighbor to the right and down to the shore. Bell truly was lying in the water. And it looked as though the water was not as shallow as it had first seemed.

  Hm...

  Pucky cautiously set his powers into action. As carefully as possible for him, he slowly and unnoticeably pushed Bell away from the shore. The man did not feel it because no one was touching him. The telekinetic forcefield took hold of him and simply moved him along. So slowly that there was not even any movement of water.

  Pucky bared his incisor tooth and began to enjoy himself immensely. When Bell opened his eyes, he would have a surprise waiting for him. There were no currents in the Goshun Sea nor was there any wind. So it woul
d remain a mystery why Bell had floated off.

  The water supported objects surprisingly well. One could have read a newspaper without going under. Bell was now 200 meters from shore.

  Pucky grinned. He let Bell go and watched as the slightest shove sent the man into a slow spin. But Bell was still quiet and his eyes were still closed.

  Pucky now stood up and waddled quickly down to the shore. He held his hands in a cone before his mouth and called out with his shrill, resounding voice. "Hey! Reggie! Where are you going?"

  Bell's eyes snapped open. He looked around to all sides, surprised and shocked. He cried out and threw his arms up, as though searching for something to hold onto.

  There was nothing to hold onto. Bell went under like a rock, came up again immediately like a cork and stood up to his chest in the water. "Just wait!" he roared in the direction of the shore as he began to swim. He did not do very well at it for his body continually slid out of the water and his hands cut into the air instead of into the waves. Slowly, however, he neared the shore, where a grinning Pucky was waiting for him.

  "You probably think you're a life-boy, right?" he asked when Bell was still 10 meters from shore. "When you come to a fresh part of the lake, you'll drown like a cat."

  Bell's feet found solid ground and he waded out of the water. He shook his fist menacingly. "Are you trying to tell me I floated out into the lake without any help?" he raged without any proof of his suspicion. "Just wait, you furry little..."

  "It's always me," Pucky answered, offended, hopping back into his vegetable garden. The small diversion had been fun, no matter how harmless it might have been. "If I hadn't woken you up, Rhodan's second-in-command would have become a pickled herring. How can anyone go bathing in that stuff?"

  "It's better than not bathing at all," Bell answered suggestively, beginning to race up the slope of his property.

  "Do you mean me?" asked the mouse-beaver distrustfully.

  "Who the shoe fits..." said Bell evasively, throwing himself into a deck chair on his veranda. He suspiciously watched Pucky, who just then was pulling a carrot with some force out of the ground, cleaning it off and shoving it into his mouth. "By the way, the nice days will soon be gone."