The hypercom loudspeaker emitted a short chirping sound. It signified the reception of a coded pulse message on the special frequency band of the Arkonide Intergalactic Task Force under command of Admiral Notath.

The dispatch was addressed to Fleet High Command on Arkon 3. The call letters were not encoded. We waited until the repeat message stopped coming in. The auto-analyser shoved the magnatape foil into the depulser unit. After serial arrangement the the input the coded message was fed to the computer in the mathematical section.

The code was known to us. The deciphering process required 12 minutes, which indicated a range of possibly 6 billion variables. My ancestors had known well how to guard their secrets.

By normal Earthly time it was the 10th of February of the year 2106. By use of the time converter we had moved back 6023 years into the past, to await the reception of our historical hypercom message. We were the only ones who knew that within 2 hours the real Sotala would be destroyed. We were taking its place.

It was an uncanny experience. Our converted heavy cruiser had been enveloped by a time-distortion held. The thing that was hard for me to grasp was the fact that inside this insensible and insensible mesh of forces we were able to receive a radio message which had been beamed out more than 6000 years ago from a spaceship of my ancestors.

Mercant and Col. Nike Quinto were with us in the Control Central, which had been perfectly simulated. We were all wearing the grey uniforms which were standard issue in the Arkonide Fleet. On our shoulders and breast flaps glittered the colourful symbols and rank insignia that were in traditional usage at that time.

Rhodan was the "First Officer" and I played the role of Commander. Once more the 750-man crew had been processed through a session of hypno-training in old Arkonide and the technology of the past. I had attempted to trap them into making incriminating mistakes but they had not been tricked by my questions. In effect they were Arkonides of the era of Imperator Tutmor VI.

After coming on board I had even secreted myself in the chemical lab where I had cut up a uniform and subjected it to analysis. When I found out that Solar Intelligence had also carefully simulated the synthetic fibres used in those days, I gave up. These men had made no mistakes!

We had arrived in the vicinity of my home system 24 hours previously. We hovered in space at a distance of 8 light-years from the Arkon sun. We were using the gravity field of a red sun as protection against tracking detection and felt relatively safe. We knew that the outer cordon of satellite fortresses had come into existence by that time.

No one in the Control Central spoke a word but the burden of tension could be seen in the Terrans’ faces. Rhodan had again taken refuge behind his expressionless mask. Mercant smiled a bit too fixedly while Quinto streamed rivers of sweat. Everyone had his own way of reacting to the situation. The mutants were gathered in the lower cargo hold of the Sotala. The telepaths together with the suggestor Ishibashi and hypno-specialist Noir were monitoring the 4 scientists, upon whose operations the success of the entire enterprise depended.

The phaser field did not waver. The time plane we had reached remained constant. I wasn’t quite sure just how the Akons had been coerced to do their work or how they had been convinced of how vital the perfect function of the machine was to us. It would have been impossible to continue keeping the Akons under hypnotic influence although Ishibashi’s powers were urgently needed. Apparently the other mutants were merely standing by for the present.

Auris of Las Toor had definitely come over to our side. For her there were no more compromises.

At the moment I wasn’t concerned how the scientists had been persuaded to work in our interests. On a computer console before me lay the deciphered message from the man I was supposed to represent, who had actually been dead for more than 6000 years.

As I leaned over to read it, Rhodan was beside me and I noted that his breathing was tense. He was much more nervous than he cared to let on. Perhaps it was the uncanny aspect of our undertaking that tautened the nerves and caused the blood to race.

"CCFK-1919-ABOAT-, Heavy cruiser Sotala, Cmdr. Capt. 2d cl. Tresta, to Fleet High Command Ark-3, attention of His Omniscient Eminence Tutmor VI. Task assignment Nebula, special orders 4th phase completed. 4 methane cruisers destroyed, 2 com stations eliminated. Evacuation of numbers 2 and 4 in Ilatzi System follows. Transporter with landing troops requested. Holding position. Signed Tresta, ship Sotala … "

I read through the dispatch twice. It agreed with the historical text that had been handed down. Rhodan cleared his throat dryly.

Allan D. Mercant reached for the dispatch foil. "In a few minutes the answer from Fleet High Command should come through. Tresta will be instructed to return home immediately. A new weapon was employed in the Nebula operation. The war against the methane breathers is nearing its end."

He spoke of things we knew. We had only a few more minutes to wait. The fighting men in the time of Tutmor IV had been swift and logical in their responses. In those days the signs of the degeneration had only been seen by the scientists. The fact that they had immediately begun the construction of a super robot brain said much for the decisiveness of their leaders.

The answering message came through as expected and was deciphered. The contents coincided with our information. Tresta was given orders to return to home base without delay and submit his battle report. We continued to hold our receivers open but the Sotala, was heard from no more. Mercant looked at his watch. Finally he straightened his frail frame and looked around.

"Gentlemen, at present the heavy cruiser is being destroyed by superior enemy forces. No survivors! No time to beam out a distress signal."

My voice failed me for a moment. I had to swallow several times before I could speak. "I’m beginning to doubt my senses. Did you say—the Sotala is being destroyed at present … ?"

"Yessir. We are located precisely in its own plane of time."

I sat down. My legs were shaking. It would have helped if we could have at least sensed the operation of the incomprehensible machine but we could feel nothing.

The stars of star cluster M-13 glittered on the viewscreens. Thus I had always known it. Nothing had changed. Of course the short timespan of merely 6000 years was much too negligible to effect any change in the constellations.

Mercant turned to Rhodan. He was as disturbed as I was. So Terrans were also familiar with the feeling of being at the finish line.

"Sir, it would be advisable now to transmit a simulated weak signal to the Fleet High Command—that is, using our prepared message. We have to confirm the reception of their order to return."

"Whatever you say," replied Rhodan huskily. He nodded to the com officer.

Behind the transparent metal partition we could see the communications specialists getting to work. The confirmation was sent out on the same frequency and in the same code.

Mercant nodded his satisfaction. I looked down at my uniform, which was very plain except for the gleaming symbol of the Greater Imperium on my chest.

I tried to shake off the idea of the past. Seconds later I had the impression of actually being a part of this plane of time. It was wrong to think of a present that didn’t exist anymore. The year 2106, in Earthly reckoning, had become unreal although "now-time" was out there only a few miles from the false Sotala. I had to keep telling myself that this relative reference was only effective inside the phaser held.

"Chow time!", Quinto called out. Still perspiring, he went over to the transport chair. These were incorporated in the design of the old Arkonide cruisers, being used to carry men from the Control Central to the of‚cers’ mess. It wasn’t much more than a simple basket.

When I got up I heard Rhodan clear his throat again.

"You should see the doctor, Terran," I said listlessly.

His answer was incoherent. Everybody on board knew that we now had to wait out a period of 48 hours. The true Sotala would not have been able to arrive before the 12th of February by our reckoning. It had been a typical transition-type ship whose earlier design of the nav-hypermatics section made it necessary for long and complex calculations. Still, one might say that not so much had changed on the most modern units of the robot fleet, discounting the first weakness of not having a living and thinking crew on board.

We went to the messhall and there was very little conversation. I had to force down the repulsive-looking synthetic food. It reminded me of a still more remote past—10,000 years ago.

At that time I had flown from Arkon to visit the planets of an unimportant little star. The colonists on the second planet had sent out a call for help. The star had been Earth’s sun. I had to restrict my flow of memory so that I wouldn’t start fantasizing. One way to do that was to push the reddish-blue mush away from me. On board the old Arkonide fighting ships there had been no other rations than this. When on a mission there were no social differences between officers and crewmen.

I retired to my cabin, where old memories plagued me again. Finally I had to ask the ship’s doctor for a deepsleep injection. When he arrived I learned that many men had requested the same. Perry had been among them.

I smiled with relief as I fell asleep. It was the best way to bridge over our period of waiting.

* * * *

We encountered a phenomenon which strengthened Kalup’s theory only a few hours after we had rejected his claims. The scientific genius had drawn some conclusions from the fact that outside the phaser field we were looking at the relativistic past instead of at the environment of our present time. He had explained the results of some of his research before we had started out.

He claimed that we—the Sotala, and every atom inside the conversion held—were components of present time, now as before. He meant specifically February 11 of the year 2106, by Terran reckoning. However, that existence within the frame of "now-time‘ was relative. To any observers in the plane of reference of the era of Tutmor VI, we were materially stable objects of their own time. And on this basis a remarkable effect was obtained.

Kalup had concluded by saying that to anyone in this past of 6023 years ago the ship was a recognizable physical object—and could continue to be so if the time-phaser should suddenly put us back to 2106 in our own time, that is if we tried to leave the field in some precipitate manner. In the final analysis it showed us what a bewildering time trip this was. Although we could not actually leave our own present time, to all persons on the outside of the field we were "present" in their own temporal plane.

Shortly after his exposition we finally got under way. Prior to this we had sent out an auxiliary craft to perform a piece of advance strategy. We used its guns to damage one of the engines in our ring-bulge with a precision shot. We wanted to come in with a crippled ship so that we could justify asking for a specific landing site.

After allowing the glowing hole to cool down we had gone into transition, which brought us back into the Einstein continuum in the orbit of the 6th planet of the Arkon System. The manoeuvre failed to alter any effects of our time-line warpage and this was a positive indication that the nature of the time-phaser’s energy was not subject to the laws of the 5th dimension.

It was then that Kalup had his triumph. We were tracked by several patrol cruisers of the inner defence ring and were hailed, even through our 200-km phaser field did not extend to them. So they could see us and also track us on the radar-echo basis. It proved Kalup’s theory. For these long-dead crewmen of the past we did exist.

I had ordered a transmission of the Sotala’s code signal and call letters. The answer had been gratifying because the landing permit had come through from Fleet Command immediately.

At the moment we were moving at a moderate speed toward Arkon 3. A light cruiser escorted us. For the firstime I had a chance to speak to one of these "ancestor phantoms" out of the past. As the false Tresta I was treated very respectfully by the commander, who was a 4th-class captain. Apparently he already knew of my success in the nebula sector. Since I was a few steps higher in rank and could also boast of more service seniority, the young man addressed me as "Your Excellency".

In the fleets of the old Arkonide Empire, such things were important. No one ignored the order of rank. Over the radio I requested a landing place be assigned to us near the main shipyards. We knew that the robot Regent was being constructed in that immediate area.

The request was processed through the prescribed service channels. According to regulations it was not my place to personally contact the port authority while under escort of a patrol commander.

While I waited for a confirmation, Rhodan smiled sarcastically. "Long live bureaucracy! Your ancestors must have really had some red tape to contend with."

I took his little barb calmly . Where wasn’t there such a thing as bureaucracy? As soon as intelligent beings started to think, the first thing they always did was to entrench themselves in red tape and regulations which were then usually handed out by people who had no idea of the practical applications. I could well remember the heyday of the Imperium. Although I had been the Crystal Prince and was Commander-in-Chief of a special fleet, I had once had to present 5 signatures before a certain colonial world granted me permission to take on fresh water supplies.

It seemed that here was a similar case. First, the cruiser commander advised me that my request to the port authority had been approved. But it was then necessary for me to call directly and to repeat the request. The port commander referred me to the wharf officer, who then had to determine through Headquarters if the landing was agreeable. By the time we were already plunging into the atmosphere with our roaring retro-engines ablaze, I was finally advised by a young lieutenant that we should use landing apron KP-176.

"Jumping Jupiter!" exclaimed Maj. Heintz, the deputy commander. "I’ll take everything back that I ever said about red tape in the Terran Services!"

I glared at him unappreciatively but I think all 750 crewmen on board the Sotala were starting to grin. These Terrans had a strange sense of humour. Usually it came to the surface when other intelligences were ready to break under the strain. Perhaps this was what was great about this young galactic race.

I looked at the viewscreen tied to the outboard cameras. The commander of the escort cruiser requested permission to withdraw. When I had obliged him he still had to notify the chief of the ground-based defence fortresses that I had authorized his manoeuvre. It was only then that I was free to bring the spherical warship down through the inner defence zone.

I didn’t know at this moment that the exhausting bureaucracy of the Arkonide officials was helping the Terrans to view our forthcoming task like a spirited bunch of sports enthusiasts. They were amused at me and my tussle with the petty instruments of a petty officialdom.

We flew over the titanic installations of the war planet. The remote-control central took over and guided us into the prescribed flight corridor. My energetic protest resulted in a mild rebuke from the local commandant. This official gave me to understand that my engine damage was "a mere scratch". I told him angrily that this was a matter which he should kindly leave to the judgment of an active service technician such as we were already provided with on board our damaged vessel.

In spite of our perilous situation, Rhodan’s grim sense of humour was enough to bring tears of laughter to his eyes. He suddenly found the operation to be quite entertaining.

In every section of the Sotala, a final checkout of all personnel was made. The names of the crew members of the genuine cruiser were known to us. Heroes had always been well recorded in Arkonide history. The hypno-training proved itself effective. Every man knew what his name was supposed to be, where he came from and what his background had been. In this case the extensive pedantry of administrating officials had come in handy. Nothing could go wrong now unless we encountered Arkonides who were personally acquainted with the commander or any members of the crew. Then our only salvation would be the quick intervention of the mutants, to control their minds.

Solar Intelligence had thought of everything. Mercant was still giving instructions over the P.A. system by the time the landing struts had extended. Beneath us was the main spaceport of Arkon 3. We caught a brief glimpse of the mammoth building site to the west of the wharfs. There the robot Regent was being completed by the top scientists and technicians of my venerable ancestors. In a few days of relativistic conversion time the impenetrable energy screen would be in place.

When we touched down and bounced gently on our hydraulic struts I was intending to bring the special bomb into the Brain as quickly as possible and then to take flight. But for that we’d have to find a means of gaining regulation approval through official channels for a take off again. Without a takeoff permit we couldn’t get very far with the cruiser. The Arkonides of this age had been hard and alert. Nobody could get off Arkon 3 if the commander in charge did not approve. Not even Perry Rhodan.

When the engines died out I warned Perry again: "Listen well, little barbarian! When these Arkonides really were alive, your ancestors were living in smoke-filled caves and whimpered helplessly at the thunder of every storm. Don’t get the idea that those troops out there can be compared with the Arkonides of the year 2106 A.D. You would be in for a surprise. You have to compare my forefathers with your most capable elite soldiers. Then you will know how to comport yourself."

"Understood, sir," Mercant answered in Perry’s place. "But the operation of the time-phaser is much more important. If it fails us we’ll soon be standing before the Regent under orders of somebody from the Akon Energy Command. I’m wondering which could be worse."

I glanced at him appraisingly. He was a model of self-control. Major Heintz, who was officially the 2d officer, handed me the green shoulder mantle I was to wear in my position of commander. I fastened the magnetic clips to my shoulders. My radio helmet was a magnificent piece of workmanship. Captain Tresta had been granted the privilege of wearing such custom gear in his time. Even this detail had been documented in the microvideo tapes covering the crew of the Sotala. The Terran experts had simulated the helmet perfectly.

"Should somebody accompany you?" asked Rhodan hesitantly.

"Out of the question! The commander disembarks alone and—according to custom—climbs into a groundcar of the robot reception escort and then reports to Central Command. The crew along with the officers have to remain on board until the captain returns. After that the granting of ground leave for the crew lies within his own jurisdiction."

Perry looked around. The facts were self-evident. "We have to go along with the Arkonide customs," he concluded.

Mercant cleared his throat. "Here’s where the difficulties begin, sir. Take care that you don’t run into somebody who thinks he knows the real Tresta. Can you use a mento-beamer?"

"No. Arkonide brains don’t react to the suggestive frequencies. That weapon was developed for use on alien planets. I believe the Terrans found that out toward the end of the 20th century."

I managed to chuckle, seeing Rhodan’s perplexity. Apparently he had forgotten that after his return home in the moon rocket Stardust, he had used the beamer to make a decisive impression on Reginald Bell.

Quinto looked at his watch. We didn’t yet know exactly how late it was. Within the time distortion we could determine the day but not the hour. Our astronomers were already at work on the problem. The rotation rate of Arkon 3 could not have changed.

Before I left, the correct time of day was announced. It was 13:24. When I stepped into the outer airlock and the ceremonies began, the telepath John Marshall appeared. He reported to me that the Akon scientists were doing what was expected of them. Whether this was of their own free will or not was not mentioned.

20 men of the false Sotala had formed a double line out in front. One of them announced me and I walked between them with appropriate salutes. Ahead an escort groundcar was waiting. Shrill robot music started up. The noisy mechanical instruments hadn’t changed. Their screeching and fifing were familiar to me from the time of my rulership. They had always been a strain on my eardrums.

In dignified representation of my rank I strode forward to the robots. A uniformed officer straightened up in the car. I wondered if I was supposed to know him! He turned out to be a 1st-class captain. A dark beard obscured his chin. I looked into a pair of red Arkonide eyes. His nearly white hair had been modishly styled. His service helmet did not conceal it entirely.

I came to a stop before the hover glider where I struck my hand flat against the left side of my chest and bowed my head. In rank and seniority the officer was doubtlessly my superior. All Arkonide officers were able to note such fine distinctions. It also went without saying that an appropriate form of address was necessary in such cases.

Thus I said respectfully: "Captain Tresta greets you, Excellency. I am reporting back in accordance with my signal dispatches."

He raised a hand. I shook inwardly. My right hand hovered over the butt of my service weapon. I thought I could deduce from his searching look that he had never seen the real Tresta. And so it turned out.

"My greetings to you, Captain Tresta. Welcome to Arkon 3. I am instructed to transmit the request of the commanding admiral for your immediate presence."

The polite formality of course meant nothing. But thus it had always been in the old fleet. Whenever a superior commander "requested" something it was the same as a binding order.

I bowed my head again and waited until a combat robot opened the vehicle’s door. Then I climbed in. I remained silent until the higher-ranked captain had taken his seat again. Above us glared the bright sun of my home system. I felt comfortable under its burning heat, which the Terrans had never seemed to appreciate.

The car started up with a lurch. with shrill alarm whistles going we raced across the spaceport, the borders of which blended hazily with the horizon. I thought I was being unobtrusive when I stole another glance at the major construction site but my companion noticed it. He smiled benevolently.

"The work goes forward without interruption," he told me. "I believe you were 3 years on active duty, were you not?"

"That is correct, Excellency."

"Within a few days the giant robot will be surrounded by a new type of defence screen. Excuse me—I neglected to introduce myself. I am Captain Usaph, 1st Adjutant of the Commanding Admiral. A year ago His Eminence, Admiral Kreto, was relieved. The acting chief now is Admiral Aichot."

I thanked him for the information, which was something I must not forget under any circumstances. Eminent Arkonides expected everyone to know who they were. According to custom I inquired about Admiral Aichot’s family although I already had the data from the Regent’s memory banks. But such trivialities were a part of the mentality of my people. I didn’t dare overlook them if I didn’t want to be exposed.

I finally ventured to indulge in the usual jokes about the bureaucratic attitude of the port officials, which was a welcome diversion to any officer in active duty. The tacit animosity between front-line officers and the "tinplates", as the civil service type troops of the administration were called, was always a sure source of amusement.

After we had travelled a considerable distance the high buildings of Fleet Command Headquarters loomed into the sky before us. Our conversation kept being interrupted by the thunder of spaceships which were constantly either taking off or landing. In those days Arkon 3 was the centre of the universe. There was no other galactic race which could have dared to stand against us. Now and again a formation of warships would take off into space and the roaring was so unbearable that we had to press our hands against our ears.

The car halted and once more I was faced with an honour guard, this time composed of veteran Arkonides. Someone among them could have known Tresta. I kept my head down and strode rapidly to the wide steps of the building.

An antigrav lift took us upstairs. The press of service people in the wide corridors and the general hustle and bustle was fairly breathtaking. I had to wait 2 hours until the commanding officer was ready to receive me.

The interview proceeded fairly well. Acting- Admiral Aichot was a younger man who probably held his present position chiefly on the basis of his distinguished heredity. He commanded the Home Fleet, was a military expert in the Supreme Council and was also a member of the Admiralty Staff of the Commander-in-Chief. I had to stand stiffly for an hour before this "Top Brass" representative, who nevertheless treated me with a sort of friendly condescension.

I gave him a complete report on the effects of the new weapon. This was a vibration beam which produced certain biological effects and—as I already knew—was soon to be abandoned. The device hadn’t held up to its expectations, which I pointed out. I also pointed out that I had destroyed the enemy cruisers with conventional impulse and disintegrator weapons.

I finally ventured to request permission to contact the chief scientist of the Supreme Council, hyper-physicist Epetran. Admiral Aichot expressed his surprise openly. For a commander of my rank it was unusual to wish to speak to such an important personage.

"Epetran? What do you want with him?"

"I’d like to make certain suggestions concerning a simplified technique for making hypertransitions."

Aichot stared at me almost pityingly. "Do I understand you correctly? You wish to make suggestions … ? You actually mean—technical recommendations?"

"Yes, Your Eminence. My years of research along this line have led to some important observations during actual battle conditions, especially with the last 4 Nebula cruisers. I believe I can offer some interesting recommendations."

Aichot may have been an average commander type but he was also an active Fleet officer. Such men were noted for their swift powers of decision. Within 3 hours I received written permission. Only with that could I dare to enter the palace of the Supreme Council.

With that the interview came to an end. Of course I was ordered to submit the customary task-action report. Aichot couldn’t know that meanwhile the report had been prepared by Terran experts.

I then withdrew. A hover glider brought me back to the Sotala, where a team from the shipyards was already looking into the engine damage. My First Officer, meaning Rhodan, had received orders to inform me that the overhaul of the cruiser could not be completed in less than 5 or 6 days. During this period I was free to determine the disposition of the crew.

This meant crew leave on Arkon 3 but it was also a big advantage for our operation. The deliberately planned engine damage had been Quinto’s idea so when I arrived he was basking in the favour of the men because they hadn’t counted on such a break.

I had to throw cold water on their enthusiasm. "Your hypno-training seems to be less effective than we expected. Ground leave in this past era is out of the question. At best you would only be able to spend your free time in the subterranean cities of the planet. You will remain on board. I don’t relish the idea of your meeting with Arkonides who might actually know the real members of the crew. In our fleet there were thousands of cross-contacts among the fighting men on active duty. Also, relieving and changing of crews was an everyday occurrence, so they all knew each other. It would be surprising if there were no man among the other crews who wouldn’t want to try to contact a buddy from the Sotala. So you have to control yourselves."

"That’s an order," announced Rhodan over the P.A. "You will govern yourselves accordingly. Major Heintz, post the men at their battle stations."

The Chief of Intelligence gazed reproachfully at the ceiling. "Sir, for many hours now the cruiser has been on standby for action."

Rhodan swallowed, then laughed. "Excuse me, then. I haven’t said a word." I looked wonderingly at this tall Terran. He was the chief of the Solar Imperium, he commanded thousands of ships and was practically idolized by 50 billion Terrans and colonists. He was far above Admiral Aichot—yet he could laugh about a mistake in his reasoning without any fear of damaging his prestige or reputation.

Perry Rhodan was a wonderful human being and friend. There had been very few like him on Arkon. I had known a few like Rhodan but they were now long dead and gone. Then it occurred to me that the Arkonides here in this relativistic conversion time were actually my descendants. 4000 years earlier I had been born and in my early manhood I had been sent off into action. Perry noted my momentary state of confusion and wanted to be helpful. I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Don’t think about it, Atlan. It’s a thing of the past. Never forget that we are creatures of the year 2106, by Terra reckoning. What we are experiencing here is an illusion—a deception under the almighty laws of Nature."

When he walked toward the exit hatch my gaze followed him pensively.