Perry Rhodan NEO: Volume 10 (English Edition) E-Book

Marc A. Herren

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Pulp
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Perry Rhodan NEO (English Edition)
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 473

Beschreibung

When Crest leads an unlikely group on his search for the Planet of Eternal Life, they end up on a version of Ferrol that shouldn’t exist. Are they in a parallel universe that will somehow let them find immortality?

Meanwhile, Sid comes face to face with his greatest foe...or so it seems. Ivanovich Goratschin killed Sid’s childhood friend, but he’s been dead for a long time. His twin brother claims to be making a fresh start—but how much can Sid trust him?

Far away in the Vega system, Rhodan’s crew, lost in space and time after landing on the Ferron world of Reyan, discovers a conflict brewing between the water-dwellers and the land-dwellers, two groups descended from the original colonists.

Back home, Dr. Manoli and the historian Aescunnar have begun a space journey of their own as they attempt to learn more about the Arkonides’ prior activities in Earth’s solar system. Their research soon brings them to Saturn’s moons, where danger and an uncertain fate await them.

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover

Episode 19: Beneath Two Moons

Episode 20: The Floating City

About J-Novel Club

Copyright

Landmarks

Table of Contents

Prologue

When he closed his eyes, the impression of the glaring white sun clung to his retinas. It danced around like a specter brought to life on an antique photo negative.

Some say God doesn’t roll the dice, he thought. Others insist there is no God. And others still wonder who is rolling the dice if not God.

The images from back then had been haunting him for hours, as they sometimes did when the fountain of memories suddenly rose up and gushed forth what should have stayed buried.

He knew that most people drew strength from their personal histories. For many, the experiences formed a reservoir from which they drew the knowledge that their lives thus far hadn’t been for nothing. That the goals they had achieved, conquests they had celebrated, had served solely to prove that their existence on Mother Earth meant something, and that outgrowing the sweet bosom of youth had signaled a necessary and therefore honorable endeavor.

For him, these memories represented a burden that he kept locked up tight. They were shimmering imprints deep in the fountain of memories—and that was more than enough.

It was said that olfactory memories were the strongest. The smell of the staircase from your childhood. Your first love’s perfume. Acrid smoke and tear gas mixed with the dusty desert floor. Memories could be submerged for decades, and a single breath was enough to be overwhelmed with pictures, stories, and feelings. A toy car racing down the stair rail. The first dance with the beauty from the other class in his grade. Lieutenant Thomas C. Hardy, mutilated in a surprise attack from the Taliban after they’d held out for hours, supposedly waiting in ambush.

The sun mercilessly blazing down on him as he carried his superior officer through enemy territory for two hours before setting him down at the agreed meeting point, only then realizing that all life had ebbed out of the man’s body. Then came the unbelievable exhaustion and despondency in the hours following this realization.

Goratschin opened his eyes. The sun over the Gobi, over Terrania, beamed with the same intensity it had back then.

Half a lifetime ago. Thomas C. Hardy, farmer from Ohio, hadn’t lived to see his twenty-third birthday. But Goratschin was still here. “Rampage,” his comrades had called him. He’d hated the name. During his captivity, he’d discovered that the Taliban fighters had given him a nickname too: “Zanawar.”

His brother, who had fought in Iraq during the same period, had similarly received a nickname: “Ivanhoe,” the noble knight.

The captivity had only been brief. Nothing could constrain a man like him—not drugs, chains, or walls of steel. The hideout deep in the mountains on the Pakistani border hadn’t withstood his powers for long. Calcium atoms could be found everywhere.

He’d fled through plumes of fire, accompanied by the screams of the dying. Impelled by pure survival instinct, he’d banished his fear to the most distant corner of his consciousness, ignored the pain, and escaped from hell.

Many years later, he knew that despite escaping thatprison, he’d still be a prisoner his whole life long. The fountain of memories ran far too deep. A jailer lurked inside him that would never let him go. Not as long as he lived.

Goratschin closed his eyes. He felt tired.

1.

Tatiana Michalovna

September 14, 2036

On an Alien World

They stepped out of the blackness of the shimmering field into the twilit jungle. Immediately, Tatiana Michalovna knew that something wasn’t right. Without warning, she felt weak, as if a heavy weight around her neck was inexorably dragging her down.

“Gravity compensation complete,” reported the voice of her suit’s Positronic.

The gravity was reduced in an instant. Relieved, she breathed in. The air smelled fresh and vital. The atmosphere was filled with a many-throated chattering, calling, howling, and crying, the flapping of moths and the babbling of a waterfall not too far away.

Only then came the thought that changed everything: We’ve left Earth. This is another planet!

The shimmering died away, the transmitter no longer active. At once, it grew darker around them. Michalovna squinted. The night wasn’t impenetrable. Wherever they were, dawn was clearly about to break at the location they’d emerged. The moon’s bright disc poured milky light down on them.

She threw a glance over her shoulder. The transmitter had switched itself off. Did that rule out any return to Earth for them? She thought of the dazzling explosion, the last impression she’d taken with her of the underwater dome by the Azores. If the transmitter there had been destroyed, going back was impossible either way.

“Do you feel it?” Trker-Hon asked. “The gravity has changed. We are no longer on Earth.”

“I...” Crest began before a rasping breath escaped his lips and his head sank forward.

Only the battledress’s Positronic kept the Arkonide from collapsing. Taking advantage of the delay, Trker-Hon grabbed him under the arms and carefully laid him down on the floor. Then the Topsidan pulled a bottle out of his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and gave Crest some to drink.

Michalovna knelt down next to the Arkonide. In the pale moonlight, Crest’s face reminded her of a drowned corpse. The old man looked ill and somehow lifeless.

“What... What happened?” Crest asked between gulps. “An error during transport?”

Trker-Hon looked at the Arkonide. “I didn’t notice much before the transition. You made a very courageous, possibly deadly decision, Crest. You left your old behind to seek eternal life. Thora’s sudden appearance and her desperate appeal—it must have shaken you to your core. At least, I assume so, although I don’t have a detailed understanding of Arkonide psychology.”

Crest’s eyes widened. “Thora!” he murmured. “Did you see if something happened to her?”

“No, Crest,” said Trker-Hon. “Thora and Rhodan were wearing battledresses. Their shields guarded them from the transmitter’s explosion.”

Crest’s bloodless lips puckered. “I hope you’re right, Trker-Hon.”

“Me too. Don’t forget, Crest, you’re a sick man. A very sick man. And the increased gravity presents an added strain for you.”

“Unfortunately. What’s your estimate? How much stronger is the gravity here compared to Earth?”

“My suit shows a reading of 1.4 gravos,” said Michalovna.

“Hmm,” the Topsidan replied. He pulled his sleeve up to his elbow, took a handful of soil from the ground, sniffed it, then rubbed his scaly forearm with it. The lizard man had to make do without a protective battledress; none on Earth had fit the Topsidan.

Michalovna watched the procedure with a frown. Then it hit her that Trker-Hon was carrying out this ritual to give himself time to think and care for his scaly skin in the process. Normally, the Topsidan did this with a handful of sand and hot water, but now he was using what he had on hand.

“Will you have trouble without a gravity neutralizer?” Michalovna asked.

“Based on your reading, the gravity is only a little stronger than on my homeworld,” the lizard said. “I’m not as young as I was, admittedly, but I’ll manage.”

“Well then.” Crest wiped the whitish secretions from the corners of his eyes. Slowly, he stood up. “Let’s turn our attention to this world the transmitter has beamed us to.”

The transmitter!

Michalovna turned around again and looked at the device that had served as the receiving station. She activated the multifunction tool at her left wrist, and a beam of light surrounded the device.

In both size and construction, the transmitter here was exactly like the one in the undersea dome. Two columns bordered the surface, through which matter was beamed to a device on the other side. The columns narrowed towards the top. During use, gleaming energy fields of an unknown nature extended the columns and united them into an archway. The only difference was that a canopy of wood and leaves had been built above this one. Flowers protruded from long-stemmed vases.

Michalovna walked closer, sniffing cautiously. It smelled sweet but also pungent, almost of... “Decay,” she said.

Trker-Hon pointed at a basket woven from wide blades of grass sitting at the base of the transmitter. Dozens of beetles were crawling up and down the rim. Something lay in the basket that looked like the remains of a five-fingered hand. Pale bones jutted out, from which the gleaming black beetles were gnawing on the last remains of flesh, tendons, and muscles.

“A ceremonial place,” said Crest.

Trker-Hon raised his head and breathed in deeply. Then he took a few steps. “The inability to see in three dimensions has made my mind readjust my other senses to compensate.” He kneeled down, picked up a handful of humus, smelled it, and threw it aside. “It’s only a gain of a few meaningless percentage points. Far less than I could have achieved with purposeful manipulation of the relevant areas of the brain.”

Michalovna exchanged a brief sideways glance with Crest. The Arkonide shrugged in a perfectly human manner.

Trker-Hon pushed a bush aside. “But as they say so beautifully, ‘What I take with me out of the egg belongs to me alone.’ That may not be entirely applicable in my case, because my senses sharpened only later, but my genetics already knew this secret before I knew what awaited me. And that’s why...” He bent over, then straightened himself triumphantly. “And there we have it!”

Michalovna and Crest went over to him. “What is it?” she asked.

“See for yourself!”

Crest took the object Trker-Hon held out to him: a stick, not quite the length of an arm, made of wood or a wood-like material, covered in grooves and notch patterns.

Crest cleared his throat. “This, too, looks like a ritual implement to me. Thus, the obvious conclusion that the stick is directly related to the transmitter altar.”

“But why was it lying in that bush?” Michalovna asked. “And how did you know it was there?”

Trker-Hon’s lizard-like face twisted around the wide mouth and the thin-skinned cheeks. Michalovna wasn’t sure, but she assumed this was the Topsidian equivalent of a human smile.

“I didn’t know that the ceremonial stick was in the bush,” he said. “I only followed the tracks. Direct your light source at the ground!”

Michalovna looked at the path that Trker-Hon had taken. Next to the heavy footsteps the Topsidan had left behind was another trail in the soft ground. Smaller, more oval-shaped impressions than those of the lizard being, but clearly human.

Or humanlike, she thought.

“Someone had the duty of guarding the altar,” Trker-Hon concluded. “A dull, monotonous task, more a punishment than a ritual honor. You take the ceremonial stick from your predecessor, already knowing that nothing will happen until daybreak, except maybe an animal unexpectedly appearing and then running off.”

Trker-Hon underscored his explanation by moving the stick.

“How great the shock must be when suddenly the unexpected happens! The altar comes to life, light floods the nocturnal forest, pulling it out of its twilight sleep. Frightened animals cry out. Then out of nowhere, a field appears, a terrifying, unfathomable field. Maybe you can already see the silhouettes of the creatures awakened by the altar. Two of them look similar to the observer. The third, however...looks more like a figure from a phantasmium! As quickly as possible, the altar guard jumps into the nearest bush! He loses the stick, but terror gives him wise counsel and carries him away as fast as he can manage. He has to get to his village, his safety. He has to tell the others about it!”

“You’re assuming the guard is humanoid?” Crest asked.

“Not necessarily. But the footprints strongly point towards it.”

“Any other far-reaching assumptions?”

“An assumption supported by a line of reasoning,” Trker-Hon retorted. He bent over and pulled up a few plants. “Look at these leaves. And here, this vine with the suction cups. Do they look familiar to you?”

Crest answered in the negative. Michalovna shook her head, then immediately felt her stomach tighten convulsively. Those suction cups... “They look alien. Very alien.”

“I’ve already seen these plants once before. Of course, flora is easier to spread from planet to planet than fauna, but the evidence fits together well.”

“You allude to the existence of the transmitter,” Crest said. “Do you know where we are?”

“Among other things,” Trker-Hon replied. “We’ve landed on a world that not only exhibits a gravity of 1.4 gravos, but has only one moon and is populated by humanoids. Judging by the footprints, rather squat, strong, and intelligent ones. We’ve only heard of one world in association with the transmitters, and the plant I hold in my hand exists on it. Ferrol!”

Michalovna nodded. Before the transfer, she’d had thoughts about where they might rematerialize. Even then, she’d already thought about Ferrol in the Vega system among other things. She shook her head in surprise as an idea occurred to her and activated her battledress’s com unit, making the Positronic search for signals on all possible frequencies.

Meanwhile, Crest tilted his head back. “A shrewd and an indeed seamless chain of evidence,” he said, pondering. “Please don’t take it the wrong way if I tell you that it’s sadly not correct.”

The scaly bulges above Trker-Hon’s eyes drew together. “How so?”

“Well,” Crest said with a melancholy smile, “even an old man’s fainting spell can lead to an important discovery. Come with me!”

Crest directed them to a small clearing. Michalovna felt as though she could reach out and touch the enormous disc directly above them in the dark blue sky.

“What do you want to show us?” Trker-Hon asked. “What clue doesn’t fit?”

“The moon.”

The Topsidan spread his arms out, uncomprehending. “It’s right there, Crest. All you need to do is look up at it.”

“It’s not this moon that breaks your train of logic,” Crest said, an almost roguish smile dancing on his colorless lips, “but that one!” He turned around and pointed with outstretched arm at a mountain range. Between two peaks that tapered to points glowed the thin sickle of a moon. A second moon.

“But...” Trker-Hon began. He shook his head as if trying to shake off a pesky insect. “But I recognize it! Up there is Ferrolia, the first moon. The invasion fleet of my people’s despotate destroyed the second moon, Byton, in the course of conquering the Vega system, to push the Ferrons to surrender.”

Michalovna gasped. What had looked like a squabble between two evenly matched beings of different origins had suddenly swelled into a mystery that took her breath away. How can this be?

At that moment, something crackled next to her ear. “My suit picked up a com signal!” she said, excited.

“Play it!”

Michalovna gave the command. For two breaths, all she heard was the distant shouting of animals in the jungle before it crackled again and suddenly...music rang out! Astounded, she listened to the light melody and the sparse lyrics sung by a female and very sad-sounding voice.

“That’s Ferron,” said Trker-Hon. “It fits, all of it—except for that moon!”

“I propose that we sit down for a moment and recover from the surprise,” said Crest. “The sun will rise soon, and then I’m sure we’ll learn more.”

Trker-Hon agreed, although Michalovna didn’t have the impression that the Topsidan needed a breather. She helped Crest and sat down next to him. Trker-Hon rested on his tail for a little longer before following their lead.

Michalovna cast her eyes around the clearing, the trees, and the mountains, looking again and again at the two moons. She listened to the Ferron song. The translator struggled with a word now and again, but beyond that, she immediately understood what the woman was singing about.

Love.

Scientists insisted that mathematics was the real language of the universe. Michalovna had no doubt, however, that it had to be love that tied the cosmos together. For where there was no love, there was also no one to whom the cosmos could mean anything. She knew that she wouldn’t win any scientific debates with this argument. But to hell with science!

She pressed her lips together. She didn’t want this incomparable situation to corrupt her emotional world. She had accepted the new world as it presented itself to her. And she wanted to keep it that way. Even upon suddenly finding herself on an alien planet. She, Tatiana Michalovna, along with an alien who looked like a human and another who looked like a lizard. Crest da Zoltral, the elderly Arkonide scientist consumed from the inside by cancer. Trker-Hon, the former Wise One who had turned his back on his own culture. Searching for the Planet of Eternal Life together, on a world under alien moons, one of which shouldn’t even exist. And she was listening to a song that brought her straight back home, back to her innermost, most sacred self.

A flock of birds flew up. Then a spear of pale blue light thrust out over a mountain ridge. Holding her breath, Michalovna watched as the alien sun rose, a glowing blue-white ball that made the world blaze and sparkle as if sprinkling it with pixie dust.

She raised her hand and shielded her eyes. This alien sun looked enormous. And it beamed in a pale bluish white.

“There’s no doubt anymore,” Trker-Hon said.

“Yes,” Crest agreed. “It’s Vega.”

2.

Sid González

September 26, 2036

Lakeside Institute, Terrania

Sid González looked at the strange bundle of fur between the white sheets. A unique scent wafted from it, effortlessly cutting through the clammy smell of sterilizing agents and cleaning solutions in the hospital room.

Gucky was breathing through his half-open mouth. A small, pink tongue twitched against his short lip fur.

“His brain waves are normalizing,” Fulkar said. “He’s waking up.”

“Good,” said John Marshall. “Then we arrived at just the right time.”

Gucky’s eyelids trembled; his tongue drew back. From the movement of the tousled fur at the Mousebeaver’s throat, Sid could see him swallowing several times with some effort. The mouth opened and closed.

The odor intensified. It reminded Sid of the streets where he’d grown up. For a few weeks, he’d been the owner of a Chihuahua until it had gone missing during a rushed escape. A laughably small animal with big googly eyes...

Gucky’s eyes were large too. Intelligence slumbered in them, often accompanied by a good helping of frivolity and playfulness.

The Mousebeaver weakly cleared his throat. “What’s going on? Where... Where am I?”

“Among friends,” John said softly.

“In Terrania’s Lakeside Institute,” Fulkar added. “I’m Fulkar, your attending physician.”

Dr. Eric Manoli didn’t say a word. He only brushed across his lips with the nail of his right thumb.

With his thin fingers, Fulkar tapped at the medopad attached to the top end of the bed. “You were unconscious for three Earth days. I could have woken you up, but it seemed appropriate in this situation to let nature take its course.”

Gucky blinked, confused. His head jerked up, but then quickly sank back into the soft pillow. “I was unconscious? That... That’s never happened to me before. That can’t...” He swallowed again. His forehead muscles tensed. “Betty!” he whispered. “Did she make it? And the others...”

John stepped closer to the bed. “Betty’s doing fine. She’s safe now, along with the other mutants Monk abducted.”

Gucky wiped his eyes with slender fingers, wiping away the remnants of secretions that had built up while he was unconscious. “I remember now. Virginia. The farm. And...Monk.”

“He’s being held securely,” Sid assured him.

Gucky lightly raised his head and looked at the teen. Sid had the impression that the corners of the Mousebeaver’s mouth had turned up into a smile.

“Monk, Monk, Monk,” Fulkar said as he folded the medopad back into its initial position. “A remarkable catch! His anti-para-gift is of the greatest interest for research!”

The doctor paused, then tapped twice on a silver touch panel attached to his left temple. Almost confused, he shook his head before straightening up to his full height. “You spent days struggling against this anti-para-gift. Any doctor, even the backward ones from this planet, would tell you that your strength would run out at some point. As such, blacking out was no more than an inevitable consequence. Action, reaction. Simple as that.”

Eric Manoli ran a hand down his face. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but instead he stifled a yawn and remained silent.

Suddenly, Sid had to yawn too. His thoughts were creeping along like lazy wanderers in the midday sun. Something in him was vibrating. Flickering. Sid felt as though every individual cell in his body were exhausted. Like the battery of a pod that had only one line left out of five, blinking red in a feverish haste.

Sid recalled a conversation with John. A few days after they’d landed in Terrania, John had pulled him aside with a worried look. He’d advised Sid to keep his curiosity in check, to take it easier, and even to say no for now if anyone wanted to use him—or rather, his gift—on a mission.

“You have to get used to your new life first, Sid,” he’d said. “How many times have you had to adjust to new surroundings over the past few years? Before you could really adapt to the new structures, time was already marching on. You were used. You had to grow up at a very young age. At the same time, you still have the dreaming boy in you, who—”

“I’m sixteen,” Sid had protested. “I am grown up. I’m not a child anymore!”

John had considered a moment before saying, “Okay, Sid. Then let’s say you’re a young tree whose roots don’t reach as deep into the earth yet as the knotty old ones.”

“A tree?”

“A tree. And one that’s been pulled up several times and planted somewhere new, and that still has to get used to the new soil and strange climate. Trees need time before they’re firmly rooted. People need that too. In that sense, you’re no different than any other person.”

As Fulkar ran an analytical device with a blue glow over Gucky’s body, Sid thought, This exhaustion. This flickering in my cells. The empty batteries. Are they lacking in energy because they’re getting too few nutrients from the ground?

He shook his head as if trying to scare off a fly that had settled on his thoughts.

Dammit! I’m not a tree. I’m Sid. One of the Terran Union’s most important team members. Depending on the situation, I’m a transport option, an escape route, or a weapon for Perry Rhodan. Whenever he needs me, I’m there for him and for John. And the others.

He considered a moment, then thought, And I’m a spacefarer. I fly to the stars. I don’t need any roots. My yearning for the stars is what nourishes me.

Sid smiled at this train of thought, which seemed very grown-up to him. Then he paused. Something had changed. His stomach felt strange. It suddenly hung in his abdomen like a solid lump. In slow motion, Sid turned his head to look at the window. Lush rays of sunlight came in, drawing a path of light from his feet to the window. For several seconds, he felt as though he’d lived through all this once before. The room, the smells, the path of light’s unmistakable invitation to walk over.

Déjà vu, Sid thought.

As if sleepwalking, he put one foot in front of the other and moved towards the window. Then he looked down at the Lakeside Institute’s provisional forecourt. Freshly planted trees wavered in the weak wind blowing from the Juyan lake. There was a bustle of activity on the connecting street that led along the bank towards Terrania. Humanity’s new capital city rose up proudly at the other end of the body of water. The nascent sea of houses was reflected in the lake’s slate-gray surface. In the center, the Stardust Tower was growing high up into the sky. Sometimes, it felt to Sid as if the tower would never stop growing.

He loved the view. When he didn’t have any duties to attend to, he often sat for hours at one of the tower’s high windows, or on a street corner, and watched the city getting bigger. He enjoyed the idea of being there when a legend came into being. Machu Picchu, Palenque, Tikal, and other illustrious cities of South America—how often he’d wondered what it must have been like when they were being built. Hundreds of years later, the image of it had faded like an old-fashioned analog photograph. Faded from the memory of humanity.

Sid had no doubt that Terrania’s star would shine longer and brighter than that of Terra’s other cities put together.

He raised his right hand and shaded his eyes. Work at the Lakeside Institute of Mental and Physical Health seemed to be proceeding as usual. People of all persuasions were assembling ready-made pieces into barracks and installing water and power lines. Others were walking along the dusty streets within pedestrian zones marked with spray paint. In between, vehicles and improvised machines jolted along, transporting people and building components.

Sid furrowed his brow, unnerved by the feeling of being caught in a dream that wouldn’t end. Why did everything seem so strange and surreal? Why were his eyes burning like fire? Why were tears suddenly running down his cheeks?

Many of the people resembled one another because they were similarly dressed. Bright, airy clothes, and also uniforms from which they had removed the rank, troop category, and country insignia. Many among them were Asian and on the shorter side. Others were European, African, Indian, American. And among them...

For a few seconds, Sid stared at him. He felt like his heart could stop beating. He knew him.

No, not him. It. A ghost!

It towered above the humans it walked between by more than a head. It was wearing a light brown garment that reminded Sid of the title image of the worn copy of The Leatherstocking Tales. As a child, that book had been his most valuable possession until he had lost it one day.

Suddenly, a cold sensation spread through Sid. He had to be dreaming. This man strolling along the street didn’t exist anymore! Evil had caught up with him. The evil he’d harbored inside himself.

Sid had thought a lot about evil. About the methods that evil employed. About the risks people took when they walked that path. How many had died after once exuding a sheen of invincibility because evil had given them power and strength?

Strength and power. Not things you could take with you to the other side. All that ever remained were others’ thoughts of you. And why, Sid had asked himself back then, would it be desirable to be remembered as a failed villain?

This train of thought had reassured him at the time. It had given him the confidence to stay on the right path. The good guys weren’t always victorious. The good guys weren’t always right. But you remembered the good guys. You regretted and mourned their deaths. You were happy and relieved when one less evil person was carrying out his dark machinations. The evildoer’s death was necessary because evil couldn’t triumph.

And because of that—for that exact reason!—it was an impossibility, a monstrosity, that he was seeing there on the street, not merely a man who should have been dead.

Sid’s confusion turned to dread. The dread turned to fear. And the fear gave rise to anger.

“Ivanhoe!” he cried at the top of his lungs.

The shout echoed off the window, making his ears ring. His heart beat faster. His cheeks felt hot and wet at the same time.

Sparks flew as he concentrated on the jump. He distantly heard John’s voice, but the words didn’t reach him.

I’ll kill you, Sid thought, and he jumped.

The impact felt as though he’d collided with a wall at full speed. The air left his lungs with a throaty cough accompanied by the metallic taste of blood.

Sid staggered backwards as unbelievable pain emanated from his arms, chest, and chin. Through a watery haze, he saw the face of the man who couldn’t—shouldn’t—exist anymore.

He ignored the astonished expression that almost gave the man a semblance of humanity. Sid leaped at Ivanhoe’s ghost, pulled his fist back, and punched. As forcefully as he could. New pain flowed from the arms into his body. The abomination’s leather clothing hardly cushioned the blows at all. Underneath them had to be strands of muscle harder than stone.

A thought shot through Sid’s mind. Not a ghost. A being that came from the ground.

For several frenzied heartbeats and just as many fist blows, the being let it happen. Then it took a step back and raised its long arms. A plate-sized hand rested on Sid’s chest, effortlessly pushing him backwards.

Sid spun his arms almost like the blades of a windmill, but he couldn’t reach the golem anymore.

Teleportation sparks flew. Sid jumped a meter away, turned around lightning-fast, and kicked the giant in the back of the knee with all his might.

Ivanhoe staggered.

Sid shouted in triumph. Kicked again.

The other figure regained his balance. He whirled around with catlike elegance. A fist as large as a small child’s head shot at Sid, sweeping through sparks. Sid didn’t feel the impact; he was already standing behind Ivanhoe again, spinning around and kicking once more.

From somewhere, shouts penetrated into Sid’s subconscious. John? Eric? At the same moment the golem turned to face him, Sid teleported. Kicked. Teleported again. Kicked. Teleported. Kicked.

Sid’s strength evaporated so abruptly that he didn’t even notice at first. Didn’t want to believe it. The world sank in red streaks interwoven with sparks. Sweat ran streaming down his body, drenching his clothes and making his hair stick to his forehead. He felt the strong sunlight on his skin. Smelled the desert dust, the acrid scent of plasphalt being cut to size with laser cutters. Tasted the taste of blood in his mouth.

The next jump took him too far. Furious, he cried out when he realized he was almost two meters behind the abomination. He ran towards the Ivanhoe golem, stumbled, fell feebly into the man’s powerful arms, cried out again, and tried to teleport but didn’t succeed.

Sid heard sobbing and was ashamed to recognize it was coming from him. His whole world was filled with Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, who had imprisoned and tortured him. Who had given him a home and made him what he was today. Ivanhoe, who had murdered his friend Elmer and yet had sworn eternal vengeance on him, Sid.

3.

Crest

On a Wrong World

Crest mused to himself. He felt too old to indulge in silly, pointless thoughts, but the puzzle of this world fascinated him and fed his imagination. Foolishly enough, it was the silliest of thoughts that were often the most readily indulged in.

“What do we know about transmitters?” Trker-Hon asked. “Nothing. At least, not enough to really assess what they’re capable of—and not capable of.”

“We know that they can transport solid matter via a superordinate continuum to a predetermined receiving station,” Crest murmured. “Unfortunately, we then run into insurmountable mental hurdles if we try to determine the nature of this continuum. Is it hyperspace? Going through a wormhole? Some other variety of singularity that can connect two points in the universe...or even outside of this universe?”

Trker-Hon sucked in air. “Are you trying to suggest the transmitters might also be able to connect locations in different universes?”

“We both know it’s theoretically possible to connect universes with each other. And, as I already said, the transmitters transport energy and information. That stream would also flow if you linked two universes together.”

“Theoretically,” the Topsidan corrected him. “If one theoretically wished to connect them together.”

The human woman stared at him, her brow furrowed. Since the enormous blue sun had risen, which could only be Vega, she’d fled into confused silence. This astonished Crest.

“Are you trying to say that we might have emerged in a parallel universe?” she asked now.

“That would at least explain the moon that was destroyed not too long ago in our universe.” He paused. “What do you know about parallel universes?”

The woman lowered her gaze. “Nothing,” she quietly confessed. “Only what I’ve seen in movies. Parallel worlds where there are duplicates of us, except they might be different from us because their stories developed differently there.”

Trker-Hon scratched his neck, confused. Crest smiled warily. “I see that such thought exercises have inspired the creative minds of Earth. Interesting to approach scientific thought through art. Inefficient, mind you, but thoroughly fascinating.”

“Don’t you have movies on Arkon?”

“There may have been such things,” Crest replied. “A long time ago. Before the new challenges for our gray cells that have only led to an entire population growing weak. In a time before the fiction games.”

Michalovna nodded. “Then you’re assuming we’ve arrived in a parallel world?”

“Hmm,” Trker-Hon began. “Your theory seems astonishingly solid on the outside. But it sounds too fantastical for me. Additionally, I can’t stop thinking back to that signal we intercepted.”

“The radio program?”

“Yes, the radio program. Shouldn’t we be receiving far more traffic if we really are on Ferrol?”

“If we’re speaking of the Ferrol you know, then yes,” Crest conceded. “But who knows how differently everything might have gone in a parallel universe. So the theory goes, a spacefarer only needs to step on the wrong beetle, and in the distant future, someone else will inherit the universe.”

“Are you suggesting that this Ferrol might have fewer people because something happened at some point?”

Crest raised his hands again. “It’s a possibility. A catastrophe of some description. The inhabitants fled to one of the other planets a long time ago, and the Topsidian invaders then left Ferrol and both its moons in peace.”

The Terran woman rubbed the bridge of her nose with both thumbs. “Let’s say this theory is accurate. What does it actually mean? Why is there a connection between the undersea dome on Earth and an alternate Ferrol? Why are we even here?”

Trker-Hon bent down, lifted a handful of sandy soil, and rubbed it over his wrists and tail. “Three possibilities occur to me off the top of my head.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“It could all be a coincidence,” said the Topsidan. “Bear in mind that we’re not the first to have used the transmitter in the undersea dome. A few weeks ago, the half-Arkonide Quiniu Soptor, who once belonged to the crew of Crest’s ship, went through the transmitter along with the robot, Rico. Directly afterwards, it was destroyed—and then it regenerated itself in one more example of its creators’ highly superior technology. But what if the device didn’t regenerate completely? The coordinates it used to beam us may have been wrong. Or taken randomly from memory. Maybe this ‘wrong’ Ferrol is a kind of practice world that the transmitter engineers used to test out its functions.”

As Trker-Hon reeled off sentence after sentence, a chill ran down Crest’s spine. He’d already formed his own thoughts about their situation. Now the Topsidan was giving voice to his own most unnerving ideas, and that made him uncomfortable.

“Or it’s a security switch,” said Michalovna, picking up the thread. “If unauthorized persons use the transmitter, they’re sent to a world they’re guaranteed not to escape from.”

Trker-Hon rubbed his hands together. The remaining sand and scraped-off scales trickled to the ground. “That could equally be true. Then it would make no difference whether the world was chosen intentionally or not. We would still be here for no reason, with no way to be sure we’d ever get away.”

“What’s your second possibility?” Crest asked, tense.

“We’re here because someone planned it,” the lizard being replied. “We’re puppets on invisible strings controlled by the one responsible for building the transmitters.”

“Why singular?” the woman asked. “It could be an entire people, or representatives of them.”

The Topsidan massaged his neck. “That is very possible indeed. I don’t know what would horrify me more—an entire people, or only their nest guard.”

“What would that mean?”

“No idea,” Trker-Hon replied. “But I’m sure we’ll find that out very quickly if it’s true.”

“And what would be your third theory?”

Supporting himself on Michalovna’s shoulder, Crest lifted himself up. “Will you allow me to give my theory about your third theory?”

Trker-Hon raised both palms in a sign that he had no objections.

“Your third theory is that we’re here because we want to be here. Because this is a step on the road to our common goal. That’s why we found the transmitter, and that’s why it sent us to this not-quite-right version of Ferrol.”

The Topsidan lifted his wide chin and presented Crest with the softly scaled skin of his neck. “Most astounding. I’d have chosen my words almost exactly as you did!”

“Two She’huan—one thought!” said Crest with a touch of mockery.

Michalovna looked at Crest with a dubious expression. “Can it really be so simple? We wish to be on the Planet of Eternal Life, and bam, here we are?”

“No,” said Crest. “This is most certainly not the planet itself. The knowledge of how to reach it is one of the greatest secrets that exists for Arkonides, Topsidans, or Terrans. If it were so simple, my people would have achieved immortality thousands of years ago.”

The woman pondered a moment. “That reminds me of a question I’ve had for some time, Crest. If your civilization is so much more advanced than ours, why haven’t you long since overcome illnesses and old age?” She’d hardly said it before she blanched. “I’m... I’m sorry, Crest. I didn’t mean it like that. I...”

Crest raised his right hand. “I would never admonish you for such a clear and unfiltered expression of your thoughts. Yes, I am old and terminally ill. Your question is entirely valid.”

“Please forgive me,” she said. “That wasn’t very sensitive of me. I’m just thinking of my own people—humanity. Our medicine has made unbelievable leaps and bounds in the last hundred years. We’ve defeated terrible diseases, and in the last 150 years, the average life expectancy has more than doubled.”

“That’s exactly the crux of the matter,” Trker-Hon said, joining the discussion. “Topsidian health outcomes made similar advancements at first. But eventually, progress stagnated. Increased life expectancy led to complications. In the end, the price we had to pay for longer life was too high. Ailments related to old age made life not worth living anymore.”

“A development I’ve observed in many spacefaring peoples,” Crest said. “We reach an invisible threshold that we can’t cross. And at that point, there are only three options left: you come to terms with life being limited, you escape into religion and thus a belief in life after death...”

“Or you embark on a search for the Planet of Eternal Life,” Michalovna finished.

“You’ve grasped it,” Crest replied. “Even though this legend is shrugged off by many as a mere flight of fancy, as a wild hope of the doomed, I’ve made an astonishing observation.”

“That I too have made, independently of the Arkonide scientist,” Trker-Hon added.

Michalovna drew a deep breath. “Namely?”

Crest smiled. “Every spacefaring people knows this legend. In markedly different forms, but there is an unmistakable unity as far as the central points are concerned.”

The Arkonide could see the young woman forgetting everything around her. “Wh... What central points are you talking about?”

“For example, the description or naming of the planet in question,” the Topsidan answered in Crest’s stead. “Expressions like ‘the world that cannot be’ or ‘the imperfect world’ or the bleeding world’...”

“‘The world of light’...” Crest interjected.

“Or ‘the world that knows no night.’ All these have been found to exist in identical or similar form in the vocabulary of peoples that had never encountered one another before.”

“Beyond that, the legends all agree that the Planet of Eternal Life can’t be reached by conventional means. Whoever wants to reach it must ‘surrender to the unfathomable blackness,’ ‘let go of existence,’ ‘prove themselves worthy,’ and ‘take the leap.’”

The telepath’s eyes widened. “This ‘unfathomable blackness’ you’re talking about... Could it mean the transmitter’s radiation field?”

“That’s what I’m assuming,” Crest said. “That’s how I knew I had to entrust myself to the field—whatever the potential consequences.”

“For the same reason, though, it’s clear that this can’t be the Planet of Eternal Life,” Trker-Hon added. “We had to neither let go of existence nor take on some meaningful test where we proved ourselves worthy.”

“What would this test look like?”

“We don’t know,” Crest replied. “Reaching the planet would be proof that we’ve passed the test and are thus worthy of immortality.”

She shook her head. “But... But if no one’s ever managed to uncover the secret of immortality, then...who could be behind this supposed world?”

Crest smiled. “That’s the source of a great deal of speculation. Personally, I believe there is very likely someone or something who has solved that mystery. Someone above our plane of existence.”

“You mean...gods?”

“What are gods except superior beings?” the Topsidan asked.

Michalovna breathed out with a snort. “I need to digest this first. Wait a sec! Why? If you’re saying this legend is known to all spacefaring peoples, why doesn’t humanity know it?”

“Oh,” said Crest, “I’m sure the bud of this knowledge is indeed known by humanity...but so far you haven’t come far enough to see this bud open. You’ve come far in a few centuries, but you can still only reach the closest planets in your own system. Only setting out into the depths of space brings the deepest knowledge.”

“But we’ve reached Vega,” the Terran countered.

“With the aid of our technology. And you’re learning the basics of the legend from us. It’s exceptionally fascinating for me, seeing how blithely you humans have simply skipped over millennia of development in the space of a few months.”

“You mean we shouldn’t be far enough along to worry about this legend yet?”

“Far be it from us to deny any people the necessary maturity for this legend,” Trker-Hon said. “But knowing of its existence is only the start of the real puzzle.”

Crest cast a surprised glance at the lizard being. The Arkonide and the Wise One were speaking with one voice, despite the fact that they belonged to fundamentally different species and hardly even knew each other. “Additionally, there are still key questions that must be cleared up first. For example, the question of why. Why should these unknown ones want to grant immortality to individuals? Or is it meant as a gift to an entire people?”

“And for me,” the Topsidan added, “the most important question is the price for eternal life. What are these unknown figures expecting in return for immortality?”

The Terran ran a hand over her face. “You mean you’re not sure if you’d actually accept the gift of eternal life?”

With his healthy eye, Trker-Hon looked up at the bluish white sun. “Everything comes at a price. A wise man knows his limits.”

Michalovna scratched her head. “But you both agree that by going through the transmitter, we’ve taken the first step in solving the mystery of immortality?”

Crest exchanged a glance with Trker-Hon. “Yes, we do.”

The Terran got up. “Then why are we still sitting around complaining? If this puzzle is so hard to solve, shouldn’t we make a start on looking for more clues?”

Trker-Hon lifted himself off the ground in a single, powerful motion. When Crest didn’t react straight away, he held out his scaly hand to him. “You heard the woman, old man,” he said with an ironic undertone.

4.

Paco

Somewhere in the Andes, South America

He called himself Scaramanca. Beyond that, they didn’t know much about the man they were working for. He gave them money, good money, that they could use to feed their children and keep their wives happy.

That’s not entirely true, Paco thought. We know at least three other things about him. For example, that he’s a white guy—a gringo. We know that he’s some kind of technical whiz. And we know one more thing. He’s not all there.

With a shudder, he recalled his last visit to Scaramanca’s refuge. Paco had tried to bring him food, but the jefe had chased him away, saying he wasn’t in the habit of eating on a Wednesday and instead demanding a jug of goat’s milk with two glasses. This despite everyone knowing Scaramanca wasn’t expecting any visitors and could bear a maximum of half a minute in the company of others.

In the company of humans, Paco corrected them mentally. He thought goat’s milk was one of the greatest achievements of an agriculturally oriented life. He could also understand why someone would want to avoid solid foods for one calendar day and prefer to use a new glass if sticky remnants of the milk made the first glass look unappetizing.

But not in this man’s case. Not in Scaramanca’s case. With him, it looked totally different—because he had plenty of company, their jefe, only it wasn’t human.

Paco rested his rifle against the weathered wood of the hut, pulled his case out of his back pocket, and rolled a cigarette.

Out here, he could smoke. The likelihood of Scaramanca suddenly deciding to do an inspection round outside the mine was so low that he took the risk without hesitation.

A month earlier, he had chased a man away who’d dared go about his work in the control room with a little glowing stick in the corner of his mouth. The man, an old, unshaven guy called Gerardo, had disappeared remarkably quickly after that. Shortly afterwards, a rumor went around that the jefe had freed Gerardo from his nicotine addiction for good.

Paco brought the rolled cigarette to his lips and licked the adhesive on the cigarette paper in a motion he’d practiced a thousand times. Then he set a match alight and lit the cigarette. He flicked the match away, but almost immediately reconsidered, picking it up again and putting it back in his case. You never did know.

With relish, he took a drag, leaned back, and enjoyed the warming light of the sun in his face.

Paco preferred the lonely hours on the guard post, even though it was still uncomfortably cool in the mornings shortly after the start of spring. Especially up here, at a height of almost 2,700 meters above sea level. Terra Fria, this area was called. Where their refuge was located. Terra Fria—cold land. His home.

With his wife, Juanita, he lived on the edge of an expansive village. They planted potatoes and barley, and kept a few chickens for the eggs. Three times a week, Juanita worked for a gringo who had erected a garish marble villa at what had previously been the village’s most beloved vantage point. She took care of the grocery shopping, cleaned, prepared the food, and let the señor grope her behind for a few extra pesos.

Since Paco had started working for Scaramanca, Juanita had had to handle everything alone on the little farm. She did it without complaining, but knew that he couldn’t risk losing his well-paid job. Even if he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.

The atmosphere in the widely branching cavern system weighed down on him more than he wanted to admit. You never knew if Scaramanca had installed a few extra security cameras. Most of them were hardly bigger than a pinhead and horribly difficult to find. Whenever Paco was starting a new guard shift, he allowed himself enough time to search the environment for tiny black points.

You never did know.

5.

Crest

Far, Far Away

“Where do we start with the search?” the telepath asked. “Or, to put it another way, where might we find clues other than the transmitter?”

Trker-Hon grimaced. “I propose the following: we start at the transmitter and then work our way out in a spiral pattern.”

“Do you intend to search a whole planet that way?” Crest asked. “Is that the famous Topsidian exploration and conquest reflex?”

The Topsidan tilted his head back and made a hoarse noise. He was laughing. “Forgive me, Crest, if I cut too close to the bone earlier with my remark about Arkonide females. I may be called a Wise One, but it seems my thinking has remained stuck in the rigid and sadly very patriarchal structures of the Topsidian worldview.”

Crest smirked. “And I, being the old man that I am, am sorry to have acknowledged such a harmless jibe at all and reacted to it.”

“I’m probably too wet behind the ears and not enough of a man to understand what you’re talking about,” Michalovna interjected, “but I think it’d be better to turn our attention to the search now.”

“You’re right,” said the lizard. “We should approach the matter with appropriate respect.”

“No problem,” she replied, before stopping short.

“What’s wrong?” Crest asked. “Do you have something?”

“For a moment, I thought I could perceive fragments of thoughts.”

“Fragments of thoughts?” Trker-Hon asked. “You mean there’s someone nearby?”

The telepath frowned. “I... I’m not sure. It was a kind of shadow...”

“But it’s gone again now?” Crest asked.

The Topsidan turned around once on the spot. “Well, there’s at least someone who knows we’re here. Namely, the person who dropped the stick. We shouldn’t feel too safe just because there are no signs of civilization beyond one paltry radio program.”

“Tatiana,” said Crest. “How sure are you that there are no enemies in our immediate vicinity?”

“Very sure,” she replied. “However, don’t forget that I can only detect thoughts from intelligent beings. Robots, trained animals, and remote control weapons fall outside my area of expertise.”

“From now on, we need to be more alert,” Trker-Hon asserted. “Come on! Let’s start our investigation.”

“Please go on ahead,” said Crest. “I’ll catch up shortly.”

Trker-Hon gave Crest a brief look, taking his measure. “We talk about having to be more cautious and you immediately want to be left alone in this clearing? I’m a little confused, Crest.”

“I have to be on my own for a short while,” he replied. “I’ll be with you again soon.”

The Topsidan looked at Crest’s battledress. “Come straight to us if the situation changes. I mean that not as an order, but as a request.”

“I understand your concern, but it’s unnecessary. Only for a short while! If something happens in this short period of time, I’ll of course activate my suit’s flight module and go right to you.”

“Thank you!” said Trker-Hon before turning around. He followed the Terran woman, who was walking through the knee-high grass towards the trees, behind which lay the altar with the transmitter.

Crest sat down again. For a moment or two, he simply sat there and let the world move around him. After many years of searching and analyzing thousands of records, he had finally managed to put the hunt for immortality in concrete terms and even take the first step.

The elderly Arkonide looked at the sky, where a school of large pink birds were flying above the clearing, almost a little ungainly. The beating of their mighty wings sounded like the rolling of distant thunder.

The glowing ball that was Vega had already worked its way overhead a little, drenching the world in cool colors. That was in stark contrast to the warmth it exuded.

Crest breathed in deeply. The air smelled fresh and somehow alive. Too alive. The Arkonide suppressed the thought of his mortality and cast a scrutinizing glance at the forest’s edge. The other two had disappeared among the trees.

He opened a magnetic clasp on his battledress and pulled out the scroll he’d brought with him from Earth. He had made this great find under the seabed of the Atlantic with the help of the mutants Wuriu Sengu and Ariane Colas. There was, in fact, a second station that connected to the underwater dome erected by his forebears. This station had been well hidden—and it had looked as though its inhabitants had only just left. In storage, Crest had discovered hundreds of artifacts from every era of human history. Pottery, works of art, weapons, everyday items, and this scroll. Following his intuition, he’d pocketed it without the historian Cyr Aescunnar noticing.

After that, events had rushed them. Crest had only had the chance to read the scroll’s first few sentences. That handful of words had been enough to convince him that Earth was the right place to begin his search for the Planet of Eternal Life.

He unrolled the rough, paper-like material. “I had to bury Cunor today,” he read—the text was in Arkonide and could be made out without issue even though the ink was smeared in places—“my last comrade from the old days. He had become an old man.”

Word by word, Crest absorbed the story told by this fellow, whose hand must have trembled strongly while writing.

“A primitive human has slain Cunor, the Arkonide read. Out of fear, I presume. The humans aren’t gruesome by nature, but they tend towards violence when threatened. And the unknown seems to be a threat for most of them. They still have a lot to learn. Cunor’s death hits me hard. All the more so because it was unnecessary. It shouldn’t have happened. His suit’s energy shield should have protected him. And if not the shield, then the suit itself. It did not. Why not? I’ve examined the suit, and it was in perfect working order.Cunor must have parted from life of his own free will. For what reason, I can only guess. He had grown silent. Aging by my side must have become unbearable for him...”

“Aging by my side,” Crest repeated in a whisper. “Aging.”

On Earth, he’d only made it as far as this point. Now, he read on.

“My own existence seems unbearable to me too. I am immortal. At least, that’s what I was promised. And since the day I was granted immortality, I haven’t aged a single day. Quite the contrary. It’s as though I’ve gained energy and stamina, even mental acuity. But to what end? Rico is not prepared to give me answers. Or does he not know himself? It’s all too easy to forget that Rico is neither an Arkonide nor a human. But in these moments, it’s especially obvious. Rico doesn’t understand what the loss of a friend means. And Cunor grew close to my heart over the years. He felt almost like a brother to me.”

Crest lowered the scroll. His eyes were tearing up so strongly that the letters were more like a sea of blurry ink. After wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he read the key sentence aloud. “And since the day I was granted immortality, I haven’t aged a single day.”

Immortality. It existed. He was holding the proof in his hands.

Crest’s whole body was shaking. Suddenly, he felt like he was freezing despite the suit and the strong rays of the enormous sun. “Who are you?” he asked. “An Arkonide? An immortal Arkonide? Rico’s master? Commander of the Tosoma? Builder of the dome at the bottom of the Atlantic?”

Crest considered this a while, then lifted the scroll and read the rest of the text. “But now Cunor is dead. I’m alone on this primitive world. Among people who have a greatness inherent in them that they don’t even suspect. The resourceful humans, who will exterminate their own species if left to their own devices.”

“I don’t know if I have the energy to keep going,” Crest murmured aloud. With these simple words, the stranger’s writings ended.

In his mind’s eye, ever more individual scenes were connecting themselves together into a great whole. He didn’t know much about this man—it could only be a man—but what he knew fascinated and frightened him to his core.

Only a few minutes could have passed since he, the Terran, and the Topsidan had spoken of the price one would pay for immortality. Eternal life also meant eternal loneliness. After all, what were friendships, what were relationships, when the ravages of time only scraped at one half of the pair?