"(novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0088 - (80) The Columbus Affair" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

"That sounds more proper. What's happening?"
With some irritation, Bidge reflected that the question wasn't any too proper, either. Abucot was apparently having one of his stiff-necked days again. Bidge stood up, came to attention and reported in sharply accentuated words: "Sir, a pulse-coded message from Sector M-13 Hercules has just been received and printed out by the rectifier. It bears the personal signature symbol of the First Administrator. And sir-it's in clear text!"
It would not have been necessary for Bidge to accentuate his last statement to get such a ludicrous jump of alarm out of the Major. Bidge watched him curiously but with a sudden sense of being on his guard as the latter stared at the tape, his eyes futilely trying to virtually bore through the plastic strip he held in his hands.
"That's it, alright!" muttered Abucot, flabbergasted. He looked about him almost imploringly. "Sergeant-are you sure this isn't some kind of sick joke?"
"I wouldn't stick out my neck that far, sir."
The senior duty officer swallowed audibly. Finally the Major struggled to put his famed self-composure to the test. Once more his lean, narrow face became expressionless. "Thank you very much. You may terminate the alert."
After briefly touching the wide peak of his service cap in a hasty salute of dismissal, he strutted toward the still-open security hatch. However, before he had fully disappeared beyond it the men in the Crypto Centre noted that Abucot's feet suddenly picked up a frantic acceleration.
Bidge looked at the clock again. Smiling a bit uncertainly, he remarked: "The Old Man came to life pretty much in a hurry, didn't he? He was able to play the ice-berg until he got to the door but I'll bet a month's pay that he's running through the corridors now at half the speed of sound."
"Make that about 20 km per hour," interjected another Communications man. "That ought to be about right."
"Fast enough, anyway," Bidge conceded. "Does anybody remember any other time that Perry Rhodan has beamed such a message? I mean straight across, directly, without channelling through camouflaged relay stations in deep space?"
Sgt Bidge had to wait several moments for an answer. The man sitting next to him wiped his forehead and ventured to reply. "I only know that during our special training it was always drilled into our noggins that the galactic position of the Earth was such a high-level security item that nobody could even dare think of sending a direct message to Terra."
"There you are! That was due to the danger of being traced, isn't that right? So how come the very man who put out this order has violated his own restriction in this risky manner?"
A silence fell in the deciphering room of Solar Intelligence. The service men stared at each other thoughtfully. They suddenly realized that something had happened out in the Milky Way which they were far from fathoming as yet.
From then on the Crypto crew concentrated exclusively on the fully positronic operation of the deciphering equipment, which had already swallowed up the pre-punched tape strip for decoding.
A minute later the Major called in over the intercom. He ordered an immediate transmission of the decoded text.
Bidge nodded. "In about 20 minutes, sir. It's in progress now."
"Please hurry," answered Abucot nervously. He knew very well that the operation could not go any faster.

* * * *

...if you'll permit me to ask it, my dear fellow: are you sober?"
Solar Marshal Allan D. Mercant, Chief of Solar Intelligence, smiled softly. With slow deliberation he replaced a wonderfully wrought letter opener of Luurs metal on the blotter of his desk. A narrow beam of sunlight came through the high, hermetically sealed window, producing a shimmer of reflections in Mercant's straw-blond crown of hair.
His smile widened as Maj. Abucot strove to improve his already exemplary posture.
"Sir, if you please! I've come as quickly as possible to give you this message personally!" He stepped forward in order to place the decoded text of the dispatch on the desk and then he stepped back quickly.
Mercant's smooth, unwrinkled face betrayed none of the tension he secretly felt. With seeming indifference he picked up the sheet of foil and began to read. Finally he looked up. If Abucot had expected to be more clearly informed as to the meaning of the message, he was immeasurably disappointed.
Mercant spoke succinctly. "I see that you've had the strength of the alien transmitter calculated, using your receiver sensors. Are you sure your mathematicians haven't let some kind of error creep into this?"
"Out of the question, sir!" the Major asserted. "That station is operating with a broadcast power of at least 50 million kilowatts on the hypercom bands. I know of only one planet that could possess such a gigantic installation."
"Which is..."
"Arkon 3, sir!"
Mercant nodded thoughtfully. His lean, sensitive fingers still held the foil sheet in front of him. "Thank you very much, Major. You may go now."
Disconcertedly, Abucot walked past the two robot guards, entered the security lock and disappeared.
Only when the red signal light indicated the closure of the outer gate did the Security Chief venture to move. His right index finger flipped a switch labelled Fleet High Command. On the big viewscreen of the secret closed circuit the plastic face of a robot appeared, wearing a stereotyped smile.
"Marshal Freyt, quickly," said Mercant. His voice sounded loud and hurried. "Class 1 priority."
"The Marshal will be notified, sir. Kindly wait a moment."
Mercant had to wait two minutes until Freyt's lean, expressive countenance appeared on the screen. He was breathing heavily. Apparently he had sprinted the last few yards. The Security Chief allowed the other a moment to catch his breath. They had known each other too long by now to waste such moments on polite amenities.
Without preamble Mercant said: "Freyt, we have a hypercom message from Perry Rhodan. Are you alone?"
Freyt nodded without saying a word.
"OK, then prepare yourself for the biggest shocker of the past 50 years. Rhodan has broken all communications restrictions and made a direct beam transmission from Arkon to Earth. The trace and measurement data are not in error. There's only one transmitter with 50 million kilowatts of output and that's on the war planet of the Greater Imperium."
Marshal Freyt, the Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Solar Space Fleet, breathed even more heavily than before. "You mean he radioed us directly without using an advance cruiser station as a relay? If that message has been traced to us we'll be smack in the pits of hell!"
"There is such a possibility but he's made allowances for that. Conditions have changed over night." Suddenly Mercant's voice took on a note of celebration. "Freyt, the ruling robot Brain of Arkon has been conquered! Our strenuously prepared commando mission has succeeded. As an Arkonide who has survived the degeneration of his people, Atlan has been recognized by the actual security circuits of the Brain-and by that I mean he's been recognized as the direct descendant of a famous emperor of the House of Gonozal. All of which gives rise to a very momentous situation. From today forward there'll be some changes in our galactic policy."
"Is that what the Chief says?" Freyt broke in excitedly.
"Yes, quite unequivocally. I'll send the decoded text to your headquarters by courier. Rhodan is presently with his commando troops on Arkon 3. Atlan has taken over the power but it's still made to look from the outside as though the giant robot were still in the saddle. That way he can conceal himself behind the machine, which was known to be merciless, and he's able to make clever use of its authority. I go along with that myself. If it got out that a living Arkonide has taken the Regent's place there'd be some heavy unrest in the colonial areas of the Greater Imperium. Rhodan informs us that the situation is under control. The only remaining functions of the Brain that are independent are connected with questions of administration and support Important decisions are handled by Admiral Atlan, whom we have to consider from now on as the Arkon ruler and Imperator."
After intensive reflection, the Marshal said: it's a surprising situation, alright. Are you aware of the fact that Atlan knows the Earth's location better than you or I?"
Allan D. Mercant again revealed his famous smile. "Only too well! If he goes sour on us it will only take a single order from him to send a giant fleet against the Earth. Perry is weighing such possibilities. In the dispatch you are instructed to send the Fleet flagship Drusus to Arkon at once. In the same message, Lt.-Col. Sikerman has been promoted to full colonel. He is to command the Drusus. He has orders to fly to the planet Zalit. There he will take on board the commando troops that were left behind-scientists, technicians and mutants. Then he will go directly to Arkon 3. That about covers the contents of the message."
"Pretty scanty contents, I'd say, in view of such a revolutionizing state of affairs," the Fleet Commander fretted gravely.
"It's plenty for me. I see some pretty cloudy times ahead, Freyt. The future of Mankind depends upon the goodwill of an Arkonide by the name of Atlan. After he's taken over the robot Brain, all doors will be open to him. Basically I don't doubt his friendship for us. But since I'm no alien race psychologist I can't predict how this sudden acquisition of super power will sit with him. Just prepare yourself for anything and keep the Fleet on standby alert. Send Col. Sikerman to me before he takes off. I'd like to give him some detailed information about the Druufs' unsuccessful invasion. It will be of interest to Rhodan that these insect offsprings of an alien universe succeeded in setting up a transmitter base in the U.S. state of Wyoming. Or better yet, wait! I'll come to your place. Keep Sikerman on hand. See you!"
Mercant cut off the connection. For a moment he sat motionlessly behind his large desk. The light of the sinking sun was reflected from the keys of the switchboard installation.
When the Security Chief got to his feet he had an unconscious awareness of how old he was. The bio cell shower he had received on the planet Wanderer would soon have to be renewed if the cellular deterioration of his synthetically reactivated body was not to take him by surprise.
Mercant walked slowly past the saluting robot guards. In his hand he clutched the plastic sheet that contained the overwhelming news.
The robot Regent of Arkon had been partially shut down and reprogrammed! Mercant knew that this meant the dawn of a new era.