Perry Rhodan Lemuria 1: Ark of the Stars (23 page)

Solina pulled one of the wires out of the wall and attached a comm-plug. A holo formed in front of her and began showing alternating columns of numbers and structural diagrams. "I can hardly believe it! It's packet-based!"

"Packet-what?" Pearl asked.

"Based. The data is broken down by the transmitter into small packets that carry with them information as to where they belong in the larger packet and sent on their way. The path they take isn't determined beforehand. They seek it out on their own. At the destination, the packets reassemble themselves. Such a system will survive almost anything ... "

"Even atomic bombs," Rhodan said, completing her sentence.

"Yes, that's true." Solina seemed pleasantly surprised that the Immortal had found her explanation worthy of elaboration.

"I learned about such a network just before my flight to the Moon," Rhodan said. "It's been a few years. At the time, computers on Earth filled whole rooms. The Defense Department had a project to network them. It was called ARPANET, if I remember correctly."

The historian shook her head. "I've never heard that name."

"It stands for Advanced Research Projects Agency Network. I'll be glad to tell you more about it when we have an opportunity," Rhodan said. "But right now you should open this hatch for us. Remember: every minute we spend here corresponds to a hundred minutes on our home worlds. We don't want anyone to miss us, do we?"

"All right." The historian clearly would have preferred to spend the next few hours examining the computer network with Rhodan. "Just one more thing," she murmured, "and then you can have your open hatch." The holo showed a new menu. Pearl watched as Solina quickly worked through a series of symbols, finally chose one, and deactivated the holo.

"What was that you just did?" Pearl asked.

The Akonian waved dismissively. "Just a small security measure, so the network doesn't spoil our fun. And now here's your open hatch." She made a bow like a magician performing before an astonished audience.

The hatch slid squeaking to the side and revealed a view of a steep stairway. Warm sunlight played on the steps and blinded the first officer of the
Palenque
. She smelled flowers.

"Mama!" Pearl exclaimed into her suit's microphone. "See that? We're here! You won't believe what it smells like!"

Alemaheyu didn't reply.

As Dr. Hartich van Kuespert, the
Palenque
's hyperphysicist and a willing volunteer for the Terran-Akonian "guest exchange," exited the crawler into one of the
Las-Toór
's hangars, he met with a disappointment.

No one was waiting for him.

The hangar was deserted. No Akonian, not even a robot, had appeared to greet the Terran guest. Hartich tugged irresolutely at the collar of his old-fashioned pullover, from which he was never separated, and looked around. The Akonians knew very well that he had arrived! The
Las-Toór
's hangar doors had opened for his crawler, the ship's comm officer had given him authorization to enter. What was the meaning of this little game?

Hartich had to admit to himself that he was baffled. Everyone knew how obsessed the Akonians were with rituals and official ceremonies, how much they loved to march in wearing colorful, shining uniforms and to declaim in their own brand of Intercosmo with its nasally arrogant tone that generations of Terran comedians had specialized in parodying.

Was he so unimportant to them that they would pass up this opportunity?

As though in answer to his question, a small personnel hatch opened in the wall at the rear of the hangar. An Akonian stepped through. He was tall and slender, in keeping with a member of his race, and wore his black hair short—at which the agreement with the image of a typical Akonian in Hartich's mind came to an end.

The Akonian wore overalls studded with pockets, similar to that commonly worn by a maintenance technician on a Terran starship. Objects protruded from some pockets. Not tools, as Hartich would have expected, but odds and ends: a pen, a handkerchief, a sheet of writing paper. Or was it a piece of packing material?

The man stopped in front of him and held out his hand in an astonishingly Terran-like gesture.

"Welcome on board the
Las-Toór
," he said. "I'm Jere."

Hartich stared at the hand offered to him for several seconds before he overcame his surprise and clasped it. The Akonian's hand was huge, with long, slender fingers that firmly gripped Hartich's own right hand.

"Uh ... thank you," the Terran replied. "I am Hartich van Kuespert.
Dr.
Hartich van Kuespert." The Akonian released his hand. "Jere ...
just
Jere?"

"No, no ... Jere von Baloy and a thousand other things, too many to waste time listing them all."

Jere von Baloy ... von Baloy ...
Hartich had heard the name before. He wished he had listened to the communications with the Akonians, but he had been working with the chief technician of the
Palenque,
Kurt Brodbeck, and his colleague, Huang Lee, on the phenomenon of the Lemurian ship's hyperdetection shield. They had believed they were on the brink of a breakthrough and, their minds dedicated to the task, had blocked themselves almost completely from the outside world. The chatter around him seemed peripheral in that stage of investigating a problem, which always put him in a state of ecstasy. Only when they had failed to prove their theory of the hyperdetection shield did he find an interest in the Akonian ship awakening within him. And then with such intensity that he had been able to get a ticket to that ship for himself—a round-trip ticket, he firmly believed. The Akonians were too intelligent and cultivated to deny a highly regarded scientist like him the respect he deserved.

Perhaps he had been wrong about that last, Hartich admitted to himself. And who, blast it all, had been that Jere von Baloy? The communications officer? No, he didn't look like one. But then you could say that about Alemaheyu ... .

"We have prepared quarters for you, Dr. Hartich van Kuespert," the Akonian said. "If you like, I can take you there and show you the ship on the way. You must be very curious."

Am I ever!
thought Hartich, the idea of a tour very nearly overcoming his disappointment at his minimal reception. "Well," he said, "I certainly wouldn't be opposed to a little tour."

"Excellent! Baggage?"

Hartich shook his head and raised the small bag in his left hand. "This is all."

Jere led him out of the hangar to an antigrav shaft and graciously let his guest take the lead. The two men floated up several decks and then left the lift in the sector of the ship apparently reserved for crew quarters. The
Las-Toór
proved to be a thoroughly clean ship, as spotless as though it had just left the construction yards. Hartich inquired as to the ship's age.

Jere laughed politely. "A flattering question. But no, the
Las-Toór
is not fresh from the factory. The Akonian government has realized in recent years that while military strength is certainly necessary in order to hold our own in the galaxy, scientific know-how must accompany it as well. The
Las-Toór
is the expression of that view made steel. It was completely refitted before our departure."

That's certainly a deep analysis for a simple technician!
thought Hartich, but since they had reached his quarters just then, he couldn't pursue the thought any further.

The door slid to one side and revealed a series of sparsely but tastefully furnished rooms. Crystal mobiles glittered in the shine of hidden lamps and filled the rooms with a soft light.

"This ... this ... " Hartich was at a loss for words.

"Do you like it?" Jere asked with a satisfied smile that showed he already knew the answer.

"Yes, very much!" Hartich had barely managed to avoid being assigned to a crawler when he joined the
Palenque.
Instead, he had been allotted a cabin that was so tiny and stank so overpoweringly that he preferred to spend all his time in the laboratory.

"Are all the crew quarters on the
Las-Toór
so spacious?" he asked.

"Naturally, not. This is the cabin of the first officer, who insisted that it be made available to our Terran guest." Jere's smile had changed. Was it now ... mischievous? Hartich found it difficult to read his facial expressions, even though the Akonians were just as human as the Terrans.

Hartich laid down his bag—right by the entrance, since he feared not being able to find it again elsewhere in the wide-ranging rooms—and Jere guided him through the ship. The engine rooms were of slightly less interest to Hartich, as his curiosity concerned the principles on which the engines were based, not on the machinery itself, but his ears pricked when Jere recited their performance data. The
Las-Toór
was considerably superior to the
Palenque
when it came to acceleration and ultra-light capabilities. After that, Jere showed him the life-support and secondary systems, and finally the scientific sections.

Here it became quite interesting. Hartich finally met other Akonians. Scientists, called Yidari in Akonian, and very much in keeping with his mental image of Akonians. Tall and slender with the velvet brown skin that made most Terrans look pale, and manners that in their perfection were worthy of a high culture tens of thousands of years old.

And tiresome. During their introductions, it was clear that none of the Akonians wanted to forego presenting their privileged family trees in the proper light. If Jere hadn't firmly intervened—and why did the Yidari permit this?—every single introduction would have taken half an hour or more. Jere was Hartich's salvation, especially when one of the Yidari decided to ask him about his own family tree. The "van" indicated a title of nobility, didn't it? Not for him. It was simply the result of parents who were enthusiastic about early Terran history and reflected their enthusiasm when naming their child—a freedom of choice unimaginable in the Blue system. It was certainly not the answer the Akonians wanted to hear, and a white lie would have quickly collapsed under the detailed follow-up questioning.

When they left the scientific sections, which he could see were equipped with the best money could buy, Hartich wished for nothing more than to return to his palace of a cabin, take a deep breath and put up his feet.

Jere had other plans.

"All right, now let's go to the control center!" he announced.

"The control center?" Hartich couldn't hide his surprise. Sharita would be damned if she would allow a guest on her bridge; even Perry Rhodan had been permitted entry only after a loud hypercom discussion with the owners of the
Palenque.
And the Akonian would lead him into the ship's holiest of holies just like that? Jere didn't even look as though
he
would be allowed in.

"Yes, of course. No tour would be complete without it."

Curious glances met Hartich as the door to the domed control center slid open. The Akonian officers sat at their consoles on three levels—no, on two, Hartich corrected himself. The uppermost level, which must be reserved for the commander, was unoccupied.

As they entered the control center, the officers bowed. A man stepped up to them, ignoring the Terran, and reported, "We've received a query from Fleet Command, Maphan. They want to know why we've been in dilation flight for so long. They've determined from our standard tracking signals that we're moving at relativistic velocity."

"I expected that, Netkim," Jere said. "Answer them by saying that dilation flight is necessary for the moment in connection with hyperphysical experiments. As commander, I am not happy about it, but my task at present is to satisfy the ladies and gentlemen of the Yidari. And we all know what an incorrigible lot they are, don't we?"

The officer saluted. Jere—Jere von Baloy, commander of the
Las-Toór
—turned one last time to Hartich. "Do you see over there on the second level, that short officer with the reddish brown hair who is staring rather intently at his console?"

"Y-yes," Hartich stuttered, mortified by the faux pas he had committed. He had mistaken the commander for a technician! The status-obsessed Akonians would never forgive him for that!

"That is Echkal cer Lethir, my first officer, and the man who insisted on letting you have his quarters. You should thank him." He winked at Hartich as though they were old friends. "Echkal is often somewhat shy in social situations. Don't let it bother you if he seems a little out of sorts. Just go on talking. At the bottom of his heart, he likes Terrans."

With those words, Jere von Baloy left his guest and resumed his station as the commander of the
Las-Toór.

* * *

"Be careful that you don't catch any infectious diseases!" her colleagues had joked when Eniva ta Drorar climbed aboard the Shift that would take her to the Terran ship, and Eniva had laughed heartily together with the other Yidari.

That had been less than an hour ago, and already her time on the
Las-Toór
seemed to Eniva like an eternity in the past. She no longer felt in the least like laughing. The Terrans' ship was thick with dirt. If Eniva had even suspected what awaited her, she would have boarded the
Palenque
in a special spacesuit designed for extreme planetary environments, not in a simple leisure outfit chosen to complement the allegedly so-casual Terrans. Well, she had brought along a few suitcases with more appropriate clothing ... .

The commander had met her right in the hangar. Sharita Coho wore a starkly tailored black uniform that no Akonian would ever have worn, even in the old days when the Energy Command constituted the secret government, and escorted her to her cabin.

Her "cabin."

Even murderers and those making fraudulent claims to noble titles were confined in better quarters on Drorah. The cabin was a rectangular space just big enough to contain a narrow bed. To the side of the bed, a passageway led to a hygiene cubicle. The door separating them didn't close properly, so there was a moldy smell in the air. Or perhaps there was another source of the stench: when Eniva had arranged her suitcases along the wall, she had discovered a dirty pair of men's underwear.