"(novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0074 - (66) The Horror" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

Scoobey mentally remarked, with some bitterness, that half the galaxy appeared to be on the take-always a hand behind the back.
Once again Everson became the spokesman. "We want to get to Mataal. We're from Aplaag and we'd like to see this great fighter before we return home."
Orgabaas nodded silently toward one of the entrances. Everson signalled his first officer to wait there and he entered by himself. A biting odour of poorly dried dye or paint smote his nostrils. The room was overcrowded with Eppanians. Somewhere in this jam of bodies was Mataal. Everybody seemed to be talking at once in great confusion and it didn't seem to matter whether or not anybody was listening. Everson shoved through a group of young Eppanians in order to get deeper into the room.
Then he saw Mataal. The gladiator had removed his leather harness and now lay upon a bluish mat. His eyes were closed. Around him the fanatics were standing, crouching, kneeling or even lying down, all of them gesticulating wildly. Without compunction, Everson used his powerful arms to push through them to the mat.
Wearing a congenial grin, he bent down close to Mataal, managing to whisper in his ear: "Half moon in the arena."
Mataal opened the slits of his eyes. They were black and fathomless. Everson had the feeling he could have seen his reflection in them if he moved closer to them. He firmly met their searching gaze. The clamour of voices became louder now as everybody assumed this was the moment when they could deluge the famous warrior with their questions and requests for special favours.
"My friends..." Mataal's gentle voice reached to the farthest corner of the room. "Please go!"
Everson was amazed to see that the room was vacated at once.
When all of his followers had disappeared, Mataal spoke again. "They are like children, wouldn't you say?" His voice was pleasing and cultured in its tones. Certainly this man must have other means of livelihood without any need for gambling his life. However, Everson was in no mood to get involved in a discussion of Mataal's admirers. "Where is Goldstein?" he asked curtly.
Mataal rose lithely to his feet and placed both hands on the colonel's shoulders but even in that gesture Everson felt the matchless strength in the other's arms. "I'll lead you to him," he said willingly. "However, the young fellow's condition is different than you might imagine."
The hidden meaning behind these words startled Everson. "Is he sick?" he asked, somewhat hoarsely.
"I must confess that I don't know," replied Mataal. "I find him to be changed somehow but he doesn't speak of it. After his arrival he often disappeared for days at a time. I don't know what assignment you have given him but when he returned to me several days ago he appeared to be troubled. He became silent... withdrawn... indifferent. Since then he has not left my house." Everson's mind raced feverishly in reaction to this.
What could have happened to the young mutant? Or did it have something to do with Mataal himself, who seemed to be extraordinarily intelligent for an Eppanian.
"Did Goldstein say anything at all that might indicate his unusual actions are connected with a third party?"
"He doesn't talk about it," Mataal reiterated. "You may judge for yourself. You may rest assured that your friend lacks nothing and is enjoying all the privileges of a guest." After a short pause he added: "If you wish, we can go now."
Everson nodded his agreement and Mataal led the way to the exit. As he opened the door, Walt Scoobey stuck in his red-coloured head. "Hello, sir!" he said, casting a sidelong glance at Mataal. "A few moments ago a whole army of people marched out of here. Do you mean to say they were all inside there?"
"Walt..." Everson spoke tensely, momentarily dropping the Eppanian language. "This man has just told me that something's wrong with Goldstein. He says he's changed."
Scoobey scratched his artificially enlarged ears. Spectators were coming from all directions to express their admiration of Mataal. With Orgabaas' help, the fighter managed to get clear of them. The three of them left the arena and Mataal led them into the city.
The individual edifices they passed were more or less sumptuously constructed out of clay bricks, wood and rough-hewn stone, according to the wealth and means of each owner. Horse-like animals and the oval-shaped carts they drew behind them over the uneven streets served as the means of transportation. Mataal was again met with many deferential greetings. The three of them walked along together without exchanging a word.
Mataal stopped in front of a building that was distinguished from the others by its conspicuous size. "This is my house," he said proudly and he led the way. Several servants in colourful dress opened the doors before them. Mataal smiled. "The visible success of a fighter," he said, "or his facade, if you will."
After passing through an inner court they entered a tastefully furnished room. Mataal looked from Everson to Scoobey.
"Would you care for a refreshment?"
"Just take us to Goldstein," demanded Everson impatiently.
Mataal smiled with forbearance and led them into a small immaculate room in which there was a low wooden bed. A young man lay there with his eyes wide open. He did not move when they entered. He did absolutely nothing.
It was Goldstein.
From the doorway, Mataal said softly: "Of course he is not an Eppanian, no more than you two are Eppanians!"






2/ THE MUTANT & THE GLADIATOR

Like a clown from a country circus, the young mutant lay on the bed in front of Everson. His synthetically elongated ears protruded at an extreme angle from his head. His yellow skin was pale. Apparently Goldstein hadn't taken any trouble to keep his natural skin tone from showing through. His wig was now only a wrinkled bale of hair strands.
These impressions shocked Everson so much that Mataal's remark only registered with him when Scoobey glanced at Goldstein and uttered a half-stifled curse. Everson felt his stomach muscles tighten. Who was this Mataal who was able to solve every problem and see through everything with such apparent ease? Could he himself be a telepath? Did he possess other paranormal powers-which could perhaps explain his incredible triumphs in the arena?
"Who else knows it?" he asked grimly.
Mataal made a gesture of rejection with his hands. "I am no gossip or babbler of tales. Only I know it."
Everson realized that there was only one remaining alternative. Since Mataal knew their identity, in order to keep him from spreading it around they would have to take him to the guppy. Not only that-Mataal would have to accompany them back to the Earth. With his knowledge he represented an incalculable danger. If he should fall into the hands of enemy agents he'd be forced to babble out everything he knew in a matter of seconds. But Perry Rhodan placed a top priority on keeping the Solar Empire's agent assignments a secret.
"Mataal," began Everson after collecting himself, "there is much that I would have to explain to you. You wouldn't understand it. Relatively speaking, your horizon is too limited to be able to absorb it all. We come from another solar system at the edge of the galaxy. I can only assure you that we are here for a good purpose."
"I know Goldstein," said Mataal. "Now I know you. That's enough. I trust you.
Everson turned to the mutant again.
"He's like a dead man," observed Scoobey grimly.
The colonel felt a surge of sympathy for the young agent. He admired this breed of men who maintained their lonely vigils light-years from their home planet and pursued their missions for the sake of the survival and further development of their species.
He went to the head of the bed where the youngster would have to see him. Goldstein's eyes seemed to be focussed into a far distance where they saw imaginary things which were apparently beyond his understanding.
"Goldstein," Everson called to him. "This is Marcus Everson. Beside me is Walt Scoobey. Do you recognize us?"
"Yes." The telepath responded in a broken voice and for a moment his eyes came back to the reality of the room. He was like a stringless puppet that one had to lift up in order to reanimate. There was something about him that convinced Everson the man was not too happy about their being here. There was a silent sort of protest in his manner-an unexpressed but detectable rejection. It was a changed and alien Goldstein who lay there.
"What's wrong with you, boy?" Everson asked.
"It's nothing," said the mutant softly. "It's really nothing."
Everson looked quickly at Mataal. The Eppanian stood nearby looking at Goldstein almost apathetically. His dark eyes were half closed. It was so still in the room that Everson could hear the breathing of the others. Perhaps Goldstein was afraid and did not wish to speak while Mataal was in the room.