Hyperspace

by R Fanthorpe, Lionel Fanthorpe, Patricia Fanthorpe

Genres: Science Fiction; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Space Opera

Synopsis

"Elpowa" industries the mammoth electro-engineering combine controlling half the galaxy, discovered the Threshold... a scientific gateway to the fourth dimension. The industry and culture of a thousand planets would be revolutionised by that discovery. It would mean the end of orthodox space transport... vast fortunes were at stake... and a galactic war was in progress.
Was it the spacemen who were trying to sabotage the "Elpowa" process? Who were the Others with their weird, super-human powers? Where did they come from, and what did they want? How could space liners and even whole cities disappear without trace?

Release date: February 27, 2014

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

Max Dane was a tall, rugged, broad shouldered individual, with a pleasantly ugly face. It was a face that had seen much of life—and an adventurous life at that—on most of the known planets of the galaxy. Max Dane was a professional trouble shooter. He was grinning to himself rather ironically as he stepped off the gleaming sidewalk into the foyer of the Elpowa building, and moved swiftly towards the elevator. It was, he reflected, amusing to have finished up as a security detective, after the wild beginning which his life had had. The more he got around, the more ironical he reflected that life was, and the more interesting. He had long since ceased talking about coincidence, for the odd kinks and quirks of fate which he had encountered, had led him to the conclusion that coincidence should either be personified and spelt with a capital ‘C’, or not mentioned at all. He looked up through the transparent steel-hard, plastic roof of the elevator car, to a night sky far above the towering Elpowa building. About five thousand feet above him, perpetual showerings of sparks and jagged jets of flame showed where the enemy missiles were being deflected from the enormous force field surrounding the planet. It was, he decided, just as well that the force field was a good one, for it would have needed only two or three of those missiles to slip inside it. That would have been the end of this particular world. No more Centauri Three. The third and very earth-like planet, revolving round Centauri Proximus for a sun. Known to the natives as Currus. A score of mixed thoughts cascaded through Max’s mind as the elevator bore him upwards through the heart of the enormous Elpowa building. He looked out beyond the force field to the stars themselves. There was Barnard’s Star, Sirius, Tauceti, Procion, Eridani, 61 Signi, and Altair, all friendly, all fighting together on the same side in this crazy galactic war. He wondered why man must always make war; fight; kill, and destroy. Even though he was himself a fighting man of the first water, he was somehow sickened. It revolted him to think that these militant children of earth found it so necessary to carry their warlike habits throughout the galaxy. How contagious that habit had become: He thought back over the countless millennia since the first man had drawn his neighbour’s blood. How family had fought against family. Tribe against tribe. Then nation against nation. Empire against Empire. Now the Empires weren’t confined to the earth. His mind went back to the familiar history, that every inhabitant of the galaxy knew from his school days. How a thousand years back, the earth people had expanded into the planets of their own system. Then the Sirians had discovered a way to break through the warp, and finally, system after system. The whole galaxy had become inter-connected, until it was one huge unit, of trade, commerce and culture. The unity had not lasted long.

A few years after the last habitable planet in the galaxy had been colonised, the first of the wars broke out. Between one planet and another. Between one star and another. Until as many as a hundred worlds were involved. Now, the whole galaxy had split in half and ranged against itself. There were his own people, the earthmen, and their allies, in the outer ring. Their symbol was the bold blue square, and then there were the inner ring, the Red Circle powers … Max reached the ninth floor and halted the elevator. He slid the plastic partition back, stepped out onto the thickly carpeted corridor, took a few paces to the right, and held his hand in the photo-electric identifying beam, which would admit him to the research lab. The door swung back, and he stepped inside. There were three technicians present, and they all looked up quickly as he entered.

“Only me,” said Max, “Carry on, fellers:” The technicians returned to the work they were engaged in. The Elpowa laboratory was a gigantic room. It was crammed to capacity with electronic devices of indescribable complexity. Most of them were testing and assembling machines, but in the centre of the room, on a tall, broad, construction frame, stood an object of unique design and singular appearance. At a swift glance, it appeared to be something like the framework of a door. It was covered, with delicate relays, coils and valves. A tremendous number of delicate transistors were soldered in circuit around it. The whole gave an impression of exceptional refinement and complexity.

“How are things coming?” asked Max. George Rogan, the nearest of the three technicians, shrugged his shoulders non-committally.

“O—sort of so-so,” he answered, “Could be better, could be worse: We haven’t been able to prove that the process will work, on the other hand we haven’t hit anything so discouraging, that it has proved that the process won’t work. There’s still quite a bit to do before it reaches the experimental stage, even. What I’m waiting for, is the time we can really get down to it.”

“Of course, if it comes off,” said Max, “It’s one of the biggest things since space flight.”

“It will,” answered Rogan, “Be bigger, if anything.” There was a lengthy pause A pause suddenly broken by a footstep, a soft, muffled footstep in the carpeted corridor outside. Max put his head on one side for a second, and motioned with his hand for silence.

Rogan looked at him questioningly, it was evident that he had heard nothing. A red warning indicator flashed, as a strange hand broke the photo-electric indentifier beam, and an alarm bell jangled its warning across the building

Max’s hand dived instinctively to his jacket pocket, where a powerful electronic ray gun bulged out the material The technicians were also armed, and they now drew their own guns and stood together with Max, watching the door. There was no further sound for a few seconds, and then from behind them came the crash of breaking glass, and a score of masked men seemed to pour in, through the laboratory windows. How they had got there, neither Max, nor the technicians, had any idea.

Even as he spun round, his blaster throwing power charges, at the marauders, Max couldn’t help admire the neatness, with which the whole thing had been done. The warning from the door to attract their attention, and then the completely unexpected attack from a ninth floor window. A blast of searing heat whistled over his head, as one of the masked attackers let fly in his direction. Max fired back—and missed! And then the time for using ray guns was past! It was a close, desperate hand to hand battle, in which friend and foe were so inextricably tangled, that to fire would be to risk killing one of his own men.

The leader of the masked attackers was a giant. Taller and broader even, than Max Dane; his strength seemed proportional to his massive frame. Whether they really were humanoid types, Dane and the technicians, had no real means of knowing, for the masks and cloaks could have concealed almost anything. The giant leader closed with Dane himself, and Max sank a punch deep and hard to somewhere about the centre of the cloak. There was a muffled grunt of pain and surprise and he heard the wheezy whistle of breath being knocked out of somebody. He knew now that they were, or at least that this one was, semi-human, at any rate.

His battle with the giant was not one-sided by any means. The masked man’s ham-like fist came smashing up from under the folds of his disguise, and Max’s head rocked back on his shoulders as though he had stopped a blow from a pile driver. But the big security detective was tough—he could take it as well as he could give it. Pausing only for a second to shake his clouding head, he slammed back with a right and left, that sent the masked man back on his heels. Max decided that this was no time for the Queensbury Rules, however historic and civilised they might be. His knee came up in the other’s stomach, and he had the satisfaction of hearing yet another breathless grunt, as the big man doubled up. Next instant, Max’s hand came down on the back of his head, with a chopping motion, and the giant lay insensible at his feet. Max would dearly have liked to remove the hood to see whether he could identify the masked leader of the gang, but there was no time. There were eighteen or nineteen others, still in the lab Smashing the equipment as hard as they could go, and the three rather diminutive technicians, unused as they were to rough stuff of any kind, had not fared so well as Max. Two already lay insensible on the floor, while the third was in the grip of two of the masked men. Max sailed into them with the fury of a tornado. For some reason, which he failed to understand at the time, they were not using their blasters on him, even though it would have been comparatively easy for them after he had downed the masked giant. The struggling technician, who was still conscious, was dealt a speedy blow on the back of the skull, and Max was on his own. He downed five of them, before they finally pinned his arms … next second his head exploded in a shower of sparks, as the butt of the ray gun crashed to the nape of his neck. The giant staggered slowly to his feet.

“I’m glad they weren’t all like him,” he grunted under his breath. One of the others nodded.

“He was certainly some character, boss,” he agreed. “Do we get him out into the ’copter?” The giant nodded, rubbing his bruised jaw beneath the concealing mask.

“Carry one as planned. Just finish doing the job here, that’s all.” He led the way back to the window, carrying the inert form of Max Dane. Outside, two large helicopters with silent, electric-atomic engines, hovered like weird mechanical bats outside the windows of the Elpowa laboratory.

When Max awoke, his head ached abominably, and he felt as if a gang of determined steel drillers were working on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes very slowly and cautiously. It was a painful experience. Wherever he was, was brightly illuminated and the glare shot through his head like a battering ram, knocking what remained of his senses flying again, in all directions. He snapped his eyes shut, and moaned softly. A voice from somewhere on the other side of the red pain clouds lisped,

“Oh, so you’re awake!” It was a rather cultured voice, refined to the point of affectation. It was not the kind of a voice which Max would have associated with the hoodlums who had smashed up the laboratory. Curiosity got the better of the pain. He opened his eyes again, even more cautiously. By turning his head downwards he avoided the worst glare of the light. Gradually he grew accustomed to it. Eased his aching neck round a trifle. He was in a small, bare room, bound hand and foot on the floor. Sitting about. . .