" Perry Rhodan 0110 - (102) Spoor of the Antis" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

Mulvaney drew himself up on the outer wall of the patio. The inlaid stone capping felt cold and rough.
The house stood silently before him. He turned a last time to check the avenue behind him and the
gas-tube street lamps were like startled stars in his wide-staring eyes. His face was wildly distorted.

He paused there for another moment and then jumped into the patio itself. The soft earth absorbed the
sound of his arrival. Rising up from his crouched position, he moved stealthily forward, heedless of the
flowers and other plants he trampled under foot. When he stepped on the approach path his feet made a
slight grinding sound on the coloured gravel.

He drew the magnetic key from his pocket. The shadow of the house finally enveloped him, making him
practically invisible from the street. It gave him an increased sense of security which helped to calm him
momentarily. A cat suddenly arched its back at him nearby, its great yellow eyes gleaming balefully for a
moment as he stared at it. Then it was gone into the bushes of the little garden. Mulvaney grumbled
menacingly, half-aloud, without being conscious of it. All he could think of was his mad desire for the
Liquitiv. The closer he came to his goal the greater he felt his need.

Until now he had regularly consumed a flask every 3 days. The promised effect was youthful vigour and
a suspension of the aging process, which never failed to be felt. Mulvaney had not been able to
comprehend why the Government should have prohibited the enjoyment of this preparation. He knew
nothing about the human wrecks who had been brought to Earth from Lepso, struggling in vain for their
salvation. Nor did he realize that he himself would fade away and die if he continued to drink the liqueur
for a total period of 12 years and 4 months.

By now he had arrived at the door of the house, where he paused to listen. He cautiously placed his ear
to the door. Inside everything was quiet. It was a 2-story dwelling and Lansing had installed a lift-chair
along the staircase to help him go up and down. Mulvaney knew the layout very well because he had
often come here to play chess with the old man. It was the way he had found out that the cripple regularly
imbibed Liquitiv. Lansing had confessed to him that he had hoped the liqueur might improve his condition
or possibly cure him of the paralysis. A certain colour and heartiness had returned to his face and he had
lost most of his wrinkles. To his few acquaintances he even appeared to be more energetic to some
degree—but the paralysis had remained.

Mulvaney placed the magnetic key in the lock and the security bolt slid back immediately. A slight
pressure of his hand pushed the door open. The room beyond appeared to be a dark hole but he
stepped inside without hesitation, making sure that the door was locked again behind him. He held his
breath for a moment and attempted to detect by sound or any other sign where Lansing might be at the
moment. He took a step forward. His burning thirst had increased still more.

He had to get his hands on that Liquitiv!

What was that?—the turning of wheels?—the approaching wheelchair? Mulvaney dodged to one side.
But nothing came toward him out of the darkness of the room. His fingers groped along the wall until they
encountered an obstruction: the wardrobe cabinet. He felt of something soft and yielding—the house
smock for the robot. It was another crazy idea of Lansing’s, making his robot wear a smock. But he was
in no mood to be amused. He kept groping his way until he found the wall again.

Here was the entrance to the kitchen. Inside the house there were no internal doors because they would
only have obstructed Lansing’s wheelchair. The individual doorways were only covered by divided
curtains. Mulvaney pushed the heavy material to one side and came into the kitchen. There was a strange