Perry Rhodan - Sgt Robot Part 4

Gerry took just a few seconds to let his tension subside and to drink in the sensation of boundless relief. Then he sat down again and turned his flight chair to look at his officers.

"Gentlemen, we made it!" he announced. "Direct the auto-positronics to go into a stable orbit at 15,000 km from the surface. We'll remain there long enough to repair damages and make further observations of the planet. Our instruments have picked up enough data in the meantime concerning those enemy rockets. Issue orders to have all battle positions on standby and to prepare the anti-missiles for launching. We'll not be running from them a second time."

6/ VENGEANCE OF GARATHON.

It was the first time in his 'life' that Meech Hannigan was forced to marshal all of his strength. Even in the most dangerous situations he had always gotten by previously while only using a fraction of the power built into his mechanical frame. But in this case he had to dredge up every erg of energy in him. If he were to escape the collapse of this tremendous structure he would have to move with the speed of a racecar.

He knew that Ron Landry had reached safety and he had overheard the radio instructions to Larry Randall to come up the tower wall in the aircar. He had also foreseen more swiftly than anybody that the stability of the entire building was affected by the disintegration of the staircase. He leapt down the stairs and reached the main foyer just in time. The stair landing where Landry had tried to hold out under fire from the aliens finally gave way and the process of general collapse began.

After he reached the street he sprinted along in the shadow of the house walls. n.o.body saw him. Larry Randall was already manoeuvring his aircar up the wall of the tower. Far above he could see 2 heads looking out a window-Lofty and Ron. Their full attention was on the rising vehicle.

Meech never did anything by instinct or unconsciously. During the few seconds since his flight from the tower an extensive positronic program had been developed within him. He had made a summary estimate of the situation according to the information he had up to that moment. He had arrived at the conclusion that whoever the aliens might be they must have a well-equipped base somewhere on Azgola. Now that the Victory had taken off and withdrawn from the scene, this was what Ron Landry and his companions were up against, with nothing but their hand weapons and the built-in weaponry of the aircar. It was highly probable that they would be in trouble before the Victory came back.

In such a case it might be well for one of their number to remain undiscovered. Neither Ron Landry nor the enemy would be aware of his presence. Meech was sure Ron would think the collapsing tower had buried him. The enemy, who had lost a number of their men in the incident, had no less reason to doubt that one of the opposition had also been killed. So when the tower collapsed in thundering ruins and raised a huge cloud of dust behind him, Meech Hannigan became an unknown factor in the equation affecting events on Azgola. When he had taken pains not to be observed during his escape, this was his sole intention.

He finally saw the aircar flying along over the street in a northerly direction. He waited and watched it for awhile because by its slow pace it was obvious that Ron hadn't yet decided where to go. This proved to be a valid conclusion when seconds later the aircar turned west into a side street. Just before it pa.s.sed from his sight, Meech noticed that it started to pick up speed.

But robots are not dependent solely upon the 5 human senses and in fact the word 'sense' in itself must be modified in its meaning when applied to a robot. It would be difficult to compare the combined optical-positronic faculties of such 'sensory' equipment with human vision or to think of a process of scanning images produced by complex lenses on synthetic fluorescent retinas as a 14 sense" of sight at all. At any rate, Meech also had a brain section which could detect radiations emanating from any modern energy-generating source. Of course even for him it would have been impossible to quickly detect the presence of a gasoline engine or electric generator unless he saw it or heard it or was able to 'smell' it, so to speak, by making an a.n.a.lysis of exhaust products. But he could detect any small fusion engine such as was used in aircars and other vehicles because of its radiation-in fact around corners or even 10 corners, as clearly as a man might see a bright lantern in a very dark street.

So Meech was soon aware of the fact that the aircar turned again toward the south. He was able to trace it although its speed had increased considerably. But wherever it flew, Meech would be able to get to that place eventually.

He got underway again, this time combining both speed and caution. While satisfying both of these requisites he increased his pace to about 20 km/hr. If Ron's vehicle was going to land anywhere in the city he figured he'd not be more than 15 minutes behind it.

The radiations from the fusion motor gradually became weaker. Meech estimated that he would still be able to track the emanations for another 12 to 15 minutes if the craft continued at the same speed and in the same direction. Beyond that point he would be forced to rely on other methods-perhaps less precise and more time-consuming-but he had no doubt that he would eventually catch up with Ron Landry.

Fortunately he soon noticed that the aircar had ceased to recede from him. On the contrary it seemed to be approaching him slowly. Meech's logic told him that what was really happening was that the vehicle had stopped somewhere and that the rate of 'approach' he was sensing was due to his own progress as he moved swiftly past the silent houses and through the empty streets.

He maintained his pace until he reached a street intersection and suddenly realized that the aircar wasn't the only source of radiations that were impinging upon his sensors. He made a quick a.n.a.lysis and concluded that the new diffusion field he detected was also being generated by fusion motors. The sources were still quite a distance away but spread out on a wide front from east to west. Inasmuch as there was only one Terran vehicle on Azgola, the whole picture began to look precarious.

It only took Meech about a millisecond to decide that he would not warn Ron. He could detect that the Terran vehicle was encircled and in such a case he would not be able to help Ron. Instead he threw away his caution and began to move at the highest speed his mechanical body could develop. It would have been an unusual sight for anyone to have observed the robot darting through the streets at somewhere around 35 km/hr.

He too heard the amplified voice on the loudspeaker and he intercepted the emergency call that Ron sent out to the Victory. He calmly realized that the ident.i.ty of the enemy force was a Springer clan. Why the ones seen on Azgola did not have the same appearance as others of their kind was a question Meech relegated to some later deliberation.

Soon thereafter he perceived that Ron Landry and his companions must have fallen into the hands of the enemy. The disintegrator salvo echoed loudly in his energy sensor and the crash of the aircar against the pavement would have been clearly audible even in human ears. But Meech's sensitive acoustical receptors could also detect that the aircar had not crashed from too high an alt.i.tude and that therefore the Terrans were probably still alive. The Springers would take them with them and so Meech would have to follow them.

Temporarily he took cover in the shaded portico of a house and waited to see what the Springers' next move would be. He could sense that their aircraft took flight almost immediately and receded toward the South. In that direction the city outskirts were not very far so it meant that the Springer stronghold must be out in the country. Meech knew that he would soon lose the direct trace he had on the moving air vehicles but if he kept on toward the South he would have to eventually pick up the radiations of other equipment such as a nuclear generator or a hypercom transmitter, which would show him the way much more clearly than the relatively small fusion engines.

The first thing he did was to inspect the area of the ambush. He located the central plaza and in a side street he discovered the wreck of the Terran aircar, which was no longer usable Just as he was about to start southward, the Vondar and the Victory appeared over the city. He observed their manoeuvres and when they landed at the s.p.a.ceport his sensor equipment enabled him to be an indirect witness to the desperate struggle of both s.h.i.+ps to escape destruction there. He made a mental note not to count on help from the Terran s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps in the immediate future. The Springers on Azgola were too heavily armed.

So he finally set out toward the south. The clear, unemotional logic of the robot told him that the situation for the Terrans on this planet wasn't any too promising.

Ron Landry was driven to consciousness by excruciating pain. He wanted to leap into the air but something held him fast. Someone close to him laughed derisively. This angered him so much that he forced his eyes open although the lids seemed to be heavy s.h.i.+elds of lead.

At first what he saw was blurred. It took time for the outlines to come into focus. There was a roaring and buzzing pain in his skull but more than this it was sheer rage that dominated him as he stared at the sneering man in front of him.

It seemed to him that he had seen this face somewhere before but it could be a false impression. The Springer, if that's what he was, wore no beard and his face was puffy and bloated. In fact his whole body appeared to be affected by the local plague of fatness. He sat on a ma.s.sive chair behind a small desk on which a switchboard was mounted. Ron didn't know what the control panel was for and he cared less. He made a second attempt to stand up.

The Springer leaned forward slightly and moved one of the switches. In the same moment Ron let out a yell. It was as if someone had shoved a red-hot needle into the back of his skull. The pain was so intolerable that he drifted back into unconsciousness for a few minutes.

When he came to again the Springer still had his hand on the switch. "Take it easy and nothing will happen to you," he said. "You know I have to be on my guard because you seem to be a violent man."

Ron cursed his weakness. It was almost impossible for him to even turn his head. Within his range of vision he could see that the room was about 10 feet wide and perhaps only 6 or 7 feet deep on either side. To the right and left of the small desk or console were the grey cubicle cabinets containing the generators which were connected to the switchboard. When he also noticed several coloured wires extending from the generator boxes toward himself he suddenly knew who had given him the jolts of pain in his head.

Also there were no windows here. The light came from a row of bright blue glow tubes suspended from the ceiling.

Ron glared at the Springer. "Where are my men?" he asked.

"None of your business," came the answer. The man spoke softly but he kept a sharp eye on his prisoner. Ron made a note of this.

"Are you Garathon?" he inquired.

"Yes... is the name familiar to you?"

"It is... from whenever it was that you so courageously attacked us with your superior forces."

It struck again-the terrible burning pain in his head. He had not seen the Springer move the b.u.t.ton switch. The shock came with surprising swiftness but this time he remained conscious. His anger kept him awake.

"Let's have no insults," admonished Garathon with a grin. "By the way, I happen to be a cousin of Alboolal. You remember Alboolal, don't you?"

Ron searched his memory because the name sounded familiar. He had been involved with a Springer named Alboolal somewhere in the past. In fact quite awhile back. It must have been... yes, it had been that time on Ghama, the water world where the Springers had captured some survivors of a s.p.a.ce wreck. That is, a s.p.a.ce wreck they had caused. Ron and Larry had put a stop to the activities of Alboolal and his clan. They had taken them prisoner and brought them to Terra. Probably the courts had sentenced them to no less than 20 years of forced labour so that they could make up for part of the damage they had caused.

Now Ron understood the connection here. Garathon was trying to avenge his cousin Alboolal. He knew he'd be lucky to ever get out of this prison. "Oh yes, I remember Alboolal," he retorted while managing a sarcastic smile. "Just now he must be asking himself if it's worth it to make attacks against Terran s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps."

He knew that the red-hot pain would follow and he closed his eyes in antic.i.p.ation of it. By concentrating he withstood it better than the previous 2 times. When he opened his eyes again he saw that the Springer's face was twisted with anger.

"I'll wipe that sneer off your face, Terran! You'll live to curse the day you captured Alboolal!" He quick calmed himself and leaned back in his chair. But his tone was derisive when he spoke again. "Of course I could remind you for the 3rd time that I will not tolerate any rebellious remarks and that you can only harm yourself if you keep on saying things I don't wish to hear-but I know it won't do any good."

Ron nodded. "Could be," he answered evenly. "But since you're so sure of yourself you'll no doubt be wanting to tell me what the Springers are doing on Azgola."

Garathon did not make up his mind at once. "It has to do with a major piece of business," he answered hesitantly. "I don't think you have to know more than that."

"I can see that," said Ron. "Business is so good that you've grown as fat as a Kalaan swamp-toad."

Garathon's hand shot forward and Ron saw that his outstretched fingers touched a different b.u.t.ton this time. He tensed his muscles but something attached itself to both his arms and he was pulled down with irresistible force. He groaned aloud.

Garathon laughed and then became grave again. "As a matter of fact you're right. Our stay on Azgola has its unpleasant side. Its very irksome to put on so much weight but anyway our location is a fairly healthy one. We're not affected here as badly as the poor Azgons who can't even move anymore because of their fat."

Ron had to force himself to remain calm. "What is in the air?" he asked in a hard tone of voice.

Garathon seemed to be startled. "In the air...? Nothing. But I told you this is none of your business!"

"You jelly-bellied coward!" Ron snarled at him. He wanted an end to this unequal struggle-come what might. "Even in your own fortress you're afraid of us!"

Garathon leaned forward slowly. Far away, as though beyond the walls of the room, a mighty gong sounded. The ringing swelled inside Ron's head until his skull seemed ready to burst. Then something gave. In the next instant Ron was surrounded by nothing but night-the dark and soothing blackness of night...

7/ DOOM-DUST MERCHANTS.

The damages suffered by both s.p.a.ces.h.i.+ps proved to be fairly insignificant. As far as the defence screen generators were concerned all that was necessary was to give them half a day to build up again with the energy reserves.

Meanwhile the positronic sections of both Control Centres were busy tracing back the courses of the hostile missiles. Since the enemy had held their trajectories at a very low angle they had only been detected when close to their targets, so the data on hand were not complete. All Gerry Montini found out was that the rocket swarms had come from 2 different battery locations and that both bases were on the same continent where the Azgons had built their capital city.

Furthermore the astronomical sections of both s.h.i.+ps were incessantly at work with the task of making observations of the planet's surface. Gerry was aware of the fact that he was taking a risk because Springer s.h.i.+ps were probably somewhere in the vicinity and they wouldn't want anybody to discover their activities. But he also knew that his mission had turned out to be one of major importance-especially since it had suddenly become evident that the Springers had their hands in this affair on Azgola. Vital a.s.signments were seldom without their element of risk. So this was the risk part and Gerry was taking the gamble.

The survey of Azgola's surface revealed that the largest continent embraced almost the entire northern hemisphere but it was practically uninhabited. Apparently the land there was so barren that the Azgons hadn't bothered with it. Wide stretches of the terrain gave back a pale yellow-green reflection as if from dry gra.s.s.

Gerry decided that since the Azgons had shown little interest in their largest land ma.s.s the Springers wouldn't have any particular preference for it. It was a wild guess with nothing to support it but Gerry decided to bank on it.

The Victory was instructed to remain behind in an orbit around Azgola while the Vondar prepared to make a second foray below. Gerry set his course so that he would avoid the more dangerous section of the planet's surface. The s.h.i.+p plunged downward almost vertically toward the northern continent.

A group of specialists was preparing to disembark.

Meech Hannigan was on his long march.

The land was flat and offered a wide range of vision, which had both advantages and disadvantages. He was equipped with an excellent optical system that was much more long-range than either Terran or Springer vision. He did not have to fear that anyone would take him by surprise out here but it would be natural for the terrain to be under tracking surveillance. Such tracking devices could see farther even than a robot and the flat land offered Meech no concealment.

At any rate he would be able to detect a radar sweep and then it would only be a question of whether he could disappear fast enough before the Springers became suspicious and came out looking for him. He had left the city far behind him. When he looked back all he could see was a few outlines of some of the tallest buildings above the horizon.

There were a number of roads which led southward out of Timpik but Meech avoided them. They offered even less protection than the open gra.s.slands. He also noticed that the country was on a gradual down-slope-probably toward the sea. There was more of a salt tang to the air than he had detected farther north.

And there was something else he noticed. Under normal conditions his innards required a ventilation system. It was a simple matter to use the air itself as a gas coolant if it did not contain elements which might harm his complicated internal workings. Only in the vacuum of the outer void was Meech completely independent of his environment. His ventilation system was equipped with a number of filters which kept out impurities and which also cleaned themselves from time to time. However automatic the process it did not escape his positronic consciousness. Therefore he had noted that since his landing on Azgola the filters had seemed to need this self-cleaning more often than was normally the case. Of course it was understandable when one saw how muggy the atmosphere was and how the wind kept stirring up columns of dust. The only question was, where did all the dust come from? The gra.s.s under his feet was dry but it left no part of the ground uncovered. The ocean wasn't far away so the humidity content of the air should be considerable, as his instruments could detect. So why all the dust?

Meech was not aware of the Azgons' problem. He had not been present during the conversation between Ron Landry and Bladoor. Nevertheless a question took form somewhere in the midst of his data banks and his logic circuits. He wondered if the dust content of the air might have something to do with the corpulence of the Azgons. What would happen if the dust were in some way a nouris.h.i.+ng substance?

The thought would only have been absurd to a human but Meech was not subject to any biases of opinion. He could only judge according to what had been dumped into his memory cells-which was more or less a form of pseudo-experience. He could imagine how it would be possible for someone to spray into the air some kind of nouris.h.i.+ng fatty acid so that when people breathed it in they would get fat. Why couldn't something like this have happened on Azgola?

Of course it wasn't an easy question to answer so Meech tucked it away where he wouldn't forget it, until such time as he could obtain some further information about it.

Night came one hour later but it did not present an obstacle to Meech. His robotic vision functioned as well in the dark, He kept on heading directly south and finally, about 1 hours after sundown, he detected the first traces of an alien energy source. It was almost on a direct line of his march. He only had to correct his course about I degree west and after that he remained keenly alert to any further signals from his energy sensors. That is, he activated a special circuit which gave priority to all reactions stemming from certain bio-mechanical organs.

Within a few minutes he was able to determine that at least 3 different energy sources lay ahead of him. They seemed to be arranged in some symmetric order in relation to each other. Meech was receiving a strong output from one of them while the other two were weaker although clearly noticeable.

Here on Azgola it required no guesswork to figure out what lay ahead there in the darkness. The Azgons had no equipment that Meech could detect from a distance. Ron Landry had been forced to abandon his aircar back in Timpik. What did that leave?

The Springers!

Meech could tell that the ground under him and the air around him had become damp. The soil was spongier now as the gra.s.sland gave way to marshy terrain. It made no difference to him even though he was heavier than a man. He would sink more readily into a swamp but his strength outweighed the disadvantage. There was no bog or swamp that Meech couldn't have worked his way out of, so he kept on going.

Of course later he was forced to forge ahead more slowly. By now the energy radiations had become so strong that he estimated the nearest source to be less than 1 km away. But the Springers would have set up some kind of security system to prevent unauthorized persons from getting into their stronghold. So Meech cut off his special circuit and concentrated his attention on his immediate surroundings.

Seconds later he discovered a detection device that had been installed in the ground before him. All that was visible was a round little knoll, perhaps 1 feet in diameter, which protruded no more than several inches above the surface of the marsh. It had 2 symmetrically opposed protuberances which looked like the spouts of old-fas.h.i.+oned coffee pots. Meech knew what they were for: they were lens hoods concealing transmitters and receptors of some kind of light beam such as infrared for example. Back on Earth the same principle was used to activate escalators and open doors in department stores. But here any beam interruption would probably set off an alarm system. The setup was simple but effective. If the infrared lamp under the knoll had not radiated a characteristic field, Meech would not have noticed it or considered this device to be dangerous.

He took considerable time to make a decision-that is, for him a 10th of a second was quite awhile. He could try to give the thing a wide berth but probably the Springers had their whole place surrounded by an interlinking series of infrared beams. He could also go over the dome-like hood through the dead s.p.a.ce between receptors but maybe there was an additional arrangement that would activate an alarm if one were to step on the device. There were a number of other alternatives and Meech sifted them all through with the patient logic of a robot. Finally he decided in favour of the simplest of them all. He bent his knees deeply and then made a mighty jump.

Garathon, leader of the stronghold on Azgola, left his work room where a few close-mouthed underlines had installed some very special devices for him. The other men from the clan of Garath knew nothing about Garathon's special form of amus.e.m.e.nt.

He went through the dim-lit corridor which connected his room to the rest of the base. The pa.s.sage was subterranean for the same reason that the rest of the stronghold had been largely placed under ground. The only thing showing above the surface was a low dome, the top of which was no more than 5 meters over the level ground. The whole installation was a masterpiece which the architects of the clan had completed in less than 7 days. Of course the facilities were a bit meagre where items of comfort were concerned but Azgola was strictly a matter of business. When a Springer was sufficiently enticed by a chance for profit he was always ready to dispense with many conveniences.

The air in the shaft was fairly humid and it was so warm that beads of sweat came out on Garathon's forehead long before he arrived at the messhall where he had asked his confidants to meet him. He cursed Azgola and the strange dust-spores that infested its atmosphere. Yet at the same time he remembered he had come here of his own free will-for the purpose of monetary gain.

In front of the messhall the pa.s.sage opened up into a sort of foyer from which other corridors branched out in various directions. Garathon stopped for a moment to look about him, not without pride, into the maze of tunnels and pa.s.sages which led to other halls and chambers. He was the master of all of this and when he went away from here he would be among the richest of Springers.

He opened the door to the messhall and stepped inside. The room had been planned to accommodate 50 men at a time. The base crew numbered 48. The benches and tables were vacant now except for one small area at the rear of the hall. Garathon approached his 4 confidants and greeted them silently with a wave of his hand. Groaning under his abnormal weight, he eased himself down on the bench.

"Well, we've got them now," he said.

Across from him sat Garhalor, a smaller and apparently younger man who had cut off his beard like all the rest-but in his case the luxurious hair that was customary among Springers was also missing. In reality Garhalor was a few years older than Garathon, his chief, and his words carried weight in their conferences.

"That's not the end of it yet," he replied to Garathon's opening remark. His expression was glum. "Do you think the Terrans are going to leave their men in the lurch? They won't take this lying down."

The man sitting next to Garhalor was Garrhegan, the youngest among them but also the biggest in physical proportions. He laughed comfortably. "I wouldn't worry too much about it," he said. "Their first two s.h.i.+ps were taught a thing or two!"

Garhalor raised a warning hand. "Terra has more than 2 s.h.i.+ps," he interjected. "And the Terrans are stubborn and tough. They won't give us any peace."

Garathon interrupted the discussion. "Garhalor is right. But we only need 10 or 12 more days to finish the installations that will be a continuing source of profit to us. Until then we have this stronghold and the 2 defence batteries, which should be enough for us and Galuik to keep the Terrans off our backs."

"That reminds me," said a 4th Springer named Garr. He was a medium-sized man of average appearance and was less influential here than the others. "During that operation in the city, Galuik's losses were pretty heavy..."

"Yes, and the Terrans only lost one!" added Garathon angrily.

"In any case he's got to have backup reserves. He won't be able to manage with what he has left."

Garathon decided without hesitation. "Send him 5 men. That will have to do."

Garr noted this on a piece of writing foil that he quickly took out of his pocket. He was in the habit of noting down everything, even items that a child would be able to remember with ease.

"Let's get on with it," demanded Garathon. "What's the status of the collectors?"

The question was directed at the 5th Springer in the room. He sat at the table as though he were not a part of their group, which was partially true. Even his name, Lag-Garmoth, indicated that he belonged to another subordinate clan. Garathon had 'borrowed' him for this project because Lag-Garmoth was a biochemist and Garathon's clan could not supply any specialists of this type. Such a man was needed here on Azgola. In accordance with ancient ritual, Lag-Garmoth had been sworn to silence. In return he had been promised such a share in the profits that any Springer would have sold out his best friend to obtain it. In spite of this, Lag-Garmoth and Garathon couldn't stand each other. They were of the same age and of more or less the same degree of intelligence.

"They are coming along," answered the biochemist curtly. "I'll be ready at the appointed time."