The Earth Dies Read online

  This key, however, was not actually effective any longer, because Rhodan's mutants had long since altered the computer data. Now the so-called Earth circled the star Betelgeuse.

  So far, so good.

  Topthor's mighty physique was also supported by a wide seat. The Mounders had lived for a long time on a planet of very heavy gravitation but in spite of their tremendous bodies they were astonishingly nimble and agile.

  The fleet hovered 12,000 light-years from Betelgeuse in readiness to make the final hypertransition and make a surprise raid on the Earth, whose defense forces could not have any advance knowledge of the imminent attack. Topthor lifted a communication lever on his command console.

  "Hey, Regol! Are you asleep on your post?"

  The answer did not sound in the least sleepy. "The communications central is on open reception standby, Topthor. We have not been able to make contact yet with Talamon."

  "Don't we have any secret frequency?"

  "No answer on the special frequencies, either. Talamon simply is not acknowledging our signals."

  Topthor hit another control lever and interrupted the communication with the radio central. For 2 minutes he cursed to himself before he reconnected the intercom.

  "Send Gatzek up here at once!"

  Gatzek was the second officer of the TOP 2 and a close confidant of Topthor. The 2 Mounders had experienced many a campaign and fought many battles together for solid cash paid for by wealthy Galactic Traders. However, this time the action did not concern itself with money or profits; this time, the action was necessary in order to eliminate an enemy who had become too powerful.

  Why didn't Talamon answer?

  Gatzek was comparatively lean and only weighed about a thousand pounds. "What's happening, Top? Attack?"

  "Not yet," growled Topthor peevishly. "Cekztel is taking too much time. In the meantime we're detecting a large number of hypertransits in the direction of Terra. I'm worried about that. It looks like Rhodan has been warned."

  For a moment or two Gatzek appeared to be frightened but then an incredulous grin spread across his broad face. "Who could have given him any warning?"

  Topthor did not elaborate on the subject. "I have not yet been able to make any contact with Talamon. Where could our friend be hiding?"

  Talamon...

  He was the only Springer who had established a friendly relationship with Rhodan, because the latter had once spared his life when 200 Mounder ships had been trapped in an inescapable situation. Moreover, Talamon had Rhodan alone to thank for the best business deal he had ever put over in his life.

  Naturally, no one was aware of the fact but Topthor entertained his own misgivings and had special reasons for reading strange conclusions into certain facts known to him alone. his last conversation with Talamon had made him very pensive.

  "Is he going to take part in the attack on Terra?" asked Gatzek.

  "Who among the Mounders is not going to take part in it, even if he has one ship?" retorted Topthor with a counter question. "Our attack fleet has grown to more than 800 vessels but Talamon hasn't shown up with even a lifeboat. Do you have any reasonable explanation for that?"

  Gatzek shrugged his massive shoulders. "Do you think maybe he's afraid?"

  Topthor actually became incensed by this inference and dismissed the possibility with an impatient wave of his hand. "Fear? Talamon and fear? I'm afraid he has other reasons. He has a streak of loyalty for Rhodan."

  "With a Terranian who is as good as dead?" marveled Gatzek. Then he roared with laughter. "Why do we concern ourselves about Talamon? If he doesn't want to, then he can stay out of it. We can handle this Rhodan all by ourselves. He certainly won't be able to accomplish anything against 800 ships."

  He was basically correct in his statement but fortunately he did not suspect just how correct he was.

  "Talamon is my friend," Topthor explained. "I don't like to see my friend go down the wrong road and end up paying dire consequences for it. We have to warn him."

  "And how are you going to do that if he doesn't reply to your signals?"

  Topthor didn't know the answer himself and he didn't have any further opportunity to ponder the matter because at this moment the loudspeaker of the intercom crackled and Regol's dispassionate voice said, "The transition co-ordinates and the schedule are coming through now. The attack against the Earth will begin in exactly 30 minutes." Immediately Topthor appeared to have forgotten about Talamon. Nodding to his subordinate, Gatzek, he returned a question: "Mere will we come out after the transition?"

  "Right in the middle of the Terra system. A reconnaissance ship has verified the calculations. We will emerge from hyperspace within less than 2 light-minutes from Terra."

  "Those characters are certainly in for a big surprise," growled Topthor. He was the only Mounder who had ever seen the Earth but at that time Rhodan had thrown a monkey wrench into his calculations. In spite of it all, Rhodan had spared his life but Topthor was not the type to acknowledge such favors. "This time he's not going to be so lucky!"

  "That is to be hoped," remarked Gatzek. And suddenly he didn't sound overly confident.

  On the other hand, Topthor had another motive for his own uneasy feelings: Talamon. He knew that his friend was an exceptionally shrewd man, one who would never make such a decision without very vital reasons, because this decision could destroy his entire career. If Talamon was not joining in this attack, he must have had doubts from the start as to the success of the action. Why? Did he really know Rhodan so well that he was able to evaluate the chances or was he holding back because of gratitude. Did he feel that he was not justified in attacking Rhodan because the latter had at one time made him a present of his own life?

  A Springer and a Mounder—a sentimentalist?

  Topthor gave a forced laugh and stamped into the communications central. "Well, Regol, what's with Talamon?"

  "Our call signals remain unanswered, Topthor. Your friend has refused to announce himself. No one knows where he is located."

  Topthor remained silent for some time, then turned suddenly and went back into the control room. He sat down heavily in his seat, which complained audibly under the heavy load.

  Gatzek waited patiently. He saw by the mood Topthor was in that it was better to remain silent.

  For Topthor's countenance revealed not only an agony of curiosity but also a sudden expression of doubt.

  • • •

  And finally there was still Talamon, for whom Topthor had searched so desperately. Of course, he played a relatively unimportant role in this galactic game of chess, because he was not putting in an appearance at all. But that was precisely what filled Topthor with both anger and uncertainty.

  In spite of it all, he operated on his own cognizance in not responding to the summons of his patriarch, Cekztel, and when he did not place a single ship at their disposal for the planned attack on the Earth. Why should he add injury to Rhodan? Had it not been Rhodan, himself, who had made him a millionaire, who had spared his life, who had proved to him that a code of ethics could exist between alien races?

  No. Talamon saw no cause to betray Rhodan. Somewhere in the Milky Way, he stood by with his fleet of 200 ships. He sent out reconnaissance scoutships and remained silent but with his communications equipment in a constant reception mode.

  He was firmly resolved to come to Rhodan's assistance should it prove to be necessary. His attempts to warn the Terranian remained without result. At least he had not received an answer. He continued meanwhile to monitor all transmissions of the assembling Springer fleet and was completely current on the status of the operation. He also picked up Topthor's radio call but did not answer it.

  And so it came to be that a considerable force lurked in the background and waited for the moment when it should enter into the developing events. It was a force of which no one was aware.

  Not even Perry Rhodan...

  2/ RED SOL? WRONG GOAL!

  On board the Titan, everythin
g was under control. Chief Communications Officer Martin had just recuperated from a good sleep and had returned to his post when a strange pulse-coded signal began to be received with unusual strength. The transmission contained only one word that was not coded: " Rhodan!"

  All the rest was gibberish.

  Martin was experienced enough to record the transmission several times on tape before advising the Chief. Rhodan came at once. He appeared to be fresh and rested.

  "Yes, what is it, Martin?"

  The Communications officer played the tape. Rhodan listened silently for awhile. Then he smiled and pointed to the positronic computer console.

  "Turn on decoder program XX-13 and run the tape through. Re-record the decoded message and put it through to the Control Central. I'm going to relieve Bell."

  Martin turned to his task while Rhodan opened the door of the Control Central and left the Com section. In the control room, Bell sat slumped in the command seat and turned around wearily. A weak grin

  swept over his wide features as he recognized Rhodan.

  "It's about time somebody came to spell me off. I can hardly stand on my legs."

  "If my knowledge of anatomy doesn't fail me, you are sitting on your legs, but extremely high up."

  "Good grief! Does everybody have to take me so literally?" Bell complained peevishly. "I just wanted to

  say that I've had it; I'm tired!"

  "Then go get yourself some sack time, you sack of potatoes," Rhodan advised and he pulled his friend out of the seat. "Things may be breaking loose around here and we don't want to have any old tired-out soldiers standing in our way."

  This observation revived Bell with amazing swiftness. "It's breaking loose? What's breaking loose? You don't mean to stand there and tell me we're finally going to tap the old button!?" Rhodan nodded in the direction of the Com. Central.

  "We just picked up a dispatch. If I'm not too mistaken, I think it's coming from Talamon."

  "From the Mounder? What does he want from us, anyway?"

  "That we'll soon know. At any rate, he's following our agreement and sending the signal with just my name decoded."

  Martin ducked his head into the room. "I have decoded the message. Do you want me to...?"

  "Spin it off—relay it in here!" ordered Rhodan and switched on his intercom equipment. Seconds later the tape was running in the Com room and the message could be heard in its decoded form.

  "Yep," confirmed Rhodan happily. "There's no doubt that that's the bellowing voice of our friend Talamon. He must have been plenty worried about us to take the chance of sending us a call."

  Bell did not answer. He listened tensely to what was now ringing through the loudspeaker.

  "Rhodan, this is Talamon! The Earth is in grave danger. In exactly 20 minutes the Earth is going to be attacked by a fleet under top command of Cekztel and with Topthor as chief pilot. Your position is now known. I am waiting for your instructions. I am not joining the attack. I repeat: Rhodan, this is Talamon! The Earth is in grave danger. In less than 20 minutes..."

  Bell nodded approvingly. "Well, will you get that—the old walrus! He's actually leveling with us and wants to warn us. I wouldn't have thought him capable of it."

  "When this is over with," promised Rhodan, "we won't forget him for it. He turned off the speaker equipment. Then he leaned back comfortably in the upholstered chair. "Well, what about that shuteye you were going to take? I mean, you were so tired..."

  "Tired...?!" drawled Bell. His red hair was bristling. "I'm supposed to hit the sack when the war is going to start in 20 minutes?"

  "You shouldn't forget," advised Rhodan calmly, "that Martin received that dispatch 10 minutes ago. The decoding alone took 6 minutes."

  "10 minutes!" Bell's eyes opened wide and round. "That means that in exactly 10 minutes the Springers... Holy jumping Jehosephat! What are we still doing here?"

  "10 minutes..." Rhodan consulted his watch and corrected himself. "9 minutes are enough time if we know how to use them." He pressed a button. "Martin, set up a connection with Deringhouse. I will join you." He cut off the intercom and got up. "The whole show is on the air—even if we don't move a finger. Now we have to roll along with it and do everything we can to influence it in our favor. And naturally, that's what we're going to do. Do you intend to stay awake?"

  "The devil with sleep!" growled Bell and stumbled along after Rhodan, who went into the Com room again where the hypercom transmitter was already in operation.

  Deringhouse responded at once.

  "This is the latest information," said Rhodan and glanced again at his watch. "In 7 minutes and 30 seconds the Springers will materialize in the Betelgeuse system. We must be there ahead of them because I don't know how Topthor is going to react when he realizes his mistake. We have to see to it that he doesn't have any time to clear up his confusion or explain to anybody what is going on. The Springers have to regard Betelgeuse as Earth's sun. Other than Khrest, Thora and Pucky, Topthor is the only non-human who has ever seen the true Earthly sun and committed its position to memory. So the Springers have to be engaged as soon as they put in an appearance."

  "That's what the Topides are waiting for," observed Deringhouse.

  "That's fine but we ought to give them a hand. We'll hytrans to Betelgeuse in exactly 7 minutes. Deringhouse, I want you to attack the first Springer ship that you can track. But don't hang in there and try to slug it out. I don't want you to stay more than one minute in any particular place. Transit jumps are more important than fighting. The Springers have to believe that they're dealing with a whole fleet of heavy cruisers. Give the same set of instructions to McClears. Is that understood?"

  "Understood, sir. What are you going to do?"

  "Well, the Titan's going to join you and since we're the only 3 spherical ships around it's doubtful we'll make the mistake of shooting each other."

  Deringhouse's next question came in an urgent tone. "Why don't we simply destroy Topthor's ship and clear all complications out of the way? If he and his Nav computer are destroyed, nobody can correct the error any more."

  Rhodan smiled coldly. "We're dealing with hundreds of cylindrically shaped vessels that are almost identical. Do you think that you'll be able to locate Topthor at first glance?"

  There was a short pause, then Deringhouse asked, "And what if I should just happen to succeed in identifying him?"

  Now it was Rhodan's turn to pause. Swiftly he considered the question although he knew that there was only one answer he could give. Naturally Deringhouse had the best chance of identifying Topthor because there were 11 mutants on board the Centurion and if Topthor was dead...

  "If you locate Topthor, destroy his ship."

  "Thank you, sir. I'll give it a try. Is there anything else?"

  Rhodan looked at his watch, which was an activity he would be repeating quite often in the next few minutes. "The hypertransition of the Springers will be in... 3 minutes 50 seconds. Good luck, Deringhouse!"

  Rhodan turned around and almost collided with Bell, who had taken up a position behind him. Without comment, he went past him and picked up the coordinate data from the Nav computer for the forthcoming hypertransition.

  "Have a seat, big boy. In 5 minutes, you'll be able to marvel at the giant star Betelgeuse—if you have any time for sightseeing."

  • • •

  "I'll bet you," said Pucky, "that I'll be the first one to locate Topthor's ship. Okay?"

  Deringhouse raised his hands in a horrified gesture of defense against the mouse-beaver. "Look, I'll bet the devil any time, but I'll never take a bet with you again under any circumstances. My fingers are still sore from scratching your back and I still have to pay for 200 carrots!"

  "Well, anyway, I'm going to find Topthor," Pucky persisted and ignored the Commander's protests. "And then I'll jump on him and I'll twist his neck for him."

  Deringhouse grinned while activating the controls that automatically committed the ship to the hypertransition to the
Betelgeuse system. "That I would like to see. I'll admit you're a telepath, a teleporter and a telekinetic expert but I didn't know that you were also a wrestler. But have fun..."

  "You don't believe me?" asked Pucky in a strangely ominous tone. As he leaned back in the upholstered couch, there was an unholy expression on his crafty little rodent face. "I've already handled robots and..."

  "Well, Topthor isn't the only one to consider," Deringhouse reminded him as he moved a lever into a countdown start position. "His whole ship has to be destroyed. You forget that the actual coordinate data for the Earth are still contained in the positronic registers because they can't be erased. Naturally Topthor is important; the Mounder is no idiot. He's going to realize at once that he's landed in the wrong solar system and he'll start getting suspicious."

  John Marshall, the leader of the Mutant Corps, entered the Control Central of the Centurion. He nodded to the mouse-beaver and then turned to Deringhouse. Since he was a telepath, he naturally knew already what Pucky had been discussing.

  "It will be the task of the Mutant Corps to trace down this fellow Topthor, Major, so why don't we let Pucky take on the mission, since he's so sure of himself?"

  "I don't have any objections," answered Deringhouse cautiously. I only objected to making a bet with him. I certainly have a right to steer clear of him on that score if I don't want to return to the Earth a pauper and half crippled."

  Marshall grinned and had to agree with him. Pucky was satisfied. Deringhouse felt relieved and thought of the task that lay before him.

  Then the Centurion transited into hyperspace.

  It made the jump simultaneously with the Terra, its sister ship. The 2 gigantic, spherical vessels, 600 feet each in diameter, reentered the normal continuum of space 5 light-minutes distant from Betelgeuse 3.

  All weapon stations were fully manned. The defense screens began to function automatically. In the Communications Central, meanwhile, Capt. Lamanche strove to pick up all reliable information he could from the intercepted radio traffic in order to determine the next course of action. Excitement ran high on board the Centurion.