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  The important thing was that an enemy observer could overbear a message so transmitted and track down the sender—with some ease under these circumstances—only if it by chance passed through the directional beam. The probability of such an event was so slight no one took it into consideration.

  So Terra's security was insured. The transmittal of the conversation from relay station to relay station followed the same principle. The Robot Regent had no chance of learning anything about the Earth's galactic position in this manner.

  The Regent replied with a common all-directional sender. He would not have known in what direction to aim a directional beam.

  The conversation that Perry Rhodan had with the Robot Regent on the evening of 11 December 2043 was brief but significant.

  "I find myself in an unpleasant situation," Rhodan explained. "A top officer in my fleet has revealed himself as a traitor and with a few like-minded cohorts he left the Earth in a stolen spaceship. I don't know where these men will go. I would be grateful to you if you would let me know as soon as they fall into the hands of one of your ships, if it happens that they do. It's not that the men are especially important, they don't even have any vital information that could damage me. It's the principle of the thing that I'm concerned about: a deserter must be punished."

  The Regent acknowledged that and promised his help, and since in spite of all modulation—no emotions could be detected in his voice, there was nothing in it to suggest that it considered Rhodan's motivations spurious.

  A man does not call a person a 'top officer' and then immediately say he is not important. The Robot Regent was certain that if he could get hold of the deserter, that 'top officer' could be of much value to him.

  The Regent then took note of the descriptions of the 15 renegades that Rhodan arranged to have given to him.

  Once that was done, Rhodan added: "Maybe I can give you a hint that will make the affair easier for you. I talked with the deserting officer a few weeks ago. At that time he was of the opinion that the time was ripe for the Earth to make an alliance with the Druufs against you. He seemed to be obsessed with the idea of an alliance. I would suspect, therefore, that he will make an attempt to penetrate the Druuf universe."

  The conversation had been conducted in Arkonese. The Robot thanked Rhodan for the hint and closed with the usual formal Arkonide phrase for ending a conversation. "Gova Dorani."

  Immediately thereafter he activated his logic sector and analyzed every bit of the news just received. As he expected, the probability that Perry Rhodan was up to something was not exactly small. Nevertheless, the probability that his request was genuine was higher, and with it the probability that a top officer in the Terran Fleet really had left the Earth with 14 men for traitorous reasons.

  No matter what the conclusions of his logic sector, the Regent was convinced he could not go wrong if he sent ships to chase after the deserters. The Arkonide blockade fleet in the vicinity of the overlapping zone, through which the Terrans would have to pass if they wanted to reach the Druufs, was 30,000 units strong. The fleet could be reinforced by another 10,000 ships and half of the total, 20,000 ships, then, could be sent after the deserters.

  Rhodan could not know that the Robot Regent had finally decided on such a move. He hoped he had however and smiling rubbed his hands together.

  • • •

  Ras Tschubai actually was already in the control room when Franklin Lubkov came in with the first of the men. Tschubai was a teleporter. He had the ability to transport himself and—if they held onto him tightly enough—others over considerable distances. The power that enabled him to do so came from an additional portion of his mutated brain and was on call at any time. Necessary to making a 'Jump', as he modestly termed it, was only a certain amount of concentration and a general image in his mind of the place he wanted to go. Also, this ability was linked with an inherent safety factor, if it should happen that Ras Tschubai would materialize within solid matter, he did not solidify but returned to his starting point. It worked automatically and followed the First Law of Physics: two objects cannot simultaneously occupy the same point in space.

  In addition, Ras Tschubai was an experienced astronaut. When Col. Tifflor walked into the control room of the Newborn a few minutes later, the engines were already warmed up and the ship was ready to go.

  Tifflor knew that a considerable amount of confusion would be stirred up on the spacefield when a ship was seen taking off from the repair yards. The yards had not been constructed for takeoffs. Under the boiling streams shooting out of the ship's corpuscular engines, the yards' plastic flooring would break up and melt. From over on the main field, observers would see a magnificent display of fireworks.

  Tifflor had been informed that in that evening's spaceport activity certain security measures had been taken to insure that pursuit ships would not take off after the stolen vessel with the usual alacrity. The Newborn would have a good head start. It would not be too large a one, or otherwise the manoeuvre would have been too transparent. It would be important to make the most of the advantage they did, have in achieving a maximum of safety.

  Tifflor directed his men to their places. They knew what they had to do. Lt. Lubkov functioned as First Officer and copilot. With two other men, Sgt. Fryberg watched over communications, radar and tracking equipment. No pursuit craft on their trail would escape their notice. The mutants remained in the background. If there were no other alternative, Ras Tschubai would teleport himself to one of the pursuing craft and instigate utter confusion until the Newborn was safe.

  The entire operation was a matter of about 15 minutes. In 15 minutes the Newborn would reach sufficient velocity to make a transition and thus pass into hyperspace.

  For a quarter of an hour they would be in fear for their lives. Then they would be secure.

  While his hand was resting on the main control switch, it penetrated Tifflor's consciousness that that was a false conclusion, from now on until their return, they would never be safe. The pursuit by Terran fighters was an amusing little game in comparison to what would happen if the Arkonides got on their tail, or what the Druufs would do once they found out what the Terrans really had up their sleeves.

  Tifflor threw a glance at the chronometer. What sense was there in holding to a predetermined timetable? He could just as easily take off at 22:14 hours as at 22:15. It made no difference. He would have time to figure out their actual course once they were out in space.

  He pushed the small button built into the handle of the switch. The takeoff sirens howled into life. Seals clicked over the hatches as the crew checked each one out. Boots scraped across the floor—and as the sirens died away, breathless quiet reigned over the ship.

  Tifflor gave the lights on the control panel one last practiced glance. Everything was in order... But what good would it do him that everything was in order if a fusion rocket from a fighter struck them, or the disintegrator beam of an Arkonide battleship? The Newborn dated from the early years of the Terran fleet. Her defense fields did not belong to the latest products of Terran technology.

  Then he yanked the switch down. It did not bother him any what happened to the plastic covering on the ground below. It could explode into a million pieces for all he cared!

  White flashes blitzed across the vidscreen. The engines were in operation but nothing could be felt in the control room. The antigrav absorber was doing its job.

  The Newborn was airborne—and space-bound.

  3/ TSCHUBAI'S TASK

  Fate seemed to be conspiring against Julian Tifflor and his men. The Newborn needed three transitions to put behind it the more than 6,000 light-years between Earth and the overlapping zone in the vicinity of the Myrtha System, and when the ship emerged from hyperspace for the third time, a colossal spaceship evidently of Arkonide origin stood less than 20,000 kilometers away. The Newborn was moving at only a slight residual velocity. The Arkonide ship spotted it within seconds, fired a warning shot and ordered them to st
op. A prize crew would then come on board to take over. Julian Tifflor protested energetically against this sort of treatment but without success. The Arkonide ship repeated its warning with disheartening indifference, and since it was a sphere 800 meters in diameter, against which the Newborn would not have the slightest chance, Tifflor finally gave up and stopped, which meant he equalized the Newborn's speed with that of the Arkonide ship.

  With that a situation had arisen which, if the mission was to be a success, should have been avoided at all costs. The Arkonides would know that a Terran ship filled with deserters was on its way to the Druufs. But they must under no circumstances capture it.

  Tifflor manoeuvred the Newborn towards the Arkonide ship until a distance of 5,000 kilometers separated the two vessels. The voice with whom he had spoken had been unmistakably mechanical. It spoke Arkonese and evidently assumed that the Terran commander understood it as well.

  The Arkonide craft was a robot ship. At most it had a 50-man crew on board and these 50 men had subordinate roles. The piloting of the ship and the issuing and receiving of orders were left to the motionless, built-in robots. The actual fighting force aboard consisted of mobile Arkonide robots. The commander of the ship would be some tired Arkonide or perhaps even a member of an Arkonide offshoot race. In any case, he had nothing to say. He was there to reassure the human crewmembers if their misunderstanding of technology caused them to be afraid of the many robots aboard.

  That then, was the state of affairs on board the Arkonide ship. Tifflor knew that much. He did not know, however, how he could use his knowledge to get the Newborn out of her difficulties. The possibility that a spaceship would emerge from hyperspace in the immediate vicinity of a second ship was so improbable that Tifflor had not prepared for it. Several valuable minutes went by before he had worked out a new plan—a rather desperate plan but the only one that could work in this situation.

  Nothing was to be seen of the prize crew that would probably consist of Arkonide robots. The Arkonides believed the Newborn was safely in their grasp and were taking their time.

  Tifflor turned to Sgt. Fryberg. "Have they opened their mouths yet?"

  Fryberg understood who was meant. He shook his head and a contented smile spread across his broad face. "No sir. Not a peep out of them!"

  "Good! Keep listening!"

  The Arkonide ship was convinced that it could handle the matter alone. Being a robot ship, it logically considered that informing some other ship would be superfluous. It would give the information to its highest commanders once the action was completed and the crew of the Newborn was in captivity. Robots are logical and economical. On that Julian Tifflor based his plan.

  • • •

  Panjel Dreeb was an Iriam-man. In Earthly measures, he was 1½ meters tall, rather hairy and had an egg-shaped head. Just on the basis of his body alone, Panjel Dreeb could not believe in the old fairy tale that claimed Iriam-people were descendents of Arkonide settlers. However, Panjel Dreeb could not deny that he found himself serving aboard an Arkonide ship. Panjel Dreeb did not know what was going on outside around the ship. The ship had an antigrav absorber—not that Panjel Dreeb knew what it was, he knew only the name—and one could not tell if the ship were moving or standing still. Panjel Dreeb's job was to pick up any trash lying around and throw it into the converter. It was a task considered too unimportant to occupy a robot with it. A man like Panjel Dreeb was just right for it.

  Dreeb was not unsatisfied with his new profession. He had been a member of the crew for only a few Iriam-days and still found the ship enormously interesting. He was afraid of the mechanical men but fortunately he did not encounter them too often.

  Panjel Dreeb rode through the deserted corridor on a rollband. In one hand he carried an automatic collection unit and with a skilled movement he picked up everything in the way of trash that lay on the floor near the rollband. There was not much, here and there a piece of old plastifoil, a metal screw or something of that nature. Panjel Dreeb had little trouble with his work.

  Nevertheless, he missed by a hair the place from which he had to jump down from the rollband, for a few meters farther on another corridor intersected this one. Panjel Dreeb considered whether he should go to the right, to the left or continue in the same direction, and as he was still considering, a strange man suddenly stood before him.

  Yes, really, a man was indeed standing there. He had not fallen from above nor had he climbed up from below—he simply stood there. Panjel Dreeb shivered with fear. His bluish-red face grew green with terror.

  For a few moments his fear was so intense that he could hardly see anything. Then he noticed that the stranger looked like an Arkonide—by and large. He was three heads taller than Panjel Dreeb and very broad-shouldered. The suit he wore was one familiar to Panjel Dreeb. Only one thing about the stranger was distressing, the color of his skin was black.

  "Don't be afraid," said the black man in Arkonese. "I won't do anything to you. Tell me where I am."

  Panjel Dreeb began to stutter. Only after a few aborted attempts at speaking did he have his tongue in enough control to express himself coherently. He said that this was an Arkonide ship but that did not seem to interest the stranger, who interrupted him and said: "I know that already. I meant, where is the control room?"

  Wheels began to turn in Panjel Dreeb's small brain. Who was the black man? Why was he inquiring about the control room? Did he want to do something to the ship?

  "Come on, tell me!" urged the stranger.

  Panjel Dreeb stretched out his arm to point the way. "There," he said fearfully.

  "Above or below?" demanded the black man.

  Panjel Dreeb answered readily. He was in fear for his life. In a short time the black man knew the way to the control room precisely.

  It won't hurt anything, Panjel Dreeb thought. As soon as he leaves I'll sound the alarm. They'll get him right away.

  "I thank you kindly, sir," said the black man. "You have been of immense help to me. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to hurt you a little bit, otherwise you might give me away. Don't be frightened—nothing is going to happen to you. You're just going to go to sleep for awhile."

  Panjel Dreeb wanted to cry out but he did not have any opportunity. The black man suddenly had a small, glittering thing in his hand and pointed it at him. Panjel Dreeb felt a hard blow and a burning pain run through his body. Then it grew dark around him and he knew nothing more.

  • • •

  Feverish tension reigned in the control room of the Newborn. The boarding crew had not yet shown itself. The Arkonide ship shone quietly and threateningly, a tiny, dully illuminated point in the shimmering sea of stars.

  Julian Tifflor's plan had been put into action a few minutes before. It could only succeed if the Arkonides remained quiet. Sgt. Fryberg had examined the recording made by the comreceiver of the order from the Arkonide ship to heave to, and found that the energy used to transmit the message had been so weak and limited that 100,000 kilometers farther away it could not have been understood. That meant the blockade fleet did not know one of its vessels had captured a Terran cruiser.

  Tifflor was hardly able to control his excitement. Again and again he looked from the shining point of the Arkonide ship to the red, cloud-like fleck that was the overlapping zone (which was, despite precise hytrans calculations, still two light-years away), and back to the Arkonide ship once more.

  The Arkonides would need 10 minutes to get the boarding party underway. Would Ras Tschubai succeed in acting faster?

  Ras Tschubai had no intention of making his way to the control room by foot. He knew the direction. After he had hidden the little Iriam-man away where he would not be so quickly found, Ras concentrated for a few seconds, trying to picture his goal in his mind, and sprang.

  He landed exactly where he had wanted, although he had imagined it rather differently than the way in which he found it.

  He materialized in the middle of the room and in the first seco
nd collided with something hard and sizable. He fell back, opened his eyes and saw that he had run into an Arkonide battle robot. The machine whirled around and aimed one of its weapon-arms at the intruder. Ras Tschubai tensed his muscles in expectation of something that did not happen. The weapon remained aimed at him but the robot had evidently been given no orders for shooting.

  The control room swarmed with robots. Since one of their number was seeing to the intruder, the others did not concern themselves any longer with the incident and continued with their work. Besides Ras Tschubai there was only one other organic creature present: a tall, white-haired man who sat in a deep and comfortable chair. He looked as though none of the activity around him affected him.

  He was unmistakably an Arkonide, probably the nominal commander of the ship. Ras Tschubai looked at him over the robot's weapon-arm—but if the Arkonide had taken any note of his appearance at all, he was no longer interested in the phenomenon. His intelligent-looking face gave a bored, almost disgusted, impression.

  When Ras Tschubai realized that for at least the time being the robot was not going to do anything to him, his reason began to function again. He wondered what purpose such a group of mechanical beings crowding the control room could serve, since the control room was really the realm of the central positronicon that steered the ship.

  He soon found out. He noticed a few unscrewed deckplates and saw two robots disappear into a large wiring shaft. Then he knew what had happened. Considering his own situation, it was ridiculous, something in the Arkonide ship was not working. The robots were occupied with repairing it.

  With the robots' activity in full swing, the room was filled with noise. He had to shout to make himself understood to the Arkonide. "Could you tell your robot to leave me alone?" Ras demanded in Arkonese.