"(novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0045 - (37) Epidemic Center Aralon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

From here to the edge of the landing field it was perhaps 12 miles if one were to travel in a straight line. Tiff was completely occupied in transferring his mental impressions to Pucky, whose face he would have given a lot to see right now.
It was impossible for Tiff to describe the different details of the types of ships he saw during their hurtling passage among them. He satisfied himself with giving an overall picture of the place and finally developed a system of pointing out at least the rough particulars. Sengu grew tired of the monotonous view; he leaned back in the upholstery and closed his eyes.
The journey lasted almost 10 minutes and then the spaces between the ships opened up until finally the rest of the field widened out before the eyes of the Terranians. The car drove directly to the long building that was decked out with all the flags that Tiff had already seen from the air.
They crossed an entrance control area. A long row of cars stood next to each other as though on a parking lot. They found an opening and the vehicle they were in turned into it as though guided by an invisible hand.
The doors opened.
Tiff nodded to Sengu and they got out. No one asked for any parking fee and Tiff wasn't too certain that the credit charge plate against Arkonide currency values would have been acceptable but Khrest had taken the precaution of providing him with it anyway.
"Well, what now?" asked Sengu helplessly. The distant forest of ships was somewhat obscured from their view by the mass of parked vehicles. "Where do we go from here?"
Tiff straightened out his uniform. He affected a weak smile and pointed to the nearby building. "There!"
There was a lively traffic of pedestrians in front of the building. Humanoids went in and came out again. Among them Tiff noticed more than once figures that were not human but because of the distance he could not quite identify them. A Mooff inside its pressure chamber was rolled by and it too disappeared into the official-looking building. Wide and brightly coloured steps led up to a main entrance, behind which booth-like counters were seen.
Tiff returned the nod of a tall man who hurried past them. Who was he? Perhaps a Springer? Or the member of another race that was related to the Arkonides?
Slowly and with a growing feeling of relative insecurity, the two Terranians climbed the steps to the building. There it would be decided whether or not Rhodan's theory had practical application.
A sturdy little man, only about 3 feet tall, came by wearing a hermetically sealed spacesuit and cast a searching glance in their direction. Tiff thought that he perceived behind the faceplate a frog-like countenance that was veiled by a greenish misty atmosphere.
"Looks like every race in the galaxy has a rendezvous here," he whispered to Sengu, whose slanted eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took in his surroundings. "I could never have imagined there was anything like this anywhere."
The Japanese nodded in agreement. "There's sure more going on here than on Arkon. It looks more to me like the capital world of an empire."
This was an acute observation and the justification for it was not to be denied. Tiff admitted it secretly to himself-and then he finally saw his first Aras.
Me the Springers and the Galactic Traders, they were descendants of the Arkonide settlers. Their tall 6 or 7-foot figures were albino in nature. The colourless skin, the white hair and the reddish eyes were sufficient to support such a classification. They were incredibly thin and seemed to consist of mere skin and bones.
The Aras, 3 in number, cast curious glances at the 2 Terranians but then ceased to concern themselves further about them. They wore white cloaks which bore shining gold insignias at the chest level. Their movements were grave and stately in manner and gave evidence of self-assurance and discretion.
"They don't seem to be overly conceited," Sengu muttered when the 3 men were out of earshot. "What are those white cloaks supposed to represent?"
"Perhaps they are physicians," Tiff suggested thoughtfully. "That wouldn't be too surprising at a spaceport, you know."
They arrived at the main entrance and went inside with several other humanoids. Somebody here somewhere would finally have to take notice of them. They saw nothing but counter booths spreading out right and left. Behind the counters sat female Aras who seemed to be answering questions. At least they were carrying on conversation with the people who were standing in front of the booths and they were shoving various printed forms here and there and filling out papers.
The 3 Aras in the white cloaks walked through the crowd and searched about in all directions. It was as though they were looking for something. Then they finally disappeared through a rear door.
Tiff gave Sengu a light nudge in the ribs and moved toward the nearest counter booth.
A quite pretty Ara looked up at them with interest.
Tiff cleared his throat but before he could open his mouth to ask a question the girl spoke to him in colloquial Intercosmo, "Here is your form. Please fill it out."
Tiff took the folded sheet and for a second or so he stared dumbfounded at the familiar characters. He had learned the language of the Arkonides in the hypno-school. It would not be difficult for him to answer the questions that appeared on the form. It was only a matter of whether or not he felt like answering everything that was there.
He nodded to the girl and went with Sengu. to one of the numerous writing desks that stood in the wide hall. A magnetically secured writing instrument was available for all visitors at each desk. Tiff noted with some amusement that the experience here was the same as one might expect on the Earth in a similar situation. He placed the form on the writing panel, took up the marking rod and stared with considerable wonderment at the first question that appeared under the normal request for name and home planet:

What is the nature of the sickness that brings you to Aralon? (Give colloquial designation or describe symptoms.)

Sengu looked over Tiffs shoulder and wrinkled up his face quizzically. "Maybe they think every space traveller is sick or something?"
Tiff didn't answer. He kept on reading:

2). Do you wish a direct treatment and immediate discharge or is a longer convalescence planned?
3). Indicate the desired class of treatment.
4). Do you have hospitalization insurance under the Arakos Plan or do you have another type of insurance? (Please give exact details.)

Tiff looked up and met Sengu's gaze. He muttered uncertainly, "Maybe I picked out the wrong booth. Maybe they've got a special department here for sick space travellers."
"Well," suggested the Japanese, "why don't we just go try another place?"
Tiff shoved the folded form into his pocket and went calmly over to another booth that had just become free. Without even looking up at him, the pretty but painfully thin Ara girl shoved a form over to him. Tiff took it, although he already knew that it was no different from the one he had just discarded.
The truth was gradually dawning on him.
They both went back to the writing desk. Tiff took up the writing rod and began to fill out the form.

Name: Thora, of the House of Zoltral; Arkon System.
Form of sickness: Hyper-Euphoria.
Place of occurrence: the planet Honur, Thatrel System.
Desired type of treatment: First Class.
Insurance: private patient.
Form of treatment: direct and for immediate discharge.

Sengu shook his head several times and looked cautiously all around. The situation was gradually beginning to be a little weird for him. Nobody paid any attention to them. The hall was filled with a big push and press of people as in any market place. Quite frequently he noticed Aras in white smocks who moved slowly and with self-assurance among the throng examining new arrivals. They spoke to some of them, conversed awhile and then continued onward.