Saboteurs in A-1 Page 5

  "I don’t have to tell Atlan—he knows it already. Except for a few minor differences of opinion, he sees this development as I do and as the Chief sees it. But I find it uncanny that we can neither discover what planet Thekus’ nephew Carba is hiding out on nor find out who is pulling the main strings of this underground movement. The only way to explain the complete failure of our mutants is to assume that the Antis are back in action again. They alone represent a power factor of major proportions. Once they have put their whole strength behind what’s going on—and since it’s ultimately aimed at us—it’s enough to ring a red alert for the Solar Imperium."

  Bell studied him thoughtfully. "Mercant, all this time we’ve been talking about the Thekus group but we haven’t mentioned the radicals. How do you know that the A-bomb attempt was initiated by Carba’s men instead of by the radicals, whose main goal is to blow up the robot Regent?"

  "In my opinion the radicals are merely babbling muddle-head—even naive and harmless-by comparison with the underground movement that is being led by this Carba. Carba has a political objective and a political program. Carba is capable of providing a reconstruction once he has succeeded in overthrowing Atlan. He has a very shrewd and realistic head on him and I’m sure he’s handpicked the right men to collaborate with him."

  "Mercant, it’s a rare occasion when I can’t buy what you say—but this I don’t know. Does the Chief know your point of view?"

  "He’s thoroughly familiar with it and he shares it with me. Like myself he’s convinced that the only reason Carba had to get rid of his uncle, Thekus, was because the Lord Admiral did not agree to involve Ekhonides, Antis and Akons in the overthrow attempt. Thekus, who was a declared enemy of the Imperator, was first of all an Arkonide patriot. Early in the game he must have foreseen the danger involved for the Arkon Imperium if his underground movement had to fall back on help from the outside. If we can believe the rumors we picked up, this was a point of conflict that caused a big argument within the Thekus group itself, particularly between Thekus and his nephew, when the Admiral found out that Carba had established contact with the Akons. Of course,as I say, sir, these are only rumors picked up by our own Intelligence. But they would seem to explain the motive behind Thekus’ death at the hands of his own people. He probably refused to take Akons into his resistance group and he paid for it with his life. Carba stepped into his place and allied himself with the Akons. A proof of that was the episode on Kusma, where Carba and a couple of Akons unfortunately slipped out of our hands."

  "Marshal, what’s your personal opinion concerning the brain-activating station on that ice planet? Do you think maybe Carba had his extra-brain activated there? Or do you believe that our arrival was in time to hinder it?"

  "It’s no use asking such questions, Mr. Bell. We’re getting into conjectures and personal opinions. We have so little data about what happened at that station that all I can do at present is throw up my hands. It ... "

  He was interrupted by an alarm signal from the main hypercom station. Simultaneously the big viewscreen flicked to life.

  When Rhodan’s face appeared, his eyes flashed in a way that told Bell that the Chief was in a high state of agitation.

  Then Perry Rhodan reported the incredible...

  • • •

  Joe Luklein was 32 years old. For three years he had been the proprietor of a small fleet of space freighters which plied between the Ghonno System and the planet Trum in M-13. From all outward appearances he ran this business on his own account and at his own risk. In reality, however, he was an agent of Solar Intelligence. The ships registered under his name in the Arkon archives were a part of the Solar merchant fleet although instead of originating in Terran shipyards they had come off the line on the planet of Archetz.

  Luklein was just listening to the latest news broadcast in his private office when he heard a familiar crackling sound. He reached out with his right hand to turn on a concealed hypercom set, having suddenly lost interest in news of the Arkon Imperium.

  He was surprised to hear music coming from the hypercom speaker, nothing but rhythmical music. "Alright, what gives?" he muttered, shaking his head in bewilderment. He didn’t have any deciphering equipment for musical transmissions. It was the first time he had ever heard music on this secret frequency. But he couldn’t believe that Solar Intelligence was broadcasting music to sooth the nerves of its active agents in the field.

  "Bursting bolides! That’s actually an old fashioned fox trot, and it’s supposed to be for me?"

  From moment to moment he became more tense. He had a feeling that he was in danger but he didn’t know what direction it was coming from. He got up hastily and went over to a bookshelf where he selected a seldom used volume. It had a very significant title. Page 1945—that was the code key for today, tomorrow and the day after. He was looking at line 18 where the key word was: momentarily. He put the book back and stepped over to a small decoding machine that was standard equipment for permanent agent stations. He fed in the words momentarily and music and waited for the punched-tape strip to pop out of the slot.

  He was still receiving light entertainment music on the secret waveband of Solar Intelligence. Although he had learned during his training period on Earth that musical broadcasts could be used for coded messages, he had been told that this method was hardly used anymore.

  The punched tape fell into the receiver tray. Joe reached for it curiously and read it.

  "Oh-oh!" he muttered, half aloud.

  In that moment a secret of Sol Security had been revealed to him. The additional word music had triggered it. There was a coded message on the tape: Tempo 18.6, scrambler frequency 49.2 Hz. plus-minus-plus tempo two.

  It was data that no enemy agent could have made any sense out of. Even if some unlikely circumstance were to make these values meaningful to an enemy, he would still have floundered on the plus-minus-plus part. For Joe Luklein this had a specific meaning but until now he had not known that these values could he multiplied-which the plus-minus-plus required of him.

  So he set to work again with the decoder machine, which was a miracle product of Terran code specialists and positronics engineers. Not even Arkon had such equipment. which had only been put into use by Solar Intelligence in the past few months. A new punched tape came out of the slot. Joe’s face was very tense when he took it over to the hypercom and fed the strip into the feeder guides of the section five registers. Meanwhile the loudspeaker had become silent except for a familiar hypercom hum. Luklein went back to his chair in a high state of tension.

  He waited. The passing seconds seemed to stretch out endlessly. The speaker was still silent and the tension of suspense was beginning to be agonizing. It was the first time he had known that his hypercom installation could also be used for decoding.

  Having been qualified by his talents to be an intelligence agent, Luklein congratulated himself for having made the decision 13 years ago to enlist in the forces of Sol Security. It was just now he realized clearly that he was working for an intelligence organization that was second to none in the galaxy.

  Then the loudspeaker crackled and a metallic voice rang out:

  Hoga located on planet Trum. Presumed he is presently in Gilkar, a small village near the city of Reni. Population 118. Use of mutants not possible as they are all engaged in other quarters. Success is questionable. Caution: consider possibility of presence of Antis. This is a solo assignment—there are leaks in your shipping office. Hoga must be captured alive. He is an important contact man for the Thekus group. Action effective immediately. Report hourly by tracer tone over 345-J. This assignment highly dangerous. Call your space freighter Ghonno-3 and have it fly to planet Xygt to take on a load trull furs. Confirm reception of your orders. Caution: assignment is highly dangerous. End of message.

  Joe Luklein sat stiffly in his chair. The message had ended minutes ago but it was still echoing in his ears: assignment highly dangerous... He was breathing heavily from the shock of wh
at he had heard about "leaks" in the shipping office. The message implied that there must be an agent of the opposition among his employees. This had hit him hard but when the headquarters of Solar Intelligence put out such warnings they were usually tied to facts.

  He got to his feet again. This was something he couldn’t bother with now. He would have to postpone the matter till later, when he came back.

  If he came back...

  Again he heard the metallic voice in his ears: assignment highly dangerous. And he was to look out for Antis, no less!

  He was standing in front of the unpretentious little cabinet that was apparently a mass-produced item of the Trum furniture industry. Actually it was a little piece of Terran workmanship which had been designed for Solar Intelligence. It served to keep its agents’ energy weapons out of reach of unauthorized persons.

  The unpretentious-looking cabinet was a miniature armory.

  Luklein required three minutes to get it open, after which he made his selection carefully. A .38 Colt was included in his armament. It was specially designed to fire diamagnetic plastic projectiles. This material was the only means of penetrating the personal defense screens of the Antis.

  In a lower drawer was the special minicom. He set it on 345-J as per his instructions from Terrania. 345-J put out a tracer tone of 2.8 seconds duration.

  Luklein laughed grimly. "This looks like a suicide mission," he muttered to himself. Wherewith he replaced his normal mini-transceiver with the special minicom.

  One hour later he entered the rooms of his shipping office. No one would have been able to detect that under his clothing he wore the combat suit of Solar Intelligence or that he was concealing four energy weapons and the .38 Colt.

  As calmly as ever he passed through the outer chamber and said a few words of greeting to his two Trum secretaries. He was about to enter his office when he was stopped by Mergy, a particularly pretty Trum girl.

  "Sir, we received a call from planet Xygt in the Orion System a few minutes ago. The Dress Forwarders in Alker are asking if we can take a load of trull furs to the Ghonno System: 8006 tons with a group C freight tariff."

  Here again was an example of Solar Intelligence efficiency. At the headquarters in Terrania a few specialists had figured out how long it would take him to prepare for his mission on Trum and then almost to the minute they had calculated when their agent on Xygt should send through his hypercom message to the shipping office.

  Luklein put on an excellent show of being very pensive about the matter. "Freight per tariff C, eh? 8006 tons, you say? Not very much. Hm-m ... Mergy, have you checked to see what freighter we could use?"

  The pretty secretary nodded eagerly. "I’ve asked Operations. The Ghonno-3 is still on the planet Mers, only 6 light-years from Xygt, and 30% of its cargo holds are still open."

  "Then the Ghonno-3 can take over the assignment. Get in touch with the Com Room. Terms as usual ... you know what to do. I’ll leave it to you, Mergy. Contract processing by hypercom, et cetera, et cetera ... "

  He closed the door of his office behind him. From now on his actions would be guided by the warning from Intelligence HQ: there are leaks in your shipping office. When he called Accounting and checked on payment receipts into the various accounts, his questions sounded very routine. On the subject of the planned purchase of a new freighter he used the occasion as an excuse to leave instructions not to make any further payments during the next two days.

  "Give me Offre in Market Research." And with that his conversation with the Accounting Department was ended.

  Joe Luklein was the only Terran member of his operation. All employees were inhabitants of the planet Trum. This race was not a direct offshoot from the Arkonides but had evolved instead from the Ekhonides who were not subject to the degenerative effects which were rampant in the main Empire. The still mentally-active Ekhonides had colonized Trum over 3000 years ago and had soon granted free trading rights to the planet. The Trum System had been an economic failure for the Ekhonides because first of all the planet Trum was located in a stellar economic region where agricultural products were predominant and secondly the indigenous races of the adjacent worlds were always in revolt against Arkon while striving to adapt themselves to the higher culture of the Imperium.

  The colonial Ekhonides had built their industries on Trum around the simple needs of the other primitive worlds and had done some good business while the trade balance of the Ekhonide mother worlds had remained relatively passive in spite of all their efforts. This was one of the main reasons Trum had become financially independent in such a hurry.

  The Trumanian Offre reported over the videocom.

  "Listen, Offre," began Luklein, "I’ve had a change of mind. Maybe tomorrow I’ll order a new freighter or even buy one outright. Extend your market research into the Menthi System. And while you’re at it, make sure that the freight capacity of the new ship is 180,000 tons greater than that of the Ghonno-3. When will you be ready with your study, Offre?"

  "Day after tomorrow."

  "That will do. I’ll expect your report then, Offre. Thank you!" With that, Luklein cut off the connection but he still watched the viewscreen pensively after Offre’s face had vanished.

  Did Offre belong to the "other side?" —he asked himself. The warning from Intelligence HQ had disturbed him more than he wanted to admit. From the first moment of that warning he had begun to suspect Offre. A few days ago Offre had been in his office when he had received a call from Jukan, the Galactic Trader, in which the latter had urgently requested to speak to him personally right away. Shortly thereafter, Jukan had been shot.

  "But I can’t worry about it now," muttered Luklein as he got up and went to the door. In the outer room he gave instructions to his two secretaries. "I don’t feel very well so I won’t be back today. And I don’t want to be disturbed. See you tomorrow."

  Ten minutes later when a man emerged from the private entrance of Joe Luklein’s residence he did not have the slightest resemblance to the Terran who lived there. A Springer with a slightly bowed back crossed the street and mingled with the numerous people who thronged through the main thoroughfare. Lost in the stream of pedestrians and vehicles, he sauntered toward the spaceport while checking to see if he were being followed.

  He devoted considerable time to this precaution. Only when he was certain that he was not being shadowed, he stopped a taxi and had himself driven to the port. While en route to his goal he made the first use of his special minicom, as he had been instructed.

  When the trace beep went out, Solar Intelligence knew that Joe Luklein’s commando mission had begun.

  • • •

  Over an area of 10,000 square km stretched the greatest positronicomputer installation in the galaxy. Thousands of years ago Arkonide scientists had created this giant as they discerned increasing evidence of the fact that the Arkonide race was degenerating visibly and that these frightening changes could not be stopped by any means at their disposal.

  Generations of scientists had prepared the preliminary plans for the construction of the robot Brain, checking them again and again to see if any slightest detail had been overlooked, because one day in the future this mammoth device would take the place of the Arkon Imperators and on the basis of its acquired knowledge it would rule the mighty stellar empire.

  It had been an almost insurmountable task to which every capable Arkonide was dedicated—an undertaking with millions of difficulties involved. But the still active inhabitants of Arkon, whose ancestors had managed to manoeuvre planets in their orbits, finally achieved the utterly impossible, completing the giant positronicon in a single Arkonide generation.

  Perry Rhodan and Imperator Gonozal VIII were standing before the telecom on board the Ironduke. They had radioed a signal to the mammoth Brain in order to establish contact with it.

  Almost instantly the Coordinator answered. Its bizarre recognition pattern of lines appeared on the screen and at the same time a metallic-sounding vo
ice rang out. The contact signal had informed the giant Brain that Imperator Gonozal VIII was requesting a connection, so the vast positronicon addressed itself solely to Atlan

  By now Rhodan had sat down next to the Arkonide and the two men were alone in his cabin. Previous to this, Rhodan had asked his visitors to leave. When the Arkonide had asked him why, the Administrator had not been able to give a satisfying answer.

  "I don’t know why I sent them out, Atlan. Just as I don’t know why I’ve had a very uneasy feeling these past few hours. Maybe it’s because your position is deteriorating from hour to hour and because developments in the Arkon Imperium are heading irresistibly toward a catastrophe!"

  "In which case the situation would also be hopeless for the Solar Imperium—wouldn’t you say, Barbarian?"

  Atlan’s question was not a malicious innuendo. But he had hit the bull’s-eye and had expressed in a few words how closely the destiny of the Terran stellar empire was linked to that of the Imperator. If Atlan were to be overthrown, within a few days there would be no Solar Imperium because the treaties would be null and void.

  In which case the robot Regent could take over again. Since the colossal think-tank had been built for the purpose of guaranteeing the continuance of the Arkon Imperium, this meant that that end would justify the means. The Brain knew nothing of any bonds of friendship, and both honor and compassion were foreign to its thinking processes.

  Rhodan had made no response to Atlan’s question. but his look was answer enough. And now here was Atlan, the Arkonide who knew 10,000 years of history, attempting to reason with the vast computer creation of his ancestors.

  The Brain listened, totally devoid of emotion, while its millions of positronic elements and circuits ran a logic evaluation of Atlan’s statements in the same moment in which they were spoken. The objective was to prove to the positronicon that its security circuits in A-1 must be converted and adapted to the new situation, which had been precipitated basically by the discovery of the Blue System.