"Chapter 02" - читать интересную книгу автора ((novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0127 - (119) Between the Galaxies [HTML])

2/  STRANGER FROM THE ABYSS

The blackness out here was absolute.

On board the Joann Ron Laundry was watching their approach to the disc-shaped observation station. Only a few seconds before it had become visible on the screens.

Ron had an uneasy feeling when he noted the effect created by a total absence of background behind the BOB 21. The station actually did not appear to come nearer. Instead it was as if somebody inside it were inflating it steadily with an air pump. It seemed merely to swell up rather than reveal any motion of itself or the Joann. There was no sense of approaching it. The station simply grew larger.

The BOB 21 continued to grow until it almost filled one of the viewscreens. Then the impression of growth ceased. The ship and the station were stationary, relative to each other. Col. Nike Quinto and Maj. Ron Landry shuttled across in a space glider and Capt. Furchtbar met them in the main lock. On his face was an obvious expression of relief.

But that relief was short-lived because Nike Quinto advised him that this was just a brief visit and that he had no intention of just parking the Joann next to the station for no good reason. Nor did he indicate how far away he intended to be after he left. But Eric Furchtbar had the feeling that it would be fairly distant. If things got rough all of a sudden, he and his men would be back on their own resources, the same as before—at least in the first crucial moments of alien confrontation.

He didn’t complain about it. The Terran space fleet was not a discussion society.

Nike Quinto asked to see all the data that had been picked up by the automatic recorders since the detection of the first bomb explosion. He studied the tapes and graphs carefully while discussing them with Ron Landry in such low tones that no one else could hear him. Finally he requested the use of the station’s positronic facilities. He and Landry occupied themselves with the computer equipment for half an hour, and then they called Furchtbar into another meeting.

Quinto’s face looked flushed then he spoke. "There can be no doubt that the second message you received was deciphered correctly. It actually does say: "Are you a true life form?" So, somebody is out there whose perception or mode of thinking lies somewhere between a ‘true’ life form or an ‘untrue’ form—or maybe they can differentiate between a dozen different grades of being. What they may mean by ‘true’ in this sense is something we don’t know. These unknown aliens are waiting for an answer. In that connection we’ll have to rely on our own best instincts. To me, Captain, you’re as true a life form as Major Landry, and it’s to be hoped that I make the same impression on you. So in my opinion we should answer: Yes, we are a true life form."

Furchtbar was so horrified that he jumped up out of his chair. He was utterly amazed. "You mean—we should actually give them a return message?"

Quinto pretended to be surprised. "And why not?"

"But if we do we’ll reveal our position! Out there are unknown intelligences battling each other with weapons of such a destructive power that it’s even hard to imagine! If we answer them they’ll be able to trace us. That will probably draw the battle to this area and we’ll be right in the middle...!"

Nike Quinto was surprisingly calm for a change. "You’re overlooking something, Captain. The aliens have asked if ‘you’ are a true life form. The real question is: who is this ‘you’ they are addressing?"

Still agitated, Furchtbar looked at him helplessly. "That I couldn’t say, sir."

Quinto nodded as if he hadn’t expected any other response. "Have you checked the energy indicators of your hypercom receiver?"

"Just roughly. We were sure there wouldn’t be much to help us there."

Quinto waved a finger at him. "That was a mistake. Otherwise you would have found out that the output power of the alien transmitter wasn’t especially high. Even though it’s a hypercom signal it’s probable that it couldn’t be picked up at a distance of 5000 light years. Of course we’ll check immediately to see if anyone else has picked it up somewhere but I’m fairly sure of what we’ll find out. So what does that mean?"

Eric felt perplexed. He did not like the situation. He wasn’t fond of being asked questions when the questioner knew from the beginning that he couldn’t answer them. "I haven’t any idea, sir," he said curtly.

Quinto continued patiently. "That message had a target destination. Nobody just shoots a question like that into the blue without knowing that someone’s at the other end to hear it. But it was transmitted in such a way that it could not be received even at the outer edge of the Milky Way. So who in thunder were they aiming it at?

It was just you—here in your observation station. Between the edge of the galaxy and that alien transmitter there is nothing—nothing at all, except the BOB 21...!"

This almost took Eric’s breath away. "But—how could they know...? I mean—" He broke off, unable to finish his question.

Quinto smiled reassuringly. "Better not batter your brains over it just now," he said. "We don’t know what technique these aliens are using. Maybe they have sensitive enough equipment to trace the small radiations of this station over hundreds of light years. They could also have looked you over at close range without your knowing it. We can’t be sure of anything—except one thing the aliens know the position of the BOB 21. That’s why it’s too late to worry about that part of it. We’ve nothing to lose by giving them an answer. In fact, we want to find out what they’ll have to say then."

Eric Furchtbar gave up. He arranged to have an answer sent out in the same code pattern in which the original question had been received. It’s simple statement was: "Yes, we are a true life form."

Neither Eric nor the men who transmitted the message felt especially relaxed about the situation. They had a feeling that they were reaching out their hand to something monstrous and they didn’t know it the monster would shake it or tear it off.

Nike Quinto considered that his task on board the BOB 21 had been taken care of and he said his adieus. He assured Furchtbar that the Joann would back him up if he got into any danger. Eric expressed his appreciation but he knew that things could happen faster than a ship could move to come to his aid if it was cruising around somewhere else in the void.

Nike and Ron returned to their "cruising factory." A few minutes later the Joann got underway. While picking up speed it grew smaller and finally disappeared from view.

The BOB 21 was alone once more.

*

The next few hours on board the station were passed in a state of nervous tension. Furchtbar had explained to his men what had happened, what the situation was at the moment, and what they might expect. Everyone was strangely convinced that there would be an attack, so he told them unequivocally that they could only expect help from the Joann if the hostilities developed slowly enough. But since nobody figured that an alien force bent upon conquest was going to take much time, what it all boiled down to was that there would be no help.

Eric gave orders to put the gun positions through a thorough inspection. He told the men to make sure that the weapons would function at the moment when they were needed. Basically the order was rather superfluous. If anyone wanted to know if the weapons were still in working order, all he had to do was press a couple of buttons on the IFPM panel and green indicator lamps would confirm that there was no cause for worry. But the instruction he had given would occupy about 10 men for at least a couple of hours, and that was Eric’s main objective. As a final test, each of the guns would have to be fired, and that might also help the morale.

Another 10 men were also at their various posts. The com Room had a double crew. Five men were on duty and a sixth was soon going to join them, which was Furchtbar himself. He was just about at the end of his stamina. One hour after the Joann departed he turned over his post to the 1st officer, Lt. Hynes. He then went to his cabin and dropped onto his bed. A few seconds later he was fast asleep.

Lt. Hynes took his work very seriously. He meticulously recorded a series of new bomb explosions out in the far abyss. The first hypercom signal the station had received was still being transmitted without interruption. However, they couldn’t make anything out of its analysis. It was obvious that, unlike the other message, it was not intended for human eyes and ears. The code was indecipherable. An alien logic had produced it.

There was excitement on board when at 15:23 hours the question concerning a true life form was received a second time. Hynes was sure that he was acting in accordance with Eric Furchtbar’s thinking—and above all with Nike Quinto’s wishes—when he had the BOB 21 send back the same answer a second time. The fact that the question was repeated indicated that the first answer had not been understood.

Or at least that was a possibility, Ed Hynes corrected himself. He realised he was using Terran logic, and those out there were far from being Terrans. For example they might have the custom of not recognising that something was said until it had been repeated several times.

At 15:57 hours the 68th bomb explosion was registered. Then after that there was a sudden cessation. At 16:02 the continuous signal finally broke off, and 3 minutes later the question was repeated for the 3rd time: "Are you a true life form?" Hynes had the same answer sent out also for the 3rd time, and after that all was quiet in the vast darkness of starless space. It seemed that the battle had ended, the automatic transmitter had been destroyed, and the strange questioner was no longer interested.

Until 19:00 the void was as silent as it had been all the days before but the nervousness on board the BOB 21 only increased. So far the events registered had been happening at a distance of 410 light years but now the sudden cessation of activity could be variously interpreted—such as the possibility that the aliens were approaching the Terran station. The men were so tense at their posts that a momentary surge in cosmic ray reception came within a hair of setting off the alarms again.

The men didn’t begin to believe that the danger was over with until 4 hours later. The strangers had not been heard from and was not another indication of there existence on the detection instruments. The tension on board slowly began to subside. Meanwhile Eric Furchtbar had returned to take over his post again and one hour after midnight he sent the men off duty back to bed. The station was back on its normal schedule.

That was about 20 minutes before the catastrophe began.

*

Art Cavanaugh was alone again. Ken Lodge and Warren Lee had greeted the end of the alert condition with a sigh of relief and had disappeared immediately. Ken Lodge would probably go to the messhall to look for a new partner at Gogo, and Warren would no doubt hit the sack and go to sleep.

Art rubbed his eyes. He himself was tired. Yet he still thought that Eric Furchtbar had jumped the gun in cancelling the alert this soon. Since the first bomb explosion had been registered, hardly half a day had gone by. He smoked a cigarette while he watched his instruments. The receivers were quiet. The alien transmitters remained silent. The radiation gauge showed the usual constant—17 nanowatt per square meter, which was the diffuse radiation from the home galaxy, 5000 light years away, and from other island universes afar off across the starless gulf.

Everything was so quiet that even Cavanaugh’s anxiety began to slowly subside. The chronometer read 1:19. Just about 20 minutes since the alert condition had been lifted. Maybe he could risk taking a little nap. He had a built-in sensitivity to his instruments and knew he’d wake up instantly if any of them showed any activity.

He placed his arms across the top of the console and lay his head down. He slowly closed his eyes and began to take in the atmosphere of peace and quiet around him.

It happened then...

The aliens arrived with a roll of drums. There was a crackling and hissing of instruments and luminous meter needles danced wildly across the semi-dark scales. A small transformer box was jolted visibly under the surge of sudden energy. It started to smoke and then shorted out with a loud hissing sound. Within a 10th of a second the peaceful Com Room was transformed into a madhouse of dancing and jumping indicators and deafening sounds.

For just a few seconds, Art Cavanaugh was too stunned to move. Then his reaction brought him up out of his seat. Oblivious to the bedlam and flashing lights around him, he worked the dials of the tracking scope with both hands. As the wide screen lit up, powerful beams of hyper-electromagnetic energy raced outward into space. They were promptly reflected by the foreign object and returned to form an echo image on the sweep screen.

When Art saw it he struck the alarm button.

The thing was obviously a space ship. The energy blast that had made the instruments go mad was the effect of its sudden emergence out of hyperspace into the Einstein continuum. At the moment it was still 3 light hours away. The vessel was not moving especially fast. It could take it at least 12 hours to reach the station—even longer if it went into a braking manoeuvre.

While the alarm sirens filled the corridors and rooms with a raucous clamour, Cavanaugh noticed something else. The stranger was not following a straight course. He weaved to one side and then the other of a direct line of flight and was also slowly revolving. It looked as if the alien ship were in a drunken stupor. Its spinning motion was clearly discernible and it wasn’t difficult for Art to figure what that meant.

That ship out there was severely damaged.

*

So far Lofty Patterson hadn’t spoken a single word during the discussion. He sat silently in his chair and listened to the others, an older man whose face was touched with a thousand small wrinkles and crinkles of kindly good humour and whose grey hair and beard looked as if they hadn’t been touched by a comb in years. It was only when he sensed that the discussion was getting bogged down that he ventured to make a rebuttal.

"Apparently," he began, "everybody takes it for granted that whoever’s making all that clatter out there is some kind of extra-galactic intelligence—isn’t that right?"

This seemed to irritate Nike Quinto because his voice went to its highest pitch when he answered. "Of course that’s right! Patterson, stop acting as if you’ve been sleeping all this time! My blood pressure is high enough without any further aggravation."

Lofty Patterson was not easily disconcerted. He knew this chubby-faced man with his perpetually florid complexion. Nike Quinto actually did appear to be perpetually on the verge of a stroke. He was small and portly and usually perspired profusely. Yet among other men of his age there were few who were more healthy than Quinto. Everybody knew this and good­naturedly endured the colonel’s ravings about his blood pressure and threatening heart failure.

In fact Lofty piqued the other’s ire even more with his next question. "So who says that these aliens are really extra-galactic in origin? After all, they could be people from our own galaxy who may have gone astray out there, wouldn’t you say?"

Nike laughed scornfully. "And you think I haven’t racked my brains already over that idea?"

Lofty watched him carefully. "Well, at least you haven’t said a word about it, sir."

Why waste words over the obvious? The objections to your argument are also obvious. All of our Barrier-line Observation stations have been deployed for more than a year now, beyond the rim of the galaxy. Only the Akons and ourselves have the secret of linear space drive. All other known spacefaring races use the hyperjump system of propulsion, and any such transition out of the galaxy.would have been detected by at least one of the BOB stations. But nobody’s gone out, so who is there to come back in?"

Lofty nodded with satisfaction. "That still leaves two possibilities open, sir. Either these unknown people have been out there more than a year—or we’re actually dealing with Akons."

"No, that’s not possible. For political reasons the Akon System is under such close surveillance that not even a small freighter could sneak through our control ring, let alone a larger ship capable of making an inter-galactic run. Besides, in the past year none, of their trips has been longer than a few thousand light years. So that eliminates the Akons. I don’t think that any ship from a local race would be able to stay out there over a year—and above all I can’t imagine what race from our own galaxy would send us a message asking us if we’re a true life form...!"

"Also aside from the fact," put in Meech Hannigan, "that no known races fool around with fusion bombs in the thousand gigaton range. They may be old-fashioned but their wallop must be colossal."

Lofty finally surrendered. The counter-arguments were convincing. Yet he persisted in another vein: "How can we be sure we’ve really understood that hypercom message? I mean, if we’re really dealing with extra-galactic beings it’s theoretically possible that their mode of thinking is so different from ours that there’s no way we can understand each other—at least not at the first contact."

Quinto nodded. "That’s a fair question. But the code used in the transmission was created by an electronic brain. You know that electrons and positrons are universally the same, and what anybody can do with them is also universally the same. If you take such a machine and give it an independent intelligence and then leave it alone to come up with a message format, in any case there will be certain commonalities to the code pattern, regardless of who may have built the machine."

This also made sense to Lofty. From then on he followed the rest of the discussion in silence.

At this time the Joann stood motionlessly in space at a distance of 200 light years from the BOB 21. All hypercom receivers were trained on the observation station. If the BOB 21 should run into trouble, everyone on board the Joann would know about it in the next second. The Joann’s own tracking equipment didn’t have sufficient range to follow events happening out beyond in the far abyss. She may have had other special capabilities but the Joann was not an observation station.

Meanwhile, Quinto had made arrangements for the Terran Fleet units along the rim of the Milky Way to be reinforced and made ready for action.

At close to 01:00 hours he reached an agreement with his inner cadre concerning the mode of procedure during the next 10 hours. They had heatedly discussed a suggestion of Larry Randall’s in which he proposed that they should go to the site of the bomb explosions and have a look around, but this was finally rejected. Nike Quinto won out with his own idea of waiting right where they were, to see how the situation developed.

The BOB 21 had reported several hours prior to this that everything had quieted down in the distant area of surveillance. The explosions had ceased, the automatic transmitter had become silent, and the question was not repeated concerning their form of life.

For Quinto this was far from being any indication that the case was closed. He decided to wait out the 10 hours quietly and then consider whether to take up the trail of direct investigation or to wait further.

His judgment proved to be valid. At 01:23 hours the BOB 21 announced the emergence of an alien spaceship out of the void between the galaxies. The Joann sent an alert signal to the Fleet formations.

*

Eric Furchtbar was observing the alien ship.

Also in the main control room besides himself were Lt. Hynes and corp. Schulmeister. The radar image from Cavanaugh’s Com Room had been relayed into the control centre. Furchtbar could see on the screen that the ship was coming closer and that it had gone into a braking manoeuvre.

He told Cavanaugh to turn on the hyper transmitter and beam out a signal with hardly any modulation, which of course could make no sense on the receiving end. But the stranger would no doubt send back some kind of answer and though it would probably make no sense either it would at least indicate that the call had been acknowledged.

This is what Eric expected but he was deceived. There was no answer. The alien ship merely continued its braking manoeuvre. Even an amateur. Could see that every second it was becoming more difficult for the strange vessel to hold its course. It would veer off to the side and struggle back only to buck like a horse and spin on its axis at varying speeds of rotation. It was still too far away to be visible on the optical screens but the hyper-scanner plainly revealed that the ship was spherical in shape.

The energy sensors indicated that the vessel was moving in a synthetic gravity field that took the place of a propulsion system. Strong variations of the field were registered. The generators seemed to be out of control. Eric kept waiting for an answer but none was received. He repeated the signals, he beamed out additional signals, and finally he even sent out a question in positronic code.

But the alien remained silent. Either nobody on board was still alive or they didn’t prefer to answer. The first possibility didn’t seem to be too probable. If nobody was alive then at this moment the ship would have to be on automatic pilot. This was wholly conceivable but in Eric’s opinion such an automatic system should be responding more quickly to the course deviations. Those corrections he saw appeared to be awfully sluggish and clumsy. It was as if somebody was sitting at the controls who knew nothing about astrogation.

But if somebody was still alive over there, why didn’t he give a return signal? It was unthinkable that all receivers on board could be malfunctioning. Receivers and transmitter’s were the most important items of equipment on board spaceship. Eric was confident that these aliens, whoever they might be, received radio impulses in the same way and that they had equipped their vessel as earthmen would have. Which meant that there would be such a redundancy of senders and receivers that even in case of complete destruction there would still be an emergency set or two in operation.

Eric was being constantly informed from the Com Room as to the remaining time left before the ship would reach a stopping point. Ken Lodge’s deep voice was doing the countdown.

"Still 71 minutes, sir. We have the new tracking readout. The alien ship will come to a stop at a distance of 15000 km."

Eric nodded absently. Either their astrogation instruments are out of kilter over there or they really had a clown at the flight controls. 15000 kilometres! With the lack of light here the vessel still wouldn’t be visible on the regular screens.

He decided to fire a warning salvo as soon as the ship came within 50000 km. He had delayed long enough. Of course anyone could see that the vessel was in serious trouble and it was not the custom of the Terran Fleet to hail a crippled ship with a shot across the bow but Eric Furchtbar carried the responsibility for 25 human lives. Out there something unspeakably alien was coming toward him. He didn’t know what the intentions of the crew might be on board the damaged spacer—so he had to give them a warning.

He issued orders to gun position 1. Behind the heavy energy cannons the crew sprang into action. The positronics indicated the exact spot where the ship would be when it passed the 50000-km line. The target point was pre-calculated. Five heavy-calibre thermo guns were aimed at a place that was within 100 km of the critical point.

In the main control room the seconds seemed to drag by in slow succession. Every minute, Ken Lodge’s deep, monotonous voice came through with the continuing countdown.

"Still 54 minutes, sir. Unknown vessel’s present velocity is 1.123 times 10 to the 7th meters per second."

Eric converted the figures in his head while watching the screen. That came to about 11000 km per second. Hm-m... Retropulsion could only be about 350G ...Ridiculous... If they’d only let a peep out of them! Those fools! Why didn’t they answer?

"We could send out a lifeboat to them, sir."

Eric was startled to hear Lt. Hynes’ voice directly behind him. He whirled around. "My God but you gave me a scare!" he admitted frankly. "Can’t you stomp those boots a little louder when you walk? A lifeboat? They’re still cutting the ether at over 1000 km per second. Our shuttle craft don't have good enough auto-nav controls—at least not in that range of speed. They’re not much better than maintenance workboats, for repair work near the station. If you wavered a minute of arc in the wrong direction that steamroller out there would flatten you to pieces."

Hynes listened patiently and then added: "I didn’t mean now, sir. Later, when they’re practically at a stop. Of course the pilot would have to be a volunteer." His voice rose slightly with a note of tension. "We can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen, sir!"

Eric looked at him sarcastically. "Would you like to be the volunteer, Lieutenant?"

In the same moment he was sorry he said it but the question was out. Ed Hynes pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders.

"Of course, sir," he answered immediately.

Eric waved a hand wearily. "Forget it, he said in a conciliatory tone. "We still have 50 minutes to mull it over. It isn’t a bad idea-maybe we can figure something out."

Lt. Hynes went back to his post, somewhat subdued. The time dragged by with such excruciating slowness that the pauses between Ken Lodge’s announcements seemed to be semi-eternities.

"...another 31 minutes sir..."

Always another minute, and another!

"...still 28 minutes, sir..."

The alien ship was still twisting, turning and bucking out there in the darkness. Furchtbar thought that he wouldn’t be surprised if the thing exploded and sent the splinters flying around their ears. But the stranger kept on coming.

"Fifteen minutes, sir. The bogie’s present velocity is 2780 km per second. Present-distance: 120000 km."

Eric envisioned Ken Lodge standing in the Com Room with the intercom mike in his hand. He wondered if the big fellow was really as cool and collected as he sounded.

At last the time seemed to be passing more swiftly all of a sudden when zero minus 10 minutes was reached. The moment was approaching when gun position 1 would be laying a shot across the alien’s bow. That would be at zero minus 140 seconds. Three minutes ahead of time, the chief gunner announced for the last time that his weapons were ready. Eric warned him that under no condition was the stranger to be brought under direct fire.

After that the tensions rose to their highest pitch. Eric remained in contact with the gun position. He finally heard the hoarse voice of the gunnery sergeant.

"Fire!"

The scanners traced the powerful beams of the the thermo guns as they shot straight through the darkness and passed beneath the alien vessel. The BOB 21 rumbled and shook from the mighty salvo while the optical screens were filled for some seconds with the blinding glare.

Eric Furchtbar leaned forward tensely in his chair. How would the stranger react to the warning shots? He must have seen that no direct hit was intended. Gun position 1 had pulled off a minor masterpiece of precision. Their fire accuracy had a variation ratio that was down to 1/1000th of the range.

"That ought to show them we’re awake over here," said Ed Hynes from the background.

Eric nodded grimly. It seemed to him that the alien ship had suddenly come under control. At least it wasn’t swaying and turning anymore. He couldn’t even tell if it was even moving. He was about to put a call through to the Com Room when he was interrupted by an announcement from the energy-sensor operator.

"Sir, the alien’s gravity field has collapsed."

The voice was strained, the words were swift, and the face of the man on the vid-screen wore a confused expression. Eric nodded confirmation. The intercom darkened—and then Eric realised fully what he had just heard.

The gravity field was the stranger’s propulsion. If the field had collapsed it meant he wouldn’t be able to manoeuvre. In that case he would keep the velocity he had when his propulsion failed. Which meant he would also stay on his present course.

Eric whirled around in his seat. Ed Hynes stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. Eric was about to say something but the intercom lighted up without warning and they both heard the bellowing voice of Ken Lodge.

"Crash alert, sir! Alien ship out of control! Approaching on direct course at about 1500 km per second. Contact in 100 seconds!"

2/  STRANGER FROM THE ABYSS

The blackness out here was absolute.

On board the Joann Ron Laundry was watching their approach to the disc-shaped observation station. Only a few seconds before it had become visible on the screens.

Ron had an uneasy feeling when he noted the effect created by a total absence of background behind the BOB 21. The station actually did not appear to come nearer. Instead it was as if somebody inside it were inflating it steadily with an air pump. It seemed merely to swell up rather than reveal any motion of itself or the Joann. There was no sense of approaching it. The station simply grew larger.

The BOB 21 continued to grow until it almost filled one of the viewscreens. Then the impression of growth ceased. The ship and the station were stationary, relative to each other. Col. Nike Quinto and Maj. Ron Landry shuttled across in a space glider and Capt. Furchtbar met them in the main lock. On his face was an obvious expression of relief.

But that relief was short-lived because Nike Quinto advised him that this was just a brief visit and that he had no intention of just parking the Joann next to the station for no good reason. Nor did he indicate how far away he intended to be after he left. But Eric Furchtbar had the feeling that it would be fairly distant. If things got rough all of a sudden, he and his men would be back on their own resources, the same as before—at least in the first crucial moments of alien confrontation.

He didn’t complain about it. The Terran space fleet was not a discussion society.

Nike Quinto asked to see all the data that had been picked up by the automatic recorders since the detection of the first bomb explosion. He studied the tapes and graphs carefully while discussing them with Ron Landry in such low tones that no one else could hear him. Finally he requested the use of the station’s positronic facilities. He and Landry occupied themselves with the computer equipment for half an hour, and then they called Furchtbar into another meeting.

Quinto’s face looked flushed then he spoke. "There can be no doubt that the second message you received was deciphered correctly. It actually does say: "Are you a true life form?" So, somebody is out there whose perception or mode of thinking lies somewhere between a ‘true’ life form or an ‘untrue’ form—or maybe they can differentiate between a dozen different grades of being. What they may mean by ‘true’ in this sense is something we don’t know. These unknown aliens are waiting for an answer. In that connection we’ll have to rely on our own best instincts. To me, Captain, you’re as true a life form as Major Landry, and it’s to be hoped that I make the same impression on you. So in my opinion we should answer: Yes, we are a true life form."

Furchtbar was so horrified that he jumped up out of his chair. He was utterly amazed. "You mean—we should actually give them a return message?"

Quinto pretended to be surprised. "And why not?"

"But if we do we’ll reveal our position! Out there are unknown intelligences battling each other with weapons of such a destructive power that it’s even hard to imagine! If we answer them they’ll be able to trace us. That will probably draw the battle to this area and we’ll be right in the middle...!"

Nike Quinto was surprisingly calm for a change. "You’re overlooking something, Captain. The aliens have asked if ‘you’ are a true life form. The real question is: who is this ‘you’ they are addressing?"

Still agitated, Furchtbar looked at him helplessly. "That I couldn’t say, sir."

Quinto nodded as if he hadn’t expected any other response. "Have you checked the energy indicators of your hypercom receiver?"

"Just roughly. We were sure there wouldn’t be much to help us there."

Quinto waved a finger at him. "That was a mistake. Otherwise you would have found out that the output power of the alien transmitter wasn’t especially high. Even though it’s a hypercom signal it’s probable that it couldn’t be picked up at a distance of 5000 light years. Of course we’ll check immediately to see if anyone else has picked it up somewhere but I’m fairly sure of what we’ll find out. So what does that mean?"

Eric felt perplexed. He did not like the situation. He wasn’t fond of being asked questions when the questioner knew from the beginning that he couldn’t answer them. "I haven’t any idea, sir," he said curtly.

Quinto continued patiently. "That message had a target destination. Nobody just shoots a question like that into the blue without knowing that someone’s at the other end to hear it. But it was transmitted in such a way that it could not be received even at the outer edge of the Milky Way. So who in thunder were they aiming it at?

It was just you—here in your observation station. Between the edge of the galaxy and that alien transmitter there is nothing—nothing at all, except the BOB 21...!"

This almost took Eric’s breath away. "But—how could they know...? I mean—" He broke off, unable to finish his question.

Quinto smiled reassuringly. "Better not batter your brains over it just now," he said. "We don’t know what technique these aliens are using. Maybe they have sensitive enough equipment to trace the small radiations of this station over hundreds of light years. They could also have looked you over at close range without your knowing it. We can’t be sure of anything—except one thing the aliens know the position of the BOB 21. That’s why it’s too late to worry about that part of it. We’ve nothing to lose by giving them an answer. In fact, we want to find out what they’ll have to say then."

Eric Furchtbar gave up. He arranged to have an answer sent out in the same code pattern in which the original question had been received. It’s simple statement was: "Yes, we are a true life form."

Neither Eric nor the men who transmitted the message felt especially relaxed about the situation. They had a feeling that they were reaching out their hand to something monstrous and they didn’t know it the monster would shake it or tear it off.

Nike Quinto considered that his task on board the BOB 21 had been taken care of and he said his adieus. He assured Furchtbar that the Joann would back him up if he got into any danger. Eric expressed his appreciation but he knew that things could happen faster than a ship could move to come to his aid if it was cruising around somewhere else in the void.

Nike and Ron returned to their "cruising factory." A few minutes later the Joann got underway. While picking up speed it grew smaller and finally disappeared from view.

The BOB 21 was alone once more.

*

The next few hours on board the station were passed in a state of nervous tension. Furchtbar had explained to his men what had happened, what the situation was at the moment, and what they might expect. Everyone was strangely convinced that there would be an attack, so he told them unequivocally that they could only expect help from the Joann if the hostilities developed slowly enough. But since nobody figured that an alien force bent upon conquest was going to take much time, what it all boiled down to was that there would be no help.

Eric gave orders to put the gun positions through a thorough inspection. He told the men to make sure that the weapons would function at the moment when they were needed. Basically the order was rather superfluous. If anyone wanted to know if the weapons were still in working order, all he had to do was press a couple of buttons on the IFPM panel and green indicator lamps would confirm that there was no cause for worry. But the instruction he had given would occupy about 10 men for at least a couple of hours, and that was Eric’s main objective. As a final test, each of the guns would have to be fired, and that might also help the morale.

Another 10 men were also at their various posts. The com Room had a double crew. Five men were on duty and a sixth was soon going to join them, which was Furchtbar himself. He was just about at the end of his stamina. One hour after the Joann departed he turned over his post to the 1st officer, Lt. Hynes. He then went to his cabin and dropped onto his bed. A few seconds later he was fast asleep.

Lt. Hynes took his work very seriously. He meticulously recorded a series of new bomb explosions out in the far abyss. The first hypercom signal the station had received was still being transmitted without interruption. However, they couldn’t make anything out of its analysis. It was obvious that, unlike the other message, it was not intended for human eyes and ears. The code was indecipherable. An alien logic had produced it.

There was excitement on board when at 15:23 hours the question concerning a true life form was received a second time. Hynes was sure that he was acting in accordance with Eric Furchtbar’s thinking—and above all with Nike Quinto’s wishes—when he had the BOB 21 send back the same answer a second time. The fact that the question was repeated indicated that the first answer had not been understood.

Or at least that was a possibility, Ed Hynes corrected himself. He realised he was using Terran logic, and those out there were far from being Terrans. For example they might have the custom of not recognising that something was said until it had been repeated several times.

At 15:57 hours the 68th bomb explosion was registered. Then after that there was a sudden cessation. At 16:02 the continuous signal finally broke off, and 3 minutes later the question was repeated for the 3rd time: "Are you a true life form?" Hynes had the same answer sent out also for the 3rd time, and after that all was quiet in the vast darkness of starless space. It seemed that the battle had ended, the automatic transmitter had been destroyed, and the strange questioner was no longer interested.

Until 19:00 the void was as silent as it had been all the days before but the nervousness on board the BOB 21 only increased. So far the events registered had been happening at a distance of 410 light years but now the sudden cessation of activity could be variously interpreted—such as the possibility that the aliens were approaching the Terran station. The men were so tense at their posts that a momentary surge in cosmic ray reception came within a hair of setting off the alarms again.

The men didn’t begin to believe that the danger was over with until 4 hours later. The strangers had not been heard from and was not another indication of there existence on the detection instruments. The tension on board slowly began to subside. Meanwhile Eric Furchtbar had returned to take over his post again and one hour after midnight he sent the men off duty back to bed. The station was back on its normal schedule.

That was about 20 minutes before the catastrophe began.

*

Art Cavanaugh was alone again. Ken Lodge and Warren Lee had greeted the end of the alert condition with a sigh of relief and had disappeared immediately. Ken Lodge would probably go to the messhall to look for a new partner at Gogo, and Warren would no doubt hit the sack and go to sleep.

Art rubbed his eyes. He himself was tired. Yet he still thought that Eric Furchtbar had jumped the gun in cancelling the alert this soon. Since the first bomb explosion had been registered, hardly half a day had gone by. He smoked a cigarette while he watched his instruments. The receivers were quiet. The alien transmitters remained silent. The radiation gauge showed the usual constant—17 nanowatt per square meter, which was the diffuse radiation from the home galaxy, 5000 light years away, and from other island universes afar off across the starless gulf.

Everything was so quiet that even Cavanaugh’s anxiety began to slowly subside. The chronometer read 1:19. Just about 20 minutes since the alert condition had been lifted. Maybe he could risk taking a little nap. He had a built-in sensitivity to his instruments and knew he’d wake up instantly if any of them showed any activity.

He placed his arms across the top of the console and lay his head down. He slowly closed his eyes and began to take in the atmosphere of peace and quiet around him.

It happened then...

The aliens arrived with a roll of drums. There was a crackling and hissing of instruments and luminous meter needles danced wildly across the semi-dark scales. A small transformer box was jolted visibly under the surge of sudden energy. It started to smoke and then shorted out with a loud hissing sound. Within a 10th of a second the peaceful Com Room was transformed into a madhouse of dancing and jumping indicators and deafening sounds.

For just a few seconds, Art Cavanaugh was too stunned to move. Then his reaction brought him up out of his seat. Oblivious to the bedlam and flashing lights around him, he worked the dials of the tracking scope with both hands. As the wide screen lit up, powerful beams of hyper-electromagnetic energy raced outward into space. They were promptly reflected by the foreign object and returned to form an echo image on the sweep screen.

When Art saw it he struck the alarm button.

The thing was obviously a space ship. The energy blast that had made the instruments go mad was the effect of its sudden emergence out of hyperspace into the Einstein continuum. At the moment it was still 3 light hours away. The vessel was not moving especially fast. It could take it at least 12 hours to reach the station—even longer if it went into a braking manoeuvre.

While the alarm sirens filled the corridors and rooms with a raucous clamour, Cavanaugh noticed something else. The stranger was not following a straight course. He weaved to one side and then the other of a direct line of flight and was also slowly revolving. It looked as if the alien ship were in a drunken stupor. Its spinning motion was clearly discernible and it wasn’t difficult for Art to figure what that meant.

That ship out there was severely damaged.

*

So far Lofty Patterson hadn’t spoken a single word during the discussion. He sat silently in his chair and listened to the others, an older man whose face was touched with a thousand small wrinkles and crinkles of kindly good humour and whose grey hair and beard looked as if they hadn’t been touched by a comb in years. It was only when he sensed that the discussion was getting bogged down that he ventured to make a rebuttal.

"Apparently," he began, "everybody takes it for granted that whoever’s making all that clatter out there is some kind of extra-galactic intelligence—isn’t that right?"

This seemed to irritate Nike Quinto because his voice went to its highest pitch when he answered. "Of course that’s right! Patterson, stop acting as if you’ve been sleeping all this time! My blood pressure is high enough without any further aggravation."

Lofty Patterson was not easily disconcerted. He knew this chubby-faced man with his perpetually florid complexion. Nike Quinto actually did appear to be perpetually on the verge of a stroke. He was small and portly and usually perspired profusely. Yet among other men of his age there were few who were more healthy than Quinto. Everybody knew this and good­naturedly endured the colonel’s ravings about his blood pressure and threatening heart failure.

In fact Lofty piqued the other’s ire even more with his next question. "So who says that these aliens are really extra-galactic in origin? After all, they could be people from our own galaxy who may have gone astray out there, wouldn’t you say?"

Nike laughed scornfully. "And you think I haven’t racked my brains already over that idea?"

Lofty watched him carefully. "Well, at least you haven’t said a word about it, sir."

Why waste words over the obvious? The objections to your argument are also obvious. All of our Barrier-line Observation stations have been deployed for more than a year now, beyond the rim of the galaxy. Only the Akons and ourselves have the secret of linear space drive. All other known spacefaring races use the hyperjump system of propulsion, and any such transition out of the galaxy.would have been detected by at least one of the BOB stations. But nobody’s gone out, so who is there to come back in?"

Lofty nodded with satisfaction. "That still leaves two possibilities open, sir. Either these unknown people have been out there more than a year—or we’re actually dealing with Akons."

"No, that’s not possible. For political reasons the Akon System is under such close surveillance that not even a small freighter could sneak through our control ring, let alone a larger ship capable of making an inter-galactic run. Besides, in the past year none, of their trips has been longer than a few thousand light years. So that eliminates the Akons. I don’t think that any ship from a local race would be able to stay out there over a year—and above all I can’t imagine what race from our own galaxy would send us a message asking us if we’re a true life form...!"

"Also aside from the fact," put in Meech Hannigan, "that no known races fool around with fusion bombs in the thousand gigaton range. They may be old-fashioned but their wallop must be colossal."

Lofty finally surrendered. The counter-arguments were convincing. Yet he persisted in another vein: "How can we be sure we’ve really understood that hypercom message? I mean, if we’re really dealing with extra-galactic beings it’s theoretically possible that their mode of thinking is so different from ours that there’s no way we can understand each other—at least not at the first contact."

Quinto nodded. "That’s a fair question. But the code used in the transmission was created by an electronic brain. You know that electrons and positrons are universally the same, and what anybody can do with them is also universally the same. If you take such a machine and give it an independent intelligence and then leave it alone to come up with a message format, in any case there will be certain commonalities to the code pattern, regardless of who may have built the machine."

This also made sense to Lofty. From then on he followed the rest of the discussion in silence.

At this time the Joann stood motionlessly in space at a distance of 200 light years from the BOB 21. All hypercom receivers were trained on the observation station. If the BOB 21 should run into trouble, everyone on board the Joann would know about it in the next second. The Joann’s own tracking equipment didn’t have sufficient range to follow events happening out beyond in the far abyss. She may have had other special capabilities but the Joann was not an observation station.

Meanwhile, Quinto had made arrangements for the Terran Fleet units along the rim of the Milky Way to be reinforced and made ready for action.

At close to 01:00 hours he reached an agreement with his inner cadre concerning the mode of procedure during the next 10 hours. They had heatedly discussed a suggestion of Larry Randall’s in which he proposed that they should go to the site of the bomb explosions and have a look around, but this was finally rejected. Nike Quinto won out with his own idea of waiting right where they were, to see how the situation developed.

The BOB 21 had reported several hours prior to this that everything had quieted down in the distant area of surveillance. The explosions had ceased, the automatic transmitter had become silent, and the question was not repeated concerning their form of life.

For Quinto this was far from being any indication that the case was closed. He decided to wait out the 10 hours quietly and then consider whether to take up the trail of direct investigation or to wait further.

His judgment proved to be valid. At 01:23 hours the BOB 21 announced the emergence of an alien spaceship out of the void between the galaxies. The Joann sent an alert signal to the Fleet formations.

*

Eric Furchtbar was observing the alien ship.

Also in the main control room besides himself were Lt. Hynes and corp. Schulmeister. The radar image from Cavanaugh’s Com Room had been relayed into the control centre. Furchtbar could see on the screen that the ship was coming closer and that it had gone into a braking manoeuvre.

He told Cavanaugh to turn on the hyper transmitter and beam out a signal with hardly any modulation, which of course could make no sense on the receiving end. But the stranger would no doubt send back some kind of answer and though it would probably make no sense either it would at least indicate that the call had been acknowledged.

This is what Eric expected but he was deceived. There was no answer. The alien ship merely continued its braking manoeuvre. Even an amateur. Could see that every second it was becoming more difficult for the strange vessel to hold its course. It would veer off to the side and struggle back only to buck like a horse and spin on its axis at varying speeds of rotation. It was still too far away to be visible on the optical screens but the hyper-scanner plainly revealed that the ship was spherical in shape.

The energy sensors indicated that the vessel was moving in a synthetic gravity field that took the place of a propulsion system. Strong variations of the field were registered. The generators seemed to be out of control. Eric kept waiting for an answer but none was received. He repeated the signals, he beamed out additional signals, and finally he even sent out a question in positronic code.

But the alien remained silent. Either nobody on board was still alive or they didn’t prefer to answer. The first possibility didn’t seem to be too probable. If nobody was alive then at this moment the ship would have to be on automatic pilot. This was wholly conceivable but in Eric’s opinion such an automatic system should be responding more quickly to the course deviations. Those corrections he saw appeared to be awfully sluggish and clumsy. It was as if somebody was sitting at the controls who knew nothing about astrogation.

But if somebody was still alive over there, why didn’t he give a return signal? It was unthinkable that all receivers on board could be malfunctioning. Receivers and transmitter’s were the most important items of equipment on board spaceship. Eric was confident that these aliens, whoever they might be, received radio impulses in the same way and that they had equipped their vessel as earthmen would have. Which meant that there would be such a redundancy of senders and receivers that even in case of complete destruction there would still be an emergency set or two in operation.

Eric was being constantly informed from the Com Room as to the remaining time left before the ship would reach a stopping point. Ken Lodge’s deep voice was doing the countdown.

"Still 71 minutes, sir. We have the new tracking readout. The alien ship will come to a stop at a distance of 15000 km."

Eric nodded absently. Either their astrogation instruments are out of kilter over there or they really had a clown at the flight controls. 15000 kilometres! With the lack of light here the vessel still wouldn’t be visible on the regular screens.

He decided to fire a warning salvo as soon as the ship came within 50000 km. He had delayed long enough. Of course anyone could see that the vessel was in serious trouble and it was not the custom of the Terran Fleet to hail a crippled ship with a shot across the bow but Eric Furchtbar carried the responsibility for 25 human lives. Out there something unspeakably alien was coming toward him. He didn’t know what the intentions of the crew might be on board the damaged spacer—so he had to give them a warning.

He issued orders to gun position 1. Behind the heavy energy cannons the crew sprang into action. The positronics indicated the exact spot where the ship would be when it passed the 50000-km line. The target point was pre-calculated. Five heavy-calibre thermo guns were aimed at a place that was within 100 km of the critical point.

In the main control room the seconds seemed to drag by in slow succession. Every minute, Ken Lodge’s deep, monotonous voice came through with the continuing countdown.

"Still 54 minutes, sir. Unknown vessel’s present velocity is 1.123 times 10 to the 7th meters per second."

Eric converted the figures in his head while watching the screen. That came to about 11000 km per second. Hm-m... Retropulsion could only be about 350G ...Ridiculous... If they’d only let a peep out of them! Those fools! Why didn’t they answer?

"We could send out a lifeboat to them, sir."

Eric was startled to hear Lt. Hynes’ voice directly behind him. He whirled around. "My God but you gave me a scare!" he admitted frankly. "Can’t you stomp those boots a little louder when you walk? A lifeboat? They’re still cutting the ether at over 1000 km per second. Our shuttle craft don't have good enough auto-nav controls—at least not in that range of speed. They’re not much better than maintenance workboats, for repair work near the station. If you wavered a minute of arc in the wrong direction that steamroller out there would flatten you to pieces."

Hynes listened patiently and then added: "I didn’t mean now, sir. Later, when they’re practically at a stop. Of course the pilot would have to be a volunteer." His voice rose slightly with a note of tension. "We can’t just sit here and wait for something to happen, sir!"

Eric looked at him sarcastically. "Would you like to be the volunteer, Lieutenant?"

In the same moment he was sorry he said it but the question was out. Ed Hynes pressed his lips together and squared his shoulders.

"Of course, sir," he answered immediately.

Eric waved a hand wearily. "Forget it, he said in a conciliatory tone. "We still have 50 minutes to mull it over. It isn’t a bad idea-maybe we can figure something out."

Lt. Hynes went back to his post, somewhat subdued. The time dragged by with such excruciating slowness that the pauses between Ken Lodge’s announcements seemed to be semi-eternities.

"...another 31 minutes sir..."

Always another minute, and another!

"...still 28 minutes, sir..."

The alien ship was still twisting, turning and bucking out there in the darkness. Furchtbar thought that he wouldn’t be surprised if the thing exploded and sent the splinters flying around their ears. But the stranger kept on coming.

"Fifteen minutes, sir. The bogie’s present velocity is 2780 km per second. Present-distance: 120000 km."

Eric envisioned Ken Lodge standing in the Com Room with the intercom mike in his hand. He wondered if the big fellow was really as cool and collected as he sounded.

At last the time seemed to be passing more swiftly all of a sudden when zero minus 10 minutes was reached. The moment was approaching when gun position 1 would be laying a shot across the alien’s bow. That would be at zero minus 140 seconds. Three minutes ahead of time, the chief gunner announced for the last time that his weapons were ready. Eric warned him that under no condition was the stranger to be brought under direct fire.

After that the tensions rose to their highest pitch. Eric remained in contact with the gun position. He finally heard the hoarse voice of the gunnery sergeant.

"Fire!"

The scanners traced the powerful beams of the the thermo guns as they shot straight through the darkness and passed beneath the alien vessel. The BOB 21 rumbled and shook from the mighty salvo while the optical screens were filled for some seconds with the blinding glare.

Eric Furchtbar leaned forward tensely in his chair. How would the stranger react to the warning shots? He must have seen that no direct hit was intended. Gun position 1 had pulled off a minor masterpiece of precision. Their fire accuracy had a variation ratio that was down to 1/1000th of the range.

"That ought to show them we’re awake over here," said Ed Hynes from the background.

Eric nodded grimly. It seemed to him that the alien ship had suddenly come under control. At least it wasn’t swaying and turning anymore. He couldn’t even tell if it was even moving. He was about to put a call through to the Com Room when he was interrupted by an announcement from the energy-sensor operator.

"Sir, the alien’s gravity field has collapsed."

The voice was strained, the words were swift, and the face of the man on the vid-screen wore a confused expression. Eric nodded confirmation. The intercom darkened—and then Eric realised fully what he had just heard.

The gravity field was the stranger’s propulsion. If the field had collapsed it meant he wouldn’t be able to manoeuvre. In that case he would keep the velocity he had when his propulsion failed. Which meant he would also stay on his present course.

Eric whirled around in his seat. Ed Hynes stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. Eric was about to say something but the intercom lighted up without warning and they both heard the bellowing voice of Ken Lodge.

"Crash alert, sir! Alien ship out of control! Approaching on direct course at about 1500 km per second. Contact in 100 seconds!"