Spaceship of Ancestors Read online

  Metal knuckles knocked hard against the door.

  The time had come!

  T39, bearing the hope of a continued, peaceful life in his heart, suddenly saw himself exposed to a gruesome disappointment. The Death Squad was totally unaware of the impending revolution and was only doing what it had been doing for millenniums. Nothing could stop it.

  T39 was incapable of making one sound with his paralyzed lips. He stood in the middle of the room that had been his home all of his life. A meager and wretched home but he had known no other. Life was nonetheless desirable, even if it had remained senseless.

  What magnificent sense it did make, however, to die a natural death, he thought agitatedly. It came not as the merciless ender of life but as the redeemer. When a human being became old enough he went to sleep. Forever... that is what it was, no more and no less.

  But here and now...

  The door opened. One of the guards entered. The others remained in the corridor, barring every avenue of escape. That was not mere routine, as there were cases in which the death candidate resisted the inevitable and had to be led to the converter forcibly.

  "No—!" T39 cried and retreated until he bumped into the bed. "No! Not yet...!"

  The guard looked at him expressionlessly with his gleaming lenses. It was a robot and knew no feelings.

  It was constructed for this task and it meant nothing more to it than stoic fulfillment of duty. "The Commander has ordered your elimination," it said mechanically. "We urge you to come with us."

  T39 feverishly tried to find some way out of his dilemma. Would O2 rescue him if he knew about it? Would the Commander?

  "Why wasn't I informed of this?" he said as calmly as he could manage. A sudden ray of hope had returned his composure, although a storm of desperation continued to rage inside him. "I cannot abandon the projects in progress without endangering the community. There are important provisions to be made... may I speak to the Commander?"

  "The Commander has ordered your death," the robot replied coldly. "He will have seen to it that he left no gap behind. Come with us!"

  "He might have overlooked..."

  "The Commander is infallible!"

  Yes, T39 thought bitterly, that he is! But he has forgotten that he sentenced me to death and now I must die without being able to call for his help.

  But why not?

  Without hesitating, he jumped to one side and lifted the head of the intercom off the base. In that position he established direct contact with the liaison officer.

  O2 was not in his cabin but he had adjusted the intercom. T39 was connected with the Commander.

  "Commander speaking!" a voice responded. "Who is calling, O2?"

  "T39. The Death Squad is here and wants to take me but five minutes ago I spoke to O2. You know..."

  I know!" the Commander interrupted. A short pause followed. "I cannot help you, T39! You know why! Go with the guards."

  T39's entire world crumbled. He saw the robots set in motion, heading for him. A cry of horror wrested itself from his throat and with his last strength he clung to the bed.

  "I won't, I won't! Commander, do something! You have the power to do something! Now, when the future..."

  But he could go no further. Something seemed to have suddenly closed his mouth. He thought about the many thousands of people in the cabins and corridors of the ship, how they all had been faced with the same fate and now were to receive a chance to live for a better future.

  If he, T39, did not betray them!

  Limply his arms sank to his sides. The intercom was still connected and T39 knew that the Commander was listening. He would be able to hear everything happening in his cabin.

  The technician's desperation transformed into incredible heroism. The contrast was only an apparent one, however, for every true heroic deed springs from the ultimate despair in face of certain death. Heroism, so T39 perceived with singular clarity, is nothing else but the last, flickering spark of hope of a life about to be extinguished.

  "Alright, alright, guards," he said calmly. "I won't resist any more and shall join you. Goodbye, Commander. And... I wish you all the best."

  "Be brave, T39!" came the voice from the loudspeaker, clearly containing regret. "What you are about to do will not have been in vain. You are doing it for all of us. Good luck."

  "Thank you," T39 quietly replied, then he turned to the guards. "Let's get going!"

  With no trace of astonishment the guard registered the almost unbelievable change in the attitude of his victim. He stepped aside to let the technician pass. Without looking back even once, T39 left his cabin and turned right in the passageway. He knew the robots of the Death Squad had come from that direction.

  They placed him in the middle and led him through countless corridors. The humming of the large consoles in the interior of the ship, otherwise soft, barely audible, became more distinct. He passed mechanics and other technicians who stopped to let the weird group pass. Almost every day one met the Death Squad somewhere in the ship. It would eventually fetch everyone, it was nothing special.

  T39 looked straight ahead, neither to the left nor to the right. He did not wish to see anyone because he was afraid of letting something slip. For the second time in his existence he had come to terms with the inevitable end.

  They turned into a narrow passage that ended in a single door. As if by magic it opened onto the room behind it.

  T39 walked on, then came to a halt in the middle of the room. The guards took their positions after the door had shut behind them.

  T39 knew that no one was permitted to be present at the executions. No one had ever been able to report what the death room looked like. The oval lid over there in the wall—that must be the conveyer to the converter.

  The leader of the guards went over to the panel and operated the electronic controls. Slowly the oval metal lid swung open, revealing a dark hole that was large enough to contain a human being. Beyond it a downward slanting conveyer belt was visible. What was down in its depths could only be guessed.

  T39 shuddered. An irresistible urge to do something and not simply allow himself to be killed stirred in him.

  But then he thought he heard the penetrating voice of O2 depicting the future of their people. And the order of the Commander, his last good wishes.

  No, there was no way out! He had to comply.

  "Stick your head into the opening!" the guard ordered callously.

  T39 felt as if he were placing his head on the executioner's block although he had never in his life heard of decapitation. He heard the approaching steps of the robots behind him and then he felt them grasp his legs.

  He received a strong push—and then he slipped down the slide into the black uncertainty of the reactor.

  Somewhere before him death must be waiting.

  The lid closed above him and it became pitch dark.

  The atomic glow...?

  Where was the heat of the atomic flames that were to consume him? Perhaps his nerves were not reacting properly, perhaps he had already lost consciousness.

  And then, all at once, the slide stopped...

  3/ ONE OF THE GREATEST

  SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE

  The patrol ship of the Solar Empire materialized and returned from paraspace to the normal Universe. It had traversed more than 2,000 light-years in the course of one single hyperjump and now required a good half hour to calculate the data for the next jump and anchor them in the positronic robot computers of the navigation controls.

  Commander Wilmar Lund breathed a sigh of relief as his First Officer, seated next to him, got up and shook off the last of his pains of transition.

  "It's always the same," he reassured him. "It's no different for me either. Ask at sickbay if there were any accidents."

  That was rare but it did occur once in awhile. The breakthrough from the 5th to the 4th dimension and the materialization connected with it caused certain structural changes which were generally so minimal that
they could go disregarded.

  As the First Officer switched on the readout screen, Lund enjoyed the undisturbed view of the star-studded Universe. The enormous panorama screen created the impression that one was looking directly into the swarm of suns, actually, however, it only reproduced what it was fed by electronic impulses. In other words, one was seeing only a picture, not actual Space.

  They were now 20,000 light-years from Earth. The Arctic, a light cruiser of the Solar Empire could execute hyperjumps up to 2,000 light-years. Another six or seven hours and they would be landing on Earth.

  The Arctic was returning from one of its surveillance flights in the Sun system and had on board some agents of the Solar Security Service who were taking the opportunity to report back to their native country. Among them was a lieutenant of the Mutant Corps, a certain mouse-beaver Pucky.

  Pucky, as just stated, was no human being. Somewhere on the planet of the dying sun lived the remainder of his declining race, facing their uncertain destiny. Some day the cold sun would be extinguished—or become an all-consuming nova. That might still take millenniums or perhaps just a few years.

  Pucky, a successful mixture between a giant mouse and a beaver, was covered with rust brown fur and had a unique command of the human language. In general he squatted on his hind legs and supported himself with his broad beaver tail to keep his balance. When he grinned, his one solitary incisor became visible; otherwise it served to grind raw carrots, making them more palatable for his digestion.

  All of this might not have been so remarkable, however, if it weren't for additional circumstances which contributed to making some sort of miraculous animal out of Pucky. It was for good reason that this so inconspicuous creature was a member of the fabled Mutant Corps, a special troop of the Administrator of Earth, Perry Rhodan.

  Pucky was a telepath, he was able to receive the thoughts of other living beings over great distances and to understand them. Furthermore he was psychokinetic, without touching an object he could cause it to move—and that over greater distances. And, finally, he enjoyed the reputation of being one of the finest teleporters of all, with the power of his mind Pucky could transpose himself to some other location by simply dematerializing.

  Thanks to these three characteristics, Pucky was more highly esteemed by the Terranians than any other member of the Mutant Corps, despite his droll appearance and barely one-meter stature. In fact, he was approached with respect, if only to avoid arousing his displeasure. For it had long since been established that Pucky quite often played with his talents—usually for his own pleasure and edification, which did not always mean that his subject was pleased.

  As the Arctic materialized, Pucky was just on his way to the supply room. He felt hungry and intended to satisfy that pang as soon as possible. Ever since he had been picked up from Blisher 3, an utterly superfluous planet as far as he was concerned, he had not had anything worthwhile under his incisor. It was time for a change.

  Cadet Brugg liked animals very much but it wasn't that quality which had gotten him this post as mess officer. Still and all he did have something to do with animals here, even though it was only frozen fresh meat for the crew. Fortunately for his tender makeup he did administrate food concentrates, vegetables, canned goods and every sort of foodstuff required by the kitchen to prepare the various meals.

  As mentioned, Cadet Brugg liked animals very much but when the door to his domain suddenly opened and a little monster with rust-brown fur entered, looking like a runaway teddy bear at that, and furthermore grinning saucily with one yellowish incisor, he almost got a heart attack. He had never in his entire life seen Pucky, although he did know that there were members of the mysterious Mutant Corps on board the Arctic. And while animals or intelligent beings resembling animals from foreign planets were nothing special in the age of spaceflight Brugg—to be honest—would never have gotten the idea of suspecting a particularly intelligent creature in Pucky.

  "Whom did you run away from?" he asked suspiciously, overcoming his initial fright. "Did your owner forget to lock you in?" He bent over slightly to pet the peculiar visitor. "Well, come on over and tell the nice man where you belong..."

  At first Pucky lost his tongue but then he realized by telepathic means that Cadet Brugg was gentle and good-natured. He plumped down on his feet and squatted like a trained rabbit. He held his forepaws extended vertically, the 'hands' hanging down, something like a doggy begging for food. He blinked his brown dog eyes guilelessly and grinned expectantly.

  "My oh my! The little fellow can do tricks," Brugg commended him and bobbed his head back and forth appreciatively. "Now what shall I give him as a reward?"

  Pucky would have most liked to point out that carrots sweet as sugar would be no mean reward but he did not want to end the fun yet. It was such a rare occurrence that he met someone who did not know him yet. So he pricked up his big mouse ears and expectantly smacked his broad tail on the floor. His behavior was reminiscent of a seal before whose nose a herring was dangling.

  "A nice piece of sugar?" asked Cadet Brugg, naturally without expecting an answer. Everyone speaks to dogs and cats without expecting answers. So great was his astonishment when the odd visitor shook his head vehemently.

  "Oh—no nice sugar?" Brugg was truly amazed and wondered who might have taught that to the playful little guy. "A piece of sausage perhaps?"

  Pucky's head shaking became more vehement and he did not conceal his aversion to non-vegetarian food one bit.

  Cadet Brugg began to assume that his little guest always shook his head because that was all he knew how to do. He would have to guess what to offer him. Deciding on the spot, he opened the small cupboard and spotted the remainder of his own lunch in a bowl. Vegetables, potatoes and a piece of meat made up the medley. With an enticing "now here's a tasty treat!" Cadet Brugg bent down and set the bowl in front of Pucky's nose.

  The mouse-beaver did not believe his eyes when he recognized the glorified stew. No one had ever offered him the likes of that! It was even worse than the mush Tschin-LaDjen had served that time and that later turned out to... no! Don't think of it! Pucky valiantly blotted out the memory. His incisor disappeared instantly. He got down on all fours, took the bowl and with a well-aimed pitch, sent it flying right into the gullet of the garbage disposal. Then he leaned back again and grinned expectantly at Brugg.

  But now the cadet was at a complete loss. "Spoiled beast!" he declared before fully realizing what the mouse-beaver had done. Suddenly he jerked to a halt on his way to the intercom and stared in complete bewilderment at Pucky. He saw the brown, good-natured, somewhat mischievous eyes. With a peculiar feeling of uncertainty he went over and contacted Central Command.

  "Commander Lund! What is it?"

  "Cadet Brugg here. Food Depot. I would like to report a stray animal. Has there been any report of the loss?"

  "An animal?" Commander Lund apparently did not know what to make of that bit of news. "Dogs and cats are forbidden on board a cruiser!"

  "This is neither a dog nor a cat," Brugg said, throwing a sidelong glance at Pucky. The mouse-beaver was still squatting near the door, 'begging' and grinning impudently. "I don't know how to describe it. It's got ears like a young elephant, a pointed snout, a flat tail and looks terribly stupid..."

  It was as if someone suddenly pulled his legs out from under his body and he fell broadly on the extension of his spine. Commander Lund heard the thud over the intercom.

  "Hey, Brugg! Cut out the nonsense! Do you hear me...?"

  "Oh... my back!" came the groans from the loudspeaker in the command center. "I think there are ghosts here..."

  "Nonsense! Wise up, man! Do you know who your visitor is? Pucky, the mouse-beaver! Never heard of him? What does he want there?"

  For 10 seconds he remained quiet, then he answered distractedly: "Pucky...? The mutant? This is supposed to be that famous Pucky?"

  "Who else?" Lund snapped back. "Give him what he wants. The next hyperjump will ta
ke place in 20 minutes. Got it?"

  "Uh... I... yes, I got it!"

  A clicking sound and Cadet Brugg was once more alone with his guest. He slowly got up, held his back and looked at Pucky mistrustfully. "Excuse... excuse me, Lt. Puck." He had heard that the mouse-beaver liked to be addressed like that. "I couldn't have known... why didn't you introduce yourself?"

  For the first time, the squeaky voice of the mouse-beaver could be heard. "You didn't either, my son! Anyone can see that you are a human being! Why shouldn't you see that I am Pucky?"

  There was no arguing against this disarming logic. Cadet Brugg sighed in distress and shook his head.

  "So what may I offer you? Honestly, I thought you were..."

  "Yes, I already know, a stray! Do you have any fresh carrots?"

  "Do I have... huh?"

  "Carrots!" Pucky repeated patiently. "Preferably frozen. I'll thaw them out myself. Two or three kilograms would be just the amount..."

  He cut off abruptly.

  Cadet Brugg noticed that the brown eyes of the mouse-beaver had suddenly become immobile, as if they were seeing something terrible, incomprehensible in the far distance. The grin disappeared. He seemed to be listening inside himself, as if he heard voices there.

  "What is..."

  "Quiet!" Pucky ordered indignantly and sank again into the peculiar trance. He seemed to have forgotten his surroundings.

  Brugg shook his head and went into the adjoining room to get the required carrots. These mutants did have funny habits, he admitted to himself. Well, that fellow shall get his carrots and then he can get out of here. But perhaps it would be better not to think so much. Telepaths can be uncomfortable companions.

  He returned with a plastic bag full of carrots in time to see Pucky dissolving into thin air. The only thing remaining behind was the fine scent of toilet soap, about which a certain Reginald Bell always claimed that it stank so obnoxiously that even the most callous fleas, on simply sniffing it, would leap into the eternal hunting grounds.

  "What luck," Cadet Brugg mumbled, both disturbed and relieved. "So he isn't a telepath but a teleporter." He regarded the bag in his hand. "I would like to know why he couldn't wait."