Again Atlan Read online

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  It was a dark night without stars when I adjusted my gravity absorber to 0.1% of the Terra value.

  The high-energy field of my heavy deepsea suit began to glow as soon as it touched the storm tossed waters of the dark Atlantic.

  My flight had proceeded without a hitch. I had constantly kept so close to the surface of the water that my detection was virtually made impossible.

  When I immersed myself in the ocean south of Sao Miguel Island, my locator dial registered the presence of short-wave radar impulses which seemed to be emitted by a high flying machine. After submerging below the waves the slight signal stopped.

  I plunged down at the rate of 3G till the craggy bottom of the sea came into view.

  Down here it was still and lonely. Only the hum of my transformer bank and the high crackling of my field projector disturbed the solemn quiet. Driven by the pressure from my wave vibrator I floated across the wide ravines of the trench of the Azores which began at this point and I sent my first identification signal from the underwater antenna.

  The robot crew watching my refuge had always proved to be infallible. This time was no exception. After my third call I received clear direction signals which put me on the right course. A few minutes later I recognized the deepsea gorge in which my shelter was anchored. I floated down and stopped at the crevice where the steel sphere was buried under a mountain of mud.

  The infrared light of my helmet's searchlight again attracted the bizarrely shaped fish that had heretofore been my only friends down here.

  I waited for the dynamic pressure ray to clear the small entrance chamber. The stirred-up bottom muck slowly settled down again and after visibility was restored I floated the last few hundred meters across to the open hatch.

  Before entering the sluice chamber I took a look around. I was at a depth of 2,852 meters. This prevented my detection except by special deepsea submarines which—according to my experience—hardly ever ventured into such narrow crevices. Four months ago I had been mistaken for a fish. Today that incident looked amusing but at the time it was a ghastly experience.

  I entered the chamber, locked the heavy armored door made of Arkon steel and waited till the room was emptied of water. Powerful pumps forced out the water which was under very high pressure. The high whining tone of air streaming into the chamber caused me to close my eyes contentedly. Now I was safe and could prepare for my final flight.

  My protective energy-field, which had hold back the pressure of the water, automatically collapsed.

  Bright light shone through the inner door as it slid open. As always, Rico's bioplast-face was wreathed in an obliging smile. My personal robot servant stood in the opening, eager and alert. "Welcome, master," he said in his metallic voice which we had failed to give a human modulation.

  I was strangely affected by being suddenly addressed as 'master'. I felt I had transcended into another world. That's exactly what you did, my extra-sense quickly asserted.

  I had slept in this sphere for untold years. It was older than the recorded history of mankind. I had been on the verge of revealing my great secret after steadfastly having kept silent for weeks and enduring the mental torture of the psychological inquisition.

  Rico helped me take off my bulky protective suit. "You're exhausted, master?" he asked. It was supposed to sound solicitous but as sophisticated as the machine was, it lacked the ability to express such sentiments adequately.

  "No," I rebuffed him rather gruffly. Rico smiled. His feelings couldn't be hurt. "I've prepared a bath for you, master."

  "Not now." I walked stiffly and erect through the narrow passageway to the antigravitor, floated up to the curved ceiling and stopped in front of a red steel door.

  Rico was quiet. He seemed to sense that I was swayed by emotions which were beyond the comprehension of a robot. The room behind the door contained my private museum. However it meant much more to me than a place to keep antique objects. The only times I had come up here in the past were when I felt compelled to seek retreat from my inner turmoil. I caused the door to slide silently open by putting both hands on the impulse-lock. The indirect light in the ceiling went on as I hesitantly entered the large room which was subdivided by partitions.

  Here I had collected the mute witnesses of times gone by which had aroused such burning interest in

  Allan D. Mercant and which I had stubbornly withheld from him.

  I paused before the 2-edged sword of Charles the Courageous of Burgundy and thoughtfully weighed it in my hand. One night when the duke had sat in his battlefield tent and was wracked by insufferable pain he had passionately begged me to administer the coup de grace with this sword.

  I had proposed to operate on him although his stomach tumors had already become cancerous. The next day Charles had fallen in battle. I was present when the drunken hordes of his sworn enemies burned down his ornate tent.

  I passed on, deeply lost in memories. Nobody on Earth knew the countless secrets of the past better than I and I also knew the falsifications of history.

  I had learned exactly how Prince Eugene dealt the Turks a shattering defeat. There was Wallenstein's hat with the big plume of feathers. Next to it was the blunderbuss carried by Columbus himself, which was fired by a glimmering fuse.

  A little farther away stood the suit of Armor worn by Richard the Lion-Hearted. He once had called me the most faithful of his vassals and promised me a hereditary fiefdom in England.

  I smiled unconsciously when I discovered the small mailed glove Joan of Arc had worn as she stormed the bastion of Orleans at my side.

  I retreated more and more into the past as I walked through the room with its objects displayed at random. I had always relished being suddenly confronted by a token of ancient history and cared little for perfect order. I enjoyed being surprised.

  There stood the primitive but quite effective rapid-fire cannon which I had built together with Leonardo da Vinci. I considered him a remarkable man and had taught him many prerequisites for his inventions.

  Next to it lay the Navy Colt 44 whose butt I had used to knock down the murderer of Abraham Lincoln—a second too late unfortunately.

  As in a dream I wandered among my souvenirs and artifacts.

  Abruptly Rico called me back to reality. "The Brain is awaiting you, master."

  Quietly I left the room filled with mementos of earlier times. Outside, before the red door, I searched my conscience.

  No, I had never done anything to hurt mankind. On the contrary, I had always endeavored to further the scientific and technological developments which would finally lead Earthmen to the achievement of space travel.

  For centuries I had desired to return home and at the very moment when Perry Rhodan finally ventured deep into the Galaxy. I had succumbed to a panicky fear of a threatening atomic war and fled to my refuge under the sea. Thus I missed the most important epoch of the young barbarians' development.

  10 minutes later I stood before the diagram scope of my shelter's Brain. It was waiting for my program instructions which I now presented: "I require a half-organic construction fitting my body. It must look exactly like the skeleton of an Earthman so that I can appear to be a true specimen of the native population under X-rays. Reflectors simulating an unmistakable picture of the human organs of Terranians must be included. Is this possible?"

  The huge automaton built by five generations of technicians began to hum. "I request more details, master," the Brain replied.

  And so I knew that my next trip to the surface could not be foiled by an ordinary X-ray machine.

  5/ VENUS BOUND

  Nevada Spaceport was the biggest landing field of the two American continents. It was the point of departure for most spaceships destined for the planets and moons of the Solar System.

  The largest long-distance spacers with hyper-propulsion engines, bridging light-years in seconds, took off from the even vaster port at Terrania in 99% of all cases.

  Yet the
Nevada Fields—as they were called—boasted of a proud tradition.

  This was the place where Perry Rhodan made history by launching the first atomic rocket to the Moon where he encountered the stranded crew of an Arkonide exploration cruiser.

  I gazed with great curiosity at the original rocket in which Rhodan had ventured on his most significant leap into space 69 years ago. Previously the Stardust had been exhibited in the Gobi Desert, so I was told, until Rhodan had it moved to the place where its rudimentary atomic engine first roared into the sky.

  I was only one of many persons in the huge Space Museum of the Nevada Fields. There were 200 emigrants who were ready to leave Earth together with me.

  I looked unobtrusively around. People were swarming all around me. I had given up my original plan of impersonating a spacepilot after making a few cautious inquiries. It would have been too difficult to delude the many friends and acquaintances of such a man. Instead I had noted with much interest the future settlers in space.

  I had selected a husky blond fellow who was at most 38 years old and built as tall and broad as myself. Upon questioning I learned that he was the sixth son of a peasant from the north of Germany. His name was Hinrich Volkmar and he had come alone to ship out from Earth after he had made numerous requests for emigration.

  Hinrich was my man! Now he rested in a deep bio-sleep at the bottom of the ocean where my robots took good care of him.

  Rico had received my instructions to wake up the real Hinrich Volkmar not later than a year from now and to take him to Spain after giving him a present of gems worth 100,000 solars.

  In addition I had written letters of explanation Hinrich could hand over to Perry Rhodan and the Solar Defense after his release.

  Thus I had seen to it that the man could not be blamed for negligence, since he had acted under the influence of my psycho-beamer, and that he was well provided for even in case of my sudden death.

  Following his hypno-grill in my shelter-sphere I had stored all his personal data in my photographic memory and my possession of his documents and emigration papers had enabled me to enter the restricted zone without trouble.

  I had to disguise myself only very slightly. My robot specialists performed some superficial bioplastic surgery and removed the faint reddish tint from my eyes.

  No other changes were required. I spoke English with a Low-German accent and behaved so naturally that so far nobody had become suspicious.

  Hinrich's luggage consisted only of an elastic rucksack in which he had stuffed exactly 50 kilograms of his personal belongings. This was all the weight the emigrants were allowed because everything the future Venus farmers needed was already waiting for them on the second Sol planet.

  As I expected, Rhodan had made excellent provisions for the settlers. Hinrich's contract spelled out that the Solar Imperium put 125 acres at his disposal with out cost as well as the special machinery needed for clearing and planting the land.

  Rhodan had devised a very generous social program. The establishment of each new Venus farm by a Terranian immigrant required an outlay of 150,000 solars by the government.

  3 days ago I had become a young man with blond hair and smiling lips who had adventure in his blood. I wanted to turn my back on Mother Earth, journey into outer space and work, hoping that some day I could proudly write home that I had made it and that I was looking for a wife to share my life. I dreamed I could send home all the money they needed.

  This was the stuff the cherished expectations held by the real Hinrich Volkmar were made of and they were shared by the other pioneers who had come from all comers of the Earth.

  The transporter was scheduled to leave today. It was July and 3½ weeks had passed since my flight from Terrania. I had been able to finish my preparations with speed and circumspection.

  The search for me was still underway. They obviously had underestimated the means at my disposal. It was a great satisfaction to me that I had adamantly refused to buckle under their pressure and thereby prevented the detection of my undersea refuge.

  From the Solar Defense point of view it should have been impossible for me to slip through its tight security net and this would undoubtedly have been the case if I could not have availed myself of the excellent special devices whose existence remained unknown to my pursuers.

  When I arrived at the Nevada Fields in the mask of Hinrich Volkmar I was immediately subjected to an X-ray examination. Nobody was admitted to the restricted zone without first passing through a test screen.

  It was perfectly clear to me that the test was designed to identify me and to prevent my escape. My extremely complicated bioplast-skeleton had concealed my actual bone structure from the doctor examining my picture and he passed me without objections as a true Terranian.

  I carried an identification card embossed with my individual data. The imbedded magnetic wires contained a collection of coded impulses relating to my person such as degrees and examinations passed by me. Everything was in perfect order.

  I was given number 211. The spaceship which was to take me and the other pioneers to Venus was named Gloria. We were temporarily housed in a long low building which the employees of the Emigration Office called with sarcastic humor 'Aroma Alley'. The pungent odor of abundantly supplied disinfectant substances smelled up my clothes which were fashioned of durable weatherproof synthetic textiles, very plain in style.

  The Venus settlers were outfitted extremely well but elegance was not one of the things considered necessary. The no-nonsense approach of the Colonial Office permitted no superfluous luxuries.

  I was already familiar with our ship. It was a small spherical vessel of the Planet series, measuring only 50 meters in diameter. Completely unarmed and lacking super light-speed engines, it served exclusively as a transport between the Solar worlds.

  The flight to Venus was scheduled to take eight hours. This was a relatively long time, particularly because the few large compartments were only equipped with narrow rows of seats. Beds and other comforts were regarded as unessential frills because of the official opinion that the emigrants could just as well sit up through the eight hours of the trip.

  The 30-year-old Gloria regularly plied the route between Venus and Terra. It took off into space every second day with a new load of passengers and carried goods of all descriptions as well.

  The crews of these commuting ships were not treated with the same respect as the highly trained men of the super light-speed spacers, who were apt to look down on them.

  These planet service ships occupied about the same place and low esteem as the old riverboats compared to swift ocean clippers.

  I was greatly amused by this old-fashioned rivalry. But in this respect my own people acted little different from the Terranians. It was only a few score years ago that these barbarians hailed with the most enthusiastic admiration the first ridiculously little trip to the Moon of the Earth. They had come far in a short time, I had to admit. Now the men of the huge hyper-spaceships snorted contemptuously when they met one of these so-called 'planet snails'. They forgot that even these 'snails' approached the speed of light, racing through the Solar void.

  At noon I walked into the large dining room which was crowded with laughing and loudly talking people. I went to a table in a corner, downed a big steak with French fries and baked beans and leisurely studied the people around me.

  These young hopefuls were pretty much alike in their desire to find a new world in the jungles of Venus which they pictured as a paradise despite all teachings to the contrary.

  I saw whole families who were eager to take the big leap. They dreamed of adventures and wealth, of independence and joyous festivals at the edge of primitive forests.

  As yet they had learned nothing about the stinging insects of Venus and the voracious saurians that trampled down entire fields with a few steps. And they had fallacious ideas about the poisonous smaller reptiles and the terrific hothouse temperatures.

  I felt great pity for them alth
ough I expected them to establish a satisfying existence once they succeeded in making the undoubtedly tough adjustments. Rhodan knew very well what sort of people to choose for the trip to another world.

  At 12:30 the big amplifiers made the loud announcement: "Pioneers for Venus flight 118 assemble at the south entrance to the mess hall. Pick up your luggage and have all transport documents ready. Please report at the earliest!"

  It was all very informal. About 250 people jumped up from their chairs. In the confusion some ran to the northern exit where they were sent in the right direction by the unruffled attendants and smirking spacepilots.

  There was a tremendous turmoil of shoving and shouting people as if all hell had broken loose. I decided to join the rush and soon began to yell just like the others in order to avoid undue attention.

  Outside we were greeted by a detachment of the Security Police standing under the hot July sun.

  I found the warmth of the sun very pleasant, more so than the men of the security contingent. Behind them, big transport buses were waiting for us. They had apparently decided to carry out one more control check before taking us to the departing spaceship.

  Women and children were allowed to board the buses at once. Only the men were compelled to wait in a line. I stood in the queue of perspiring aspirants who were complaining impatiently. Now the inspection started all over again.

  I had put my special miniature gadgets deep into the knapsack required by the regulations. If they opened it they would have to scrutinize it thoroughly in order to find the small devices. I had even taken off my most precious possession, the cell-frequency activator, including the chain by which I carried it. I would soon have to hang it around my neck again to forestall great difficulties.

  "What's going on there?" a brown-skinned stocky man asked. I turned around and shrugged my shoulders.

  It was a young Mexican who wanted to escape the crowded Earth with his family of 5. His named was Miguel Hosta and we had met a couple of times before. Perhaps it was better to engage in a conversation with this bright Terranian. "I don't have the faintest idea," I laughed, "but I know they're not going to send me back. They're supposed to have rejected somebody recently just before the start. They claimed the boy had a fever."