Perry Rhodan NEO: Volume 11 (English Edition) E-Book

Alexander Huiskes

• Herausgeber: J-Novel Pulp
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Serie: Perry Rhodan NEO (English Edition)
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 478

Beschreibung

Crest and his companions find themselves transported to a desolate, dying planet inhabited by insectoid creatures pursuing a dangerous mission under the yoke of the Arkonides: complete a superweapon for use against the Methanes. While investigating, they discover a more familiar species—the Ilts—being oppressed by their hosts. Meanwhile, Manoli and his companions have fallen ill. The mysterious sickness is thought to be linked to their time as Besun, but relations between the Fantan and Earth are fragile. Can the Fantan save their former captives’ lives?

Elsewhere in the galaxy, Rhodan’s crew find themselves stranded in time and space on Ambur, the Vega system’s mysterious tenth planet, a hostile wasteland with pockets of civilization. What are Rhodan, Thora, and the others expected to give in return for their rescue by its inhabitants? And can the strangers cure the strange affliction tormenting Bull and Sue?

Leseprobe

Table of Contents

Cover

Episode 21: The World-Splitter

Episode 22: Cisterns of Time

About J-Novel Club

Copyright

Landmarks

Table of Contents

Shaftgal-Cull: We’re receiving an incoming signal from sector three-three-three.

Gal-Enn: The question of collision is open for the time being. Hypothetical visit by additional personnel doubtful due to lack of need; visit by intruders or unauthorized persons unlikely due to security systems; visit by commission or other representatives of the empire high, but premature and unexpected from arrival.

Shaftgal-Xarr: Assuming the commission, direct primary collision and quaternary collision are possible; assuming intruders, there is the possibility of secondary, tertiary, and quaternary collisions; no primary collision.

Gal-Enn: Solution-based approach according to collision parameters: humility. We’ll ready a service glider and a sedan glider. Speed is of the utmost importance!

1.

Crest

Unknown World

Unknown Time

An unknown world in a time that was not theirs.

The first thing he saw were the mouths of heavy energy weapons that came down from the blanket shrouded in darkness and were pointed at him.

The first thing he heard was a harsh voice speaking Arkonide.

The first thing he felt was a dry, dust-laden coolness.

Like in a crypt. Where have we gone again? Crest thought. And what does all this have to do with immortality?

The Thort had offered it to them. “I see an outstation that was previously unavailable. It seems to be outside the Vega system. Do you want to try your luck there in search of immortality?”

No guarantees, no forecasts; just a possibility. The Thort had a transmitter, but he could not exploit its potential. Did he serve the machine or did it serve him?

For Crest, it meant only one step—one in which his body was captured in one place, thrown through nothingness, and materialized again in the other place. How this could be technically feasible, he didn’t dare fathom, though his people had achieved something similar with the transition drive used in their spaceships.

Crest stepped onto Ferrol at the ivory-white archway under the Red Palace and immersed himself in the endless blackness of the radiation field, and the next moment he was standing in a dim hall, the transmitter arch behind him.

And I didn’t notice anything during transport. It was like walking through an immaterial curtain.

White light expelled the shadows and flared upward, probably sensor-controlled and pleasing to the eyes of Arkonides. Crest, on the other hand, felt it drive a stabbing pain through his brain. Was this just the sudden change in brightness or was he tormented by cancer?

It’s very interesting. How big might the range of the transmitter be? His extra sense mused, that little piece of brain that could be stimulated in Arkonides and awakened to a kind of inner voice. It was also considered a logic sector because it was supposed to help its bearer with their decisions and question their considerations.

That’s not important now, Crest thought.

“Where did the Thort send us?” came a woman’s voice from behind him.

That was Tatiana Michalovna, one of his companions on this whimsical journey through time and space. The human woman was decidedly young, little more than a quarter of a century old, and outwardly resembled an attractive Arkonide in all essential respects except for the dark brown hair and rosy skin color. She was generally suitable for her journey with Crest because she had telepathic abilities, among other things. She could read the minds of others when she was concentrating or when those thoughts were particularly intense.

Trker-Hon, Crest’s second companion, also stepped through the transmitter. The Topsidan’s curiosity and obsession with research made him the best partner for the Arkonides. Other beings saw him as a human-sized and humanoid upright-walking lizard with scaly black-brown skin, a long lizard tail, flat forehead, and protruding muzzle. Trker-Hon wore an eye patch over his right eye and moved with a caution often seen in older beings.

“Don’t move,” said the unknown voice that was speaking Arkonide. “In case of violation, you will be terminated.”

“We are enclosed by a glowing protective screen,” said Michalovna, making a vague hand gesture. “This means that the possibilities for assessing our environment are very limited.”

Crest stopped stiffly. “Don’t move,” he said.

Michalovna laughed softly. “Don’t worry. My need to be terminated is limited.”

“But there’s still a need?” asked Trker-Hon.

“Don’t move!” the voice ordered again. It was obviously an artificial voice, because the intonation, the speed—every nuance was always exactly the same. “Otherwise, you will be terminated.”

The glow of the energy shield decreased and changed color: white, yellow, orange, red. Next, cones of light fell down around the three travelers. When they tried to move, they found that these cones of light were also the boundaries of a force field.

Again, the color changed. In Trker-Hon’s cone, the white first shifted to yellow and then immediately to green. In Michalovna’s, yellow was followed by orange, and in Crest’s, the colors went through the same order as the energy field and ended in red.

“Identification not possible,” said the automaton’s voice. The barrels of the beam weapons swung at the three newcomers.

Crest thought he could see a slight orange glow in the muzzle. Energy shots were lightning fast and could be fired without any warning. He saw Trker-Hon trying to break through the invisible barrier that trapped him in the cone of light. Furiously, the lizard man whipped his tail against the force field; his hands hammered against it, but in vain.

“Crest!” shouted the Topsidan. “Do something!”

Crest did not respond. What could he have said or even done? They had passed through the transmitter defenseless, like reckless adventurers and unworldly scientists. Where were they, and why was the voice speaking Arkonide to them? The transmitters were unknown to the Arkonides, so something wasn’t right here. And the expression “terminate” was considered very cumbersome and technocratic.

Where...and when were they? added his recently reawakened extra mind, which apparently didn’t care about the threat from the outside world. Since our arrival on Ferrol, we have known that the trail we follow is not only through space, but also through time. The Thort couldn’t send us back to the present specifically. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen anyway; after all, the transmitter on Earth also determined our destination autonomously. So our whereabouts could still be in the past, but might just as well be in the future or even an alternative timeline in a completely different era.

Crest sighed. Since no shot had yet been fired, the control mechanism of this place seemed to be waiting for something. Unless it was the arrival of external station crews, this something had to come from them.

“Station!” he shouted in a commanding voice. “Disable security protocols!”

“Command impossible. Enter command code!”

“We’re not military personnel,” Crest responded.

“Identification not possible,” the machine repeated.

“What do you need to identify us, tin can?” asked Michalovna.

No answer.

“We’re completely unarmed!” Trker-Hon groaned. “How could we possibly be a threat?”

Still no answer.

Crest placed a hand on the energy field that enclosed him in the cone. “Station! Deactivate the energy shield around me!”

Immediately, the cone of light and the associated energy shield disappeared.

Michalovna and Trker-Hon gave him pleading looks. Their energy cones were still intact.

“Station! Deactivate my companions’ energy fields!”

Nothing happened, but the disembodied voice asked, “Do you confirm the identity of the two foreign life-forms as known and belonging to you? Do they pose a threat to your life or to the safety of this station?”

Crest allowed himself a slim smile. The station had identified him as an Arkonide and recognized him as entitled to command within certain limits, but this did not apply to his companions. Not as long as he didn’t vouch for them first.

“I confirm that they are my companions. They do not pose any threat to station safety.”

“This information is stored in the station log. If you have any questions, please contact the responsible scientific staff who have just been informed.”

The energy cones were extinguished, as was the curtain of energy that had already been placed around them. The weapons were pulled back up to the ceiling, and it became dark in the room. But only for a second, then bright white light flared up and tore out of the darkness what had previously been hidden from them: a large hall.

“So it was that kind of thing. Do you have any idea what these devices are all about? They remind me of your spaceship, Crest.” Michalovna pointed to a whole range of measuring instruments that were strewn around them.

Crest tried to push back the piercing pain behind his forehead and his amazement at the transmitter and took a closer look at his surroundings. After their experience on Ferrol, this seemed urgently advisable. Who knew what dangerous situation they had fallen into?

Measuring instruments, cameras, and other devices were set up around the transmitter arch, as well as several screens, bent with plastic-coated steel, which showed simple diamond patterns as they were found in many cultures. The design of the devices was functional for two-handed creatures and seemed strangely familiar. Almost like in a museum.

“I don’t know the exact function, but I’m sufficiently familiar with them,” he replied. “The Empire uses devices like these to measure energetic phenomena and physical processes, as well as to preserve facilities.” He pointed at three different machine blocks, one after the other.

“Station! When was the last time these measuring instruments were used?” he asked.

“Please ask the scientific staff in charge,” came the unhelpful answer.

In one of the adjoining rooms to the main hall, they came across several cabinets, each with the Arkonide symbol for research. The neatly placed inscriptions revealed what was to be found in it.

We are indeed in Arkonide territory, Crest concluded. Apparently, Arkonide scientists are researching transmitter technology here. A technology that I thought I was the first to use. But...there is no one here. So they don’t seem to have been particularly successful at it.

Or they are just on a journey through the transmitter themselves, suggested his extra mind.

“Let’s take the opportunity to change clothes,” Crest suggested to his fellow travelers.

“An excellent idea,” Michalovna agreed as she rummaged through a closet. Shortly thereafter, she gave Crest a suitable ensemble: soft black pants, a jersey-like black top, and a slit, burgundy throw that reached his knees. In addition, she found him comfortable calf-high boots with a wide opening.

She took another set for herself and quickly changed. “There’s not much for you,” she confessed to Trker-Hon.

“Well, that was hardly to be expected.” The Topsidan ransacked the material and finally pulled out a green cloak, which he threw over himself. “That will have to be enough. Let’s go outside. There is not much to see in this building. Perhaps we’re already expected by the scientific staff.”

Crest took the lead. The Arkonides of the past should first see one of their people. He opened the door and stepped out.

Cold wind greeted his face, as if to touch the stranger who had so suddenly lost his way into this world. The air smelled of iron. Crest looked at a murky, brown-red landscape, then he looked up at the sky. A small red eye burned from the zenith through haze and clouds and lost so much of its light that the landscape cooled to crimson dunes in a sooty desert.

Just ahead, behind a thorny, bizarre sphere, which was probably one of the native plants, something stirred. All that they saw was a quick movement and a hint of fur and teeth, then a cloud of dust came up, and the animal—if it was an animal—disappeared as if it had never been there.

“Nothing.” Trker-Hon exhaled, hissing. “We seem to be safe...for the moment.”

“What a sad world,” said Michalovna behind him.

In his heart, Crest agreed with her. The sight made him wistful without knowing exactly why. In any case, they were definitely no longer in the Vega system; for that, the sun was too weak, too red, too small.

It’s certainly impressive that the transmitter technology performs well enough to bridge interstellar distances, attested his extra mind.

“Look at the horizon,” Trker-Hon said. His voice sounded snarling and rough. Distrustful. Cautious. “It’s way too close and far too curved. This is a significantly smaller world than Ferrol, Topsid, or Arkon.” He took a deep breath, and it seemed to Crest that he was trying to be almost reverent. “An old world.”

Crest nodded. He was a little frightened when he realized that the action was a typical human habit. So that’s how far he had come. Humans were such a young, such a vital species that they were contagious like a mutant virus, even to an ancient Arkonide like him. The question was: was this virus compatible with and supplemented by Arkonide cultural metabolism or would it ultimately destroy him?

“You’re right, dear friend. But I would like to know where and when we were transferred to.”

“Eleventh rule: Here is here. Now is now,” Trker-Hon said, as if no more words were needed. He paused with his head jerking and tongue darting over his teeth, showing once again how close his kind were to animals; or at least that’s what most Arkonides believed. Crest was no longer sure about that. He had already recognized in the ancient lizard creature some facets of the wisdom that had been lost on Arkon.

“Questions are of no use without research. You are both looking in the wrong direction!” whispered Michalovna. She grabbed Crest by the upper arm and led him along the hall wall until they reached a corner.

“What is it?” Trker-Hon, who followed them, gasped in surprise.

Where only dunes and iron sand had been in the previous line of sight, dark and threatening, a huge pearl shone on the long side of the hall. That, at least, was the Arkonide’s first impression. It came from the mother-of-pearl protective umbrella over the city, which was nestled there in the dunes as if it had risen from it. They were too far away to see any details, let alone what creatures were there. Such a pale, bizarre beauty did not fit this world. At best, it was like an ancient memory, a phantom of a long-gone past.

“The city is inhabited,” said Michalovna. She squinted, concentrating.

“Arkonides?” asked Crest, more out of habit. Of course they were Arkonides; the whole hall was Arkonide. And Arkonide researchers had to live so close to one of the Empire’s research facilities.

To his surprise, Michalovna shook her head. “No. They’re...many. Strangers. I’ve never had anything like this before...”

Crest smiled weakly. Michalovna had not even seen a hint of the diversity of life-forms that the Milky Way had in store. So it was no wonder she reacted that way.

“Can you tell us if these life-forms are hostile?” asked Trker-Hon.

“I don’t understand enough, but my first impression is no.”

Crest did not believe that they were in direct danger, but the entire complex seemed too quiet. If there was a threat, it would come insidiously and from a direction they did not expect.

“They’re going to send us scientific staff,” Crest said. “Until then, we’ll wait and see.”

“They don’t seem to be in a hurry,” commented Michalovna, wrapping her arms around her upper body. “It’s chilly out here.”

They stood on the top of the hill and looked at the city where the strangers lived, but from which still no one approached.

Michalovna took a closer look at her surroundings, analyzing whether any potential danger lurked nearby while the two scientists hypothesized about their whereabouts.

“The architecture is characterized by three things: dome-shaped roofs, round windows, and triangular doors.” Crest went mentally through those peoples of the Great Empire whose architecture was similar. He wasn’t sure of any similarities.

Trker-Hon interrupted his train of thought. “Pay attention to the protrusions and ledges. They are everywhere, but it is not a terraced concept; they seem more strategic than urban. And the arrangement of the buildings...”

“Ah,” Crest said, tilting his head. Now he saw it too: the buildings were in groups of threes closer together, and the height of each group was exactly mirrored in two other places in the city. Three-way construction. This made the assignment even more difficult. In which peoples did the number three hold such importance that it had an impact on the architecture? Or was it an aesthetic approach? It was even conceivable that the strangers had three eyes or three legs or...

“You seem so familiar with this architecture,” he commented. “Your observations are so precise and fast that I assume they are known to you. Can that be? Such strange three-way symmetry...”

The Topsidan made a half-barking, half-hissing sound. “You could say that, yes. And at the same time, no. We know a world, far toward the center, an abandoned world. There, we came across comparable buildings. But we found no residents. Nothing that told us what they looked like, what they did, or why they left. A sad world. A very sad world. We can learn from it, but we don’t understand it.”

Crest sighed. It was difficult to follow the thoughts of a strange being, although he believed he was better at it than most. “I understand your grief. Lost knowledge.”

Trker-Hon snapped his tongue. “I keep forgetting that you are scaleless. You don’t understand anything.” His tail whipped up red sand, then for a long moment his lids closed over his glaring lizard eyes. When they opened up again, Trker-Hon continued to speak much more calmly: “You cannot understand because you do not know the Third Movement. Respect life! Get it where you can. Life has disappeared from that world. Ask yourself: did life not respect its world or did the planet not respect life?”

“Could you both postpone your philosophical discussion and focus on the life of this world?” said Michalovna. “We have a visitor!”

A silvery flying vehicle, which was shaped like a wide arrowhead but measured six meters in length, had just penetrated the bubble field surrounding the three-way city and was racing directly toward the transmitter station.

“Sssshhhh!” Trker-Hon ducked, his tail whipping the sand. “Now we will see what awaits us!”

Crest thought only one thing: no Arkonides. Gliders like this had never been in use to his knowledge. Was he too trusting, and would that be their undoing? He wanted Thora at his side—Thora and a few heavily armed soldiers. Just in case...

“Let me talk,” said Michalovna, approaching Crest from behind. “I don’t think we’re going to have to use violence, though I can’t quite follow the strangers’ thoughts.”

“You’re probably right.” Crest took refuge in what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even though he didn’t feel like it at all. He felt his heart beating faster and stronger, and his knuckles began to hurt as he clenched his fists. But Crest continued to smile. His condition shouldn’t worry the others.

Trker-Hon stiffened and made another hissing sound. “I hope the strangers know that too. I will try to appear relaxed.”

The arrow glider quickly came closer; it seemed to be made of one piece. An unpleasantly high whistle accompanied its flight, and when it touched down on three telescopic legs, it creaked slightly.

Dust was hardly stirred up, as Crest noted. That spoke for the quality of the technology used. He looked closely at the glider to see if it had any emblem of the Great Empire, but he saw nothing. The surface came without any decoration, almost as if the glider were a poorly deburred cast of aluminum. Crest never doubted that it was a passenger vehicle. For everything else, it was the wrong size.

Then the three-part notes of a crystal lion sounded. It played a traditional piece from the Arkonide military repertoire, and the top of the glider slid under the side panels as if it were just thin foil.

They’re welcoming us, Crest thought. They’re even paying us military honors. But who are they?

His question was answered when three passengers rose from the glider in which they had rested lying down, but the answer was hardly satisfying. Crest had never seen beings like them before. They were huge, fragile creatures. Creatures carrying weapons.

No Arkonides. What’s going on?

He desperately wanted someone with military-strategic experience at his side. These beings overwhelmed him.

“Welcome to...zzzhhh...Kedhassan, High Commission,” said the middle of the beings from a height of a good two meters, trying to force his three-part body into something like a bow. Crunching mandibles accompanied the spoken words; obviously, it had difficulty speaking Arkonide. Actually, that was no wonder—after all, they were not Arkonides.

Insectoids, Crest thought, but with an unusual phenotype. I certainly should have heard of them. Three legs, brown, scaled insect body, four compound eyes, and a teardrop-shaped head... Very characteristic and unique, but they are completely unknown to me. I have also never heard the name of the planet before. Kedhassan. Hopefully Michalovna knows what she is doing.

“It’s about time,” said the Terran woman, also in Arkonide. “Lack of punctuality is a sign of a lack of respect for the Great Empire! Are the Orgh such poor servants?”

Michalovna felt the presence of the strangers like a slight temporal pressure. When she concentrated, she could read their minds, but even when there were clear intersections with human thoughts, she often only captured details without being able to put them into context. Reading the consciousness of the strangers was as if she were walking along a knife-edge with a bare finger: some were very sharp, others rather blunt, and depending on how deep she wanted to penetrate, the pain increased or subsided.

Again and again she grasped the thoughts, primary, secondary, tertiary, quaternary, quintal, and strikingly often the terms “inventory” and “Orgh” appeared. Since Orgh did not offer a translation and appeared in each of the strangers in quite clear reference, she concluded that it was the name of their people. In the midst of the chaos of thought, something emerged: the Orgh were afraid of a commission from the Empire because it had caught them unprepared. They assumed that the newcomers were inspectors.

In addition, there were so many other thoughts, from intruders and scientists, that it was difficult for her to understand complete thoughts. There was also the strange sensory perception that the telepath had also automatically latched onto: Orgh had four compound eyes around the skull, and while grid vision was already difficult, the matter was complicated by overlapping areas of perception and the all-round vision that accompanied this eye arrangement.

In other words, where Ferrons seemed almost unpleasantly human and this invited misinterpretations, these Orgh were at least as foreign as the Fantan and in themselves largely incomprehensible at first.

We have no time to lose. We must not stand still; we must continue. Hesitation and standstill are not expected during a surprise inspection...

Hesitating was clearly the worst idea; the Orgh supervised a research station to which not everyone had access. Pretending to be ignorant or random visitors would be a bad start. Especially since they had to find out what they were supposed to do on this world. Because there was no question that this station had a purpose. If they were correct—so far, nothing spoke against it, but they did not have conclusive evidence—they could expect a test after each transmitter run to gauge their suitability for eternal life.

At best, they could guess what it was really about. In addition to pure survival, it was certainly also about requirements such as moral responsibility, wisdom, sophistication, justice—who could know that exactly? The only ones who knew were those conducting these tests, and who knew their way of thinking?

“It’s about time! Lack of punctuality is a sign of a lack of respect for the Great Empire! Are the Orgh such bad servants?”

Immediately, a sharp pain twitched through the thoughts of the three Orgh. Primary collision! Michalovna almost felt sorry about her performance, but she firmly believed that she was acting correctly according to the situation. The three Orgh did not suffer, and they did not fear punishment at all. Their thoughts remained calm, even if the term “primary collision” danced through their thoughts like a dervish.

“I am Gal-Enn. Forgive me for the rudeness of the...zzzhhh...to ask for delay is my goal!” said the foremost and largest of the strangers. He spoke Arkonide, albeit very slowly and in a cumbersome way. “The use of this artifact demands our surprise. A different kind of research was carried out?”

Tatiana smiled as arrogantly and typically of Arkonides as she could, then said coldly, “We are testing you; you are certainly aware of that?”

Gal-Enn seemed confused. His thoughts became so sharp that she thought she was bleeding. Primary collision decreasing, quaternary collision stagnating, quintal collision increasing. “You...test us? Me?”

“Your reliability in unexpected situations. You have passed, albeit narrowly. Where is our means of transport? You won’t expect us to...walk?”

“I signal the utmost pleasure, the welcome of the commission...zzzhhh...to be able to perform. For our negligence, the request for leniency is to be understood. My name is Gal-Enn. I am the leader...zzzhhh...head of the Kedhassan Research Station.”

The telepath raised a hand to stop the flow of speech. When the Orgh went silent, she just said, “The glider.”

Gal-Enn’s huge but narrow, fragile, insectoid figure seemed to shrink, as if he was only now realizing that he had not immediately fulfilled a wish of the commissioner. “Sure,” he said in his scrappy, poor Arkonide. “There, it’s coming into view, yes? It should...zzzhhh...I assume that there are sufficient requirements?”

With two of his four arms, he pointed toward the city. From there, a kind of floating black seat cushion approached with a series of tassels at the edge. The dimensions were hard to estimate, but it certainly gave them all a comfortable amount of space.

Michalovna smiled. Who had come up with such an absurd design? Probably some Orgh scientists who extrapolated what would please Arkonides and what was convenient for them.

“Our requirements are quite simple: we want to see results!” She snorted, noting with surprise that even Crest flinched. “My two Derengar are already curious about your progress. I will then decide whether you are still worthy of serving the Great Empire!”

Primary collision! It shrilled through their thoughts as all three Orgh thought the same thing at the same time. And it was only then that she noticed the Orgh communicated with each other, at least to some extent, telepathically. However, she had not felt any signs that they had tried to get in touch with her or even telepathically spy on her.

“Unrestricted display is the least we offer you...zzzhhh...dear inspector!” assured Gal-Enn.

“I came to see results! Not to hear excuses!”

Gal-Enn’s four arms twitched, uncoordinated. “Any...time! But maybe you want a rest first? The necessity of adhering to the commandment of hospitality, to prove our suitability to host.”

She felt that he was lying. He was playing for time. The Orgh were not ready yet because they had not expected the commission so early. In this respect, it was the perfect opportunity for them to find out which project was being worked on in this world. But then she looked into Crest’s face and read in it only boundless fatigue and a pain that could hardly be overcome. Even her own exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. The Orgh was right, but she was not allowed to show him that.

“This will also have to be checked. So, fine. Bring us to our quarters. I hope that at least those have been prepared? The circumstances of our trip were not entirely pleasant, and my wise companions are therefore tired.”

“Of course...” The Orgh broke off and seemed to be waiting for something.

Quintal analysis, he thought.

“You can call me High Inspector. My name is...” She fished for Crest’s thoughts, and he immediately interpreted her hesitation correctly and came up with a name that sounded believable. “...Tiara da Efelith.”

“Yes, High Inspector,” said Gal-Enn, tilting his teardrop-shaped head in a gesture of humility that he had undoubtedly copied from the Arkonides. “Have the goodness of succession. The Shining City will welcome you with four eyes.”

And his thoughts said, Primary collision possible. Quintal collision open.

2.

Fulkar

Earth

October 6, 2036

The people were strange. They had such a beautiful and varied planet, but they never seemed to really enjoy it. It drove them away, to other continents, to other planets, to other solar systems. Wanderlust is starache, the man thought and looked at the bright blue sky above him. He almost regretted being born under a distant sun.

The man’s name was Fulkar, and he was an Ara, a member of the people who enjoyed an outstanding reputation in medicine on all the planets of the Great Empire and many other empires.

The sun shone white-gold and sent embers into the desert at his feet. He had made himself comfortable on the seat of Julian Tifflor’s motorcycle. The Royal Enfield Bullet stank of oil and was considered hopelessly outdated even on primitive Earth. It was hard to believe that Julian and his girlfriend had crossed the desert between Ulaanbaatar and Terrania with machines of this type. Wide white robes enveloped Fulkar’s haggard body, and a black cloth covered his head.

What am I doing here? He thought. He had believed that if he drove around a bit, he would gain more clarity and the nausea in his stomach area would disappear. Movement, fresh air, and rest...

He’d had more than enough fresh air and peace on the slopes of Nanshan. In the primitive prehistory of this planet, the mountain range got its name (“Southern Mountains”) from the fact that the trade caravans looked south at these mountains on a well-known trade route. Such information was quickly retrieved by the Ara at any time from the ubiquitous clouds of information that enveloped the planet.

Should I stay here and heal the primitives? The idea seemed appealing to him. It could be exciting to dive into a completely different culture, maybe even to influence it.

On the other hand, for quite a while, it had also seemed wonderful to him to act as a special Besun of the Fantan, as the only doctor in their collection. The Fantan had once kidnapped him from Aralon, his home world, where he had owned a large clinic.

I would have to look back. I don’t understand what drives me. There’s this...yearning. I don’t want to go to Aralon, that much is clear to me. But where do I belong?

He turned the ignition key and was about to start the machine to drive into the Gobi when sparks flickered and a young man appeared in front of him.

Fulkar recognized him immediately. “Sid! Sid González! What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

The young black-haired Latino grinned, although the sweat poured in streams from his forehead. “Marshall!”

“You people with your strange powers can’t even allow a doctor a moment of solitude. What could be so important? Tifflor will be angry if I don’t bring back his Royal Enfield Bullet.”

“Someone will take care of that. Come quickly!” Sid stretched out a hand to him.

As soon as their fingers touched, the landscape changed. Nothing could be seen of the slopes of the Nanshan. Instead, they were standing on the flat desert strip of the “spaceport” of Terrania—a country field of which any civilized peoples would be ashamed.

And such primitive creatures can teleport and read minds! How wasteful the star gods sometimes are with their gifts...

Fulkar took a quick breath to cover up his surprise. He was not allowed to show weakness, that much was certain. No matter how friendly the people were, they were strangers, primitives. No matter how kind they seem, they will never understand the great civilizations. They are not star-born, but earthbound. “What are we doing here?”

“I’ll be right back!” shouted Sid before disappearing again in a lightning storm.

“It’s really unfair.” Fulkar sighed and put his hands on his back. Fine. The boy loved it, mysteriously. At a distance, the Ara saw some people struggling with wrecks from the Vega system.

The Vega system, thought Fulkar. Another one of the systems that didn’t attract anyone who paid a little attention to himself. In the Arkonide Empire, there were wonderful star systems that had much more to offer than a rather exaggerated number of planets.

At that moment, a bright, screeching sound sounded. A glaring star fell from the sky and became a spaceship that raced forward at an insane speed. Its design revealed its origin: a long, thin cylinder with a central sphere. Only one species had built something like that: the Topsidans.

Who brought the ship here? The Ara wondered before a violent gust of wind caught him, pushing him two or three steps to the side. He watched in amazement how, at the last second, the impulse engines of the spacecraft ignited. The ship pulled up hard. And he wondered what kind of beginner was sitting at the controls. At least the people around didn’t seem too worried.

“Here I am again!” Sid approached Fulkar from behind. He was holding the hand of a tall, broad man with full dark blond hair. The newcomer seemed a little sweatier than Sid, was wearing strange clothes, and looked confused.

“Dr. Haggard?” cried the Ara in amazement. “What are you doing here? Is there a medical emergency that requires both of us?”

“I would hope so,” replied the doctor. His voice sounded pleasant. “Sid wouldn’t have taken me out of our rugby game for no reason! So, Sid?”

“Come on! Both of you!” Sid reached for Fulkar.

They then found themselves standing in a room on the Topsidian ship. At least, that’s what the design of the furniture suggested. Tail rests and tail holes... The Ara recognized the furniture.

Fulkar’s gaze remained fixed on two beings who rested on the rather impractical seats: one was the doctor, Eric Manoli, the other a furry, almost meter-sized creature: the mousebeaver, Gucky.

Next to him stood a person who would not have distinguished himself by anything interesting; even his clothes were as below average as possible: jeans bleached at the knees, brown low shoes with clearly recognizable seams. Could these people not even sew decent shoes? And his T-shirt that looked as if it had not only grown close to the wearer’s heart, but had also been washed a few times too often.

“I’m Cyr Aescunnar. And you? You’re the strange bird, the Ara, right?”

“First of all, you’re in the way. What’s going on here?” Fulkar hurried to the seats and pushed Aescunnar aside, Haggard not a step behind him. “You take Manoli; I’ve got Gucky,” the Ara snarled quickly and pulled the veil off his head, carelessly stripping off the burnoose. Why was he suddenly so hot? Outside in the scorching heat of the Gobi, he hadn’t even noticed...

He looked around, grasped the importance of the medical instruments lying around. He swiped two scales of different sizes from the table and grabbed a universal analyzer. It was a cheap device that the Aras liked to sell to their less wealthy clientele. But it would be enough, at least for now.

Haggard turned to Fulkar. “Manoli is conscious, but unresponsive. Pulse and blood pressure are greatly increased! And Gucky?”

“Wait.” Fulkar passed the analyzer over the mouse beaver. He prodded his patient’s throat, forehead, and chest. “Mmmmh,” he said. “Same here. And that with such different species. Worrying state of affairs.”

Sid looked at him in horror. “That bad? Doctor Fulkar, you have to save them. They’re my friends!”

“I know,” Fulkar said. “Stay calm, Sid, you got the right doctors. Doctor Haggard, please come over.”

Whispering, the pair discussed the condition of their patients and the diagnosis.

“Anything could be the cause,” Haggard finally summarized. “We need more information.”

“I might be able to help,” said Aescunnar. “We were on Titan together to examine the wreckage of an Arkonide cruiser. There we...”

“Are you a doctor?” snapped Fulkar.

“Historian,” Aescunnar replied, about to begin a rambling statement.

Fulkar stopped listening. His thoughts raced, his heartbeat accelerated. The nausea increased. What’s wrong with me?

“Hey! Are you even listening to me? We barely survived and...”

Fulkar felt the stranger’s hand on his shoulder. The touch hurt terribly.

“Go...away!” he wanted to shout, but only a whisper passed his lips.

Aescunnar looked at him in dismay. Or...did he recognize what was going on?

Then Fulkar’s gaze fell on Sid. The boy was hastily walking up and down in front of his two friends. The three had been Besun of the Fantan, which had no doubt brought them closer together.

“Sid, stay calm,” Fulkar said again, stepping up to the young man, away from the strange historian who was the only one who had no complaints. That makes him suspicious...

At that moment, Sid screamed in pain and staggered. He fell against Fulkar, tried to hold on, but slipped and fell to the ground.

“Sid!” cried Doctor Haggard. “Fulkar, what’s wrong with him? And with you?”

Fulkar turned his head. He could only distinguish light and shadow. A gruesome pain shot from his stomach up into his chest. He couldn’t even scream anymore. Then he saw the ground coming toward him at breakneck speed...

3.

Crest

Kedhassan

Day One

The Orgh called the city under the dome the Shining One. In fact, it shone with cleanliness and its peculiar symmetry, which seemed both oppressive and impressive to the visitors.

The floating black velvet cushion brought the alleged commission and the three Orgh to a square pyramid from which a kind of glass chalice rose up at the top, which clearly served a decorative purpose. The building seemed strangely out of place, as if it had been put in afterward.

A clear reference to the Arkonides, commented Crest’s extra mind.

“Sleeping settlement three-four,” explained Gal-Enn. “With foreign world quarters.”

Trker-Hon gave off a kind of croak. “How do they differ from your own neighborhoods?”

“You are extremely polite to ask for this. Your curiosity is certainly enough for a Derengar to...zzzhhh...virtue. I’ll show you.”

Gal-Enn maneuvered the cushion to the base of the pyramid. At an inaudible command, several large drawers, about three meters long, one meter high, and two meters wide, pushed out of the smooth wall. There was an Orgh in each one, squeezed into a foamed mass, with numerous technical devices which probably served to supply the insectoids.

“These are sleeping quarters of the Orgh. Functional and effective,” said Gal-Enn, making the drawers disappear again. “Your preference for a combination of sleeping, resting, recreation, and information areas is in our consciousness. We took the liberty of equipping the top of the pyramid with appropriate...zzzhhh...furnishings.”

He then let the floating cushion rise.

In the upper third of the pyramid, a platform was pushed out of the shimmering material, and a door in the wall became visible. Gal-Enn got out. One by one, he asked the High Inspector and her two scientific companions to press a palm of their hands on a certain stele against the door.

“Individual legitimization has...zzzhhh...took place,” he assured them. “The accommodation is now at your disposal. Palm contact on purple markings is sufficient to create a connection to the adaptive interactive specification program for care devices. A new contact...”

“In ten hours!” barked Michalovna sharply.

Gal-Enn performed a complicated gesture with three of his four arms. “In ten hours, I will make a new contact. Our retreat finds acceptance?”

“It does.”

The “Specification Program for Care Facilities” proved to be a holographic representation of an Arkonide, though clearly through the eyes of those who had programmed it: the movements were based more on those of the Orgh than on humanoids.

Nevertheless, it showed the guests the exits and helped to design their individual spaces. The means available for this were comparatively modest but very effective: walls could be moved, changed, surface structure and transparency could be altered, and they were provided with passages of choice. The furniture and floor covering could be modified within a certain range, and lighting, temperature, and humidity could be freely adjusted by the guests. Only the central area of their accommodations, a room with a triangular floor plan, in the center of which stood a square supply column, was unchangeable: this was the distributor of food and drinks as well as a local communication facility.

“We should lie down for a while,” Michalovna suggested. Her skull was buzzing, and the world felt heavy. She urgently had to isolate herself from the thoughts of the Orgh, even if only for a short time. “Our days on Ferrol were anything but relaxing, but the confusing thoughts of the Orgh give me a headache. If someone had told me earlier how exhausting thinking could be, I would have laughed at them.”

“Wait,” Crest pleaded. “You don’t need to take my illness into account.”

“Who says she is?” Trker-Hon laughed. “You forget that we are both quite old. And she’s right: it was exhausting for all of us, including our young companion.”

“Nevertheless. I won’t sleep anytime soon. This place is like a mystery to me. Can you tell us something about what you couldn’t say while we were accompanied?”

Michalovna took a cup of water from the supply facility and drank it in one go.

“Most of it is not particularly surprising. The Orgh work for the Great Arkonide Empire, but by no means voluntarily, although this used to be different if I understood their thoughts correctly. They must undergo regular inspections; that is why many speak Arkonide, although they communicate with each other only telepathically. But it’s more like an intranet; it’s hard for me to get access to it. But one thing is particularly interesting: the research project reports to the Arkonide military and bears the code name ‘World-Splitter.’ Are you aware of such a term?”

“World-Splitter,” Trker-Hon repeated. “An interesting word. Very belligerent, but this is by no means unexpected. Your people often put war at the center of their research, dear Crest.”

Crest shook his head. “You’re seeing this from a narrow perspective because, so far, you have been primarily confronted with this side of the Great Empire. Just as we initially see the Topsidans in their urge to expand.”

“You have never seen Kragar-Gul’s nest, the diamond columns of Luter-Gwinz or the rock-cleaving generators of the seventeen moons. Maybe you should make up for it; otherwise you will never understand Topsidans.”

“It’s the same with Arkon. If you’d ever traveled the Crystal Expanses, you’d understand the spirit of the Empire, and it has nothing to do with violence.”

The two wise men drifted off again.

“To the point, gentlemen! Keyword: World-Splitter. Do you know that term?”

“It’s a weapon system, you said?” Crest supported his head with one hand.

Michalovna looked at him, and it seemed to her that a wave of suffering was flooding over his wrinkled face.

“No, I am not aware that there is or could have been a corresponding research institution.”

Trker-Hon tilted his head and looked at the ancient Arkonides. His claws drummed almost inaudibly on the tabletop. Then, after a long pause, he said, “Maybe we’re thinking in the wrong direction. ‘World’ has a stellar and a social connotation: it doesn’t have to be a weapon in the military sense that destroys a planet. One can also understand ‘worlds’ as a totality of planetary inhabitants and divide them by opinions. Divide and conquer. And in order to be able to divide foreign peoples better, one would certainly choose scientists from those who can better empathize with their mentality, while a real weapon would primarily be worked on by Arkon’s scientific elite.”

“Excellent conclusion. You might be right,” Crest said. “A weapon that could split entire planets would hardly be left by the Emperor in the hands of non-Arkonides.”

“Unless you had absolute control over these non-Arkonides,” Trker-Hon said. “But how would you gain and keep absolute control over them?”

“History teaches us that no control can be absolute. The firmer the grip, the more likely it is that what is held will break and slip through the fingers.” Crest convulsed a hand in his robe, as if in severe pain.

Michalovna briefly thought about how little they could do for his condition. Before they continued to strive for immortality, the Arkonide needed, above all, healing—something that not even the high-quality medicine of the Aras could achieve. Those who promised immortality were their last hope for him, if there was any hope at all. And they were running out of time.

“It’s all very confusing. We urgently need to get more information. Look for the profound, avoid what surprises you, the strong need a firm stand.” Trker-Hon’s last words sounded almost like a mantra, so it probably belonged to the “social instructions” of his people.

They weren’t making any progress. Michalovna thought again about everything she could have gleaned from the thoughts of insectoids.

“Perhaps the fact that the Empire wants to use the World-Splitter against a certain civilization will help? The Orgh was thinking in strange, abstract terms, and I’m sure he never saw the targets himself. I’m not even sure I understood everything. There was also no name, at least not one that I could identify. ‘These strangers don’t seem to mean a primary collision for the Orgh.’ I have no idea what that means.”

Crest gently massaged his forehead, a new glow in his feverish red eyes. His curiosity probably trumped his pain and exhaustion for the moment. “Speak. No matter how meaningless it may seem to you.”

“Gal-Enn and his companions regarded the strangers as strangely irrelevant, as if there were no points of contact between them except for the Great Empire. Therefore, they remained very abstract, only felt orientation patterns in the background, very different from the Arkonides.”

“This indicates that the Orgh accept and implement orders. They have no interests of their own in mind. So, why do they fear our inspection so much?” Trker-Hon rubbed his eye patch. Was he experiencing phantom pain?

“Fear,” Crest said, “is sometimes a very effective weapon for bringing about cooperation. Often, however, this is inherent in the fearers themselves; it hardly needs to be induced from the outside. The worst thing that can happen to most beings is to be alone with their own imagined fears.”

“And you ask what reservations Topsid might have about Arkon? Arkon’s idea of domination is obviously not based on equal, mutual understanding.”

Crest sighed tiredly. “This is a difficult, broad subject. A very broad subject, Trker-Hon.” His gaze avoided direct contact with his companions. Instead, it wandered to a hexagonal window and through to the dunes of Kedhassan, which in the dim red light of the nameless sun became a sea of red-black darkness. “We, too, have had a lot to learn in our long history... Processes that may still be ahead of you. We change with the times, you know. Even stories that were praised a century ago need to be retold from time to time to survive.”

“You’re right, of course. On Topsid, we use the image of the eight seasons of a civilization...” Trker-Hon began.

Michalovna interrupted him: “A wonderful discussion, but unfortunately at the wrong time. Even if we weren’t made aware of it, we’re likely under time pressure. What if the real commission shows up? Or the mysterious strangers the Arkonides are afraid of?”

“Of course,” said Trker-Hon, as if he himself could not believe that he had missed it. “If you understood the Orgh correctly, Miss Michalovna, the Arkonides are so afraid of this enemy that even they fear losing to them.”

“Impossible,” Crest said. “The Great Empire has no external enemy to fear.”

Trker-Hon raised a hand. “No one said otherwise. In our present day, you are right. And as far as the future is concerned...we don’t know. So if the enemy came from our time, we wouldn’t have to think any further. But there were enemies in the past who were feared by your people, weren’t there?”

“It has been centuries since someone stood in the way of the Great Empire. But the further back we go, the smaller our empire and power are, the more the number of dangerous enemies increases. But how far back should we go? The fear must be so great that it’s passed on to such alien beings as the Orgh. The Great Wars of Brothers, the Usurpatory Fortresses... No. These were life-threatening times, but I have never read about a time of fear. The Garbo Hamati, the Connection of the Edge, the Black Battle-Madmen, or the EdgeWard Star-Eaters...all episodes much too far away to make it worth believing in tradition. And otherwise...”

“Which enemy was the worst in the records of your people?” Trker-Hon pressed him. “Certainly not my people, right?”

Crest laughed dryly. “The worst enemy is always yourself. Have you never heard that before?”

The Topsidan made a barking sound. “We tend to say that the present enemy is always the worst.”

“It also depends on where we are. An opponent that seems irrelevant to Arkon himself may seem like the imminent end of the world to a border planet. If we knew where we were...”

“This won’t get us anywhere!” interjected Michalovna. She was tired and strained. She had drained her special gift more than an outsider could comprehend. With telekinetics or teleporters, one automatically had more leniency because they performed visible performances. Telepaths, on the other hand, “only” had to create with thoughts and language—and what did that mean? “Try to ignore all the factors that we can’t determine: time, place, mythological embellishments. And against this very general background, tell us, who was the worst enemy the Empire ever had?”

“You’re right. The worst enemies of our Empire were those who should never have been enemies because we claimed different worlds: the Methanes.”

“Methanes?”

“That’s what they were often called. They inhabited methane-hydrogen-ammonia planets; absolutely hostile worlds.”

“Inhabited?”

“I don’t know how many survived. It was a terrible time, about ten to eleven thousand years before our present. The Methanes threatened to overrun us, and I think the fear at the time was very credible. We knew little about the enemy, and as I said, there can be nothing worse than being alone with one’s own fears.”

Trker-Hon shook his head as if to shake off drops of water. “All well and good. Could these Methanes be the enemy that led to the Orgh researching the World-Splitter?”

Michalovna furrowed her brow. “It would make sense. Since the Orgh are also oxygen breathers and probably not directly involved in the war, there is little reason for them to fear such an opponent themselves. Do you happen to have an idea of the appearance of the enemy? Big, chunky, more than two eyes?”

Crest nodded. “This could be true of the Methanes. ‘Maahks,’ they called themselves. And if it is them, we could be about ten thousand years in the past. Approximately, anyway. The war was long.”

“Yes, I think that’s probable as well.” Trker-Hon winked with his oversized eyes. “The Thort clearly stated on Ferrol that he could only operate the transmitters for spatial displacement. The fact that they are sometimes time machines was unknown to him until we met.”

The three looked at each other. Then Crest said, “The problem still remains: I’m not aware of any weapon called a World-Splitter that came into play during the Methane War. And if it is really as decisive for the war as the Orgh think, that is impossible. Unless the weapon was never used.”

“Maybe because we prevented it?” asked Trker-Hon. “We would have triggered a time paradox on Ferrol by a hair’s breadth. And we learned that Perry Rhodan and his companions, who are looking for us, already caused one on Rofus by turning a simple soldier into the Thort. Without their intervention, there would have been no Thort!”

“That’s too hasty a conclusion,” Crest said. Tears welled in his eyes. Thora, his companion, was traveling with Rhodan. And they didn’t know where or when Thora and Rhodan had gone. They may have died long ago. “Maybe it was an aberration. A time paradox is theoretically possible, of course, but we should first look for simpler explanations.”

“Why else would we have come here?” asked the lizard-like man. “You yourself are convinced that we are on a testing trip. Therefore, it must be a test.”

Crest nodded slowly. “But we don’t know the nature of this test. As long as this does not change, I advise caution.”

“Okay.” Michalovna got up. “Let’s just assume that we are in the past at the time of the Methane War and are supposed to do something with this World-Splitter. If so, we must hurry.” The two scientists looked at her tiredly. The Terran woman kept forgetting how old they were. “The Orgh gave us the best starting conditions because they confused us with a commission.”

“Ah,” Crest said. “Of course. We must expect the arrival of the real commission in two days at the latest.”

Michalovna nodded. “Exactly. I have already tried to convey to you that our situation is dangerous. I don’t know how long we can last in our role. As soon as the real commission arrives, we’ll be discovered. We have to get away from here!”

She looked out the window, and the little red dot that was the sun looked back stoically from the horizon. Then, as if someone were pulling a veil over it, it darkened, and night descended over the planet.

I have never seen such a sunset. It’s as if someone were turning off the light, she thought.

Almost immediately after the onset of this strange “night,” the buildings all around began to glow, only as faint sparks that somehow came from inside and below and spread and rose like bubbles of air in liquid until they illuminated the entire architecture in a floating dance. It was a breathtaking sight, almost ethereal and deeply sad.

“Apart from the fact that it may not be so easy to go through the transmitter again, my gut is against it,” said Crest. “We are on the trail of immortality, or so we hope. The stations of our journey are trials. We must prove ourselves worthy.”

Michalovna sat down again. “Okay. Then let’s just take a look at which options remain for us.”

“Our goal is to leave this world again via transmitter,” Trker-Hon said. “After passing the test, if possible.”

“This should be done before the real commission arrives and after we have inspected the World-Splitter.”

“Only then will the Orgh not be suspicious,” Crest concluded.

“Then I’m going to continue acting my part with Gal-Enn,” said Michalovna. “As the High Inspector, he will...”

She shot up so fast that the chair fell over. A door had opened behind Crest and an Orgh entered.

“I greet the High Commission.” He also spoke Arkonide, but did not seem to have the same fondness for bureaucratic statutes as Gal-Enn.

“How long have you been there?” blabbered Michalovna. “Were you eavesdropping on us?”

The slender insectoid, over two meters tall, retreated a third of a step and raised all four hands in front of the expressionless chitin face. “I am Ogre-214. I didn’t hear anything. I have just arrived. Gal-Enn sends me.”

She tightened up and quickly found her way back into the role of the arrogant Arkonide. “What’s he sending you for? Can’t he come himself?”

Ogre-214 tilted slightly to the side. The antenna into which his teardrop-shaped skull leaked was waving. “They need a servant. All commissions receive a servant.”

You mean, rather, a spy for Gal-Enn. But if we refuse, we’ll only make him more suspicious.

“It’s about time. You may stay, Orgh.”

The insectoid bowed as best his physique allowed. “Ogre-214.”

“That too.”

4.

Homer G. Adams

Earth

October 6, 2036

From the fiftieth floor of the Stardust Tower, you had a wonderful view of the whole of Terrania. There was also the office of Homer Gershwin Adams, the financial genius of the Terran Union. He had also been their first administrator for almost three weeks, ever since Perry Rhodan had resigned in favor of Adams. And for almost as long, Perry Rhodan and his companions had disappeared after they went through a transmitter in the Vega system in search of the terminally ill Crest.