"(novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0087 - (79) The Sleepers" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

1/ EVIL SECRET OF THE ISC

The incessant gurgling of the cell-plasma utterly enervated Dunbee. The container was close enough to touch if he raised his hand. Instead he dug his fingers into the sandy soil in silent despair, then groped trembling over the cracks in the ground and shrank away from a clammy rock.
Maurice Dunbee groaned in pain as he tried in vain to push his aching and tired body out from under the tank. His determination to escape grew stronger and, breathing heavily he managed to crawl a few meters, haunted by the gurgling and bubbling of the liquid in the huge vats all around him.
They had turned off the lights and the cave was completely dark. It was only a question of time when they would catch up with him and take him back. He hung his head in awareness of his physical weakness that frustrated his will to fight on. Then he continued to crawl forward despite his fear that his efforts were futile. A sharp acid odour pervaded the musty air of the cave; perhaps they had injected a narcotic gas so that he could be seized without the risk of resistance.
With a wan smile he thought that this was merely one more incident in the series of failures which had been typical of his life to date. Here he cowered again: Maurice Dunbee, the weakling!
He pushed himself up on his arms and listened. Were they already coming with their paralysers? Was the end near?
Dunbee heard a noise coming from the impenetrable darkness. A shrill hard voice made his blood freeze. "Dunbee! Resistance is useless. You must give yourself up! Two of our attendants will come to assist you, Dunbee!"
Dunbee jumped up. His shoulder struck the corner of the container and he staggered back. Blind with fear he started to run away. The cave was full of terrifying noises. He could hear the footsteps of running men, the panting of their lungs and the loud voices which urged him to stand still.
He bumped against a rock protruding from the wall and came to his senses. Exhausted he leaned against the stony wall. He had shaken off his pursuers for a moment but his frail body shook as in fever.
"Be reasonable, Dunbee! We only want to help you!"
Yes, Dunbee thought bitterly that's it. All my life I've let other people help me without ever taking things into my own hands!
He closed his eyes in resignation and his thoughts drifted back to the day when he had decided to ask the Intertime Sleeping Corporation for help.

* * * *

"Please, come in Mr. Dunbee," Curteen asked the slight man waiting for him outside his office. "Now I've got time to talk to you."
Dunbee rose from his chair with an uneasy feeling and put down the 3-D magazine he had perused. Curteen motioned him into his office with an inviting gesture of his hand.
Lester Curteen was the vice-president of the Stardust Soap Co. in Dubose. He was tall and slender and his old-fashioned contact lenses made him look like something akin to a reptile. "Please sit down," he said while he rummaged through some papers on his desk. "Ah, here it is!" he finally remarked with satisfaction. "You've been 10 years with us," Curteen continued in a friendly tone. "Your standard of work has always been very satisfactory and your cooperation has been harmonious at all times."
Dunbee gulped and nodded. He silently admired the facility of words with which Curteen expressed himself.
"We're extremely gratified by your exemplary contributions to our enterprise," Curteen claimed, "and naturally we hope that you'll continue with your duties for a long time to come."
Dunbee nervously rubbed his hands and remarked hesitantly: "Mr. Vadelange left our company last week, Mr. Curteen. He was the manager of the Advertising Department. I... it's always been the practice that the senior employee of the department was appointed to the leading position if the boss resigns."
Curteen looked at him across the table. There was a strange light in his eyes which quickly disappeared again. He answered in the same calm and obliging tone: "You're quite right, Mr. Dunbee. This would entitle you to be appointed as Mr. Vadelange's successor." Curteen hesitated for a moment. "Believe me, it's utterly impossible for me to find a replacement for you in your present task. We must request you, therefore, to remain on your job for the time being. Mr. Priest will take over Vadelange's job until we can find a suitable man to do your work."
"I understand," Dunbee replied grimly. "You've chosen Priest."
Curteen rose and walked around the desk to pat Dunbee on the shoulder. "Of course you'll immediately classify for the salary of a department supervisor," he announced.
"Of course," Dunbee repeated mechanically.
"I knew that we could count on your understanding of the situation in our Advertising Department," Curteen said smilingly.
Dunbee slowly rose from his chair and exclaimed in a quivering voice: "I quit!"
And the very same day he penned a letter to the Intertime Sleeping Corporation to make his application. He desired to be put to sleep for the duration of 300 years.
The Intertime Sleeping Corporation was founded a year earlier by a businessman named Cavanaugh. It was commonly known as ISC. Cavanaugh, who promoted himself as the 'saviour of people disenchanted with life', had invented a new deepsleep method with the aid of several scientists. With a permit granted by the Interior Department, Cavanaugh had acquired an area in Wyoming in the vicinity of Yellowstone National Park which contained numerous large caves created by the volcanic activity of thousands of years. Nothing seemed to be better suited for an undisturbed bio-sleep than this place. It didn't take Cavanaugh long to equip the natural caves for his purposes. He installed big containers and filled them with cell plasma in which his clients were to be placed in order to sleep away the time until they entered a better future. With a heretofore-unequalled advertising campaign Cavanaugh gained quite a few disciples for his idea. Why shouldn't a frustrated person who had never known success skip a few years in a deep sleep to wake up in a more beautiful future where he could accomplish remarkable deeds? The government saw no reason to intervene since Cavanaugh strictly complied with all medical precautions. The ISC passed all inspections by officials of the Interior Department. The mass media contributed to make the idea of the businessman popular and the first day the corporation was opened to the public there were hundreds of interested people who crowded its admission office.
Dunbee remembered an interview which Cavanaugh had given to a television reporter. Asked for his response to the criticism that had been raised in many quarters, Cavanaugh replied calmly: "I don't know why anyone should find fault with my idea. I offer distraught people a happier future. What could be wrong with that?"
Dunbee was an unhappy person. The marriage with his wife had remained childless. At 48 years of age he had found little success in his occupation. He felt misunderstood by his wife and the world seemed but cold and cruel to him.
Two weeks after Dunbee had sent in his application he was requested by the ISC to come to Wyoming for a preliminary investigation.
Thus Maurice Dunbee disappeared from Dubose as quietly and inconspicuously as he had lived there.

* * * *

His name was M'Artois. His dark wavy hair was streaked with strands of silver. When he laughed numerous tiny wrinkles formed around the corners of his eyes. His voice had a sonorous ring and he had a nonchalant way of hooking his right thumb in the waistband of his trousers. He wore a white, carefully tailored jacket and a colourful shirt. "We already know why you came to us," he addressed Dunbee. "You wrote in your letter that you wish to be put into deepsleep for the next 300 years, which is the maximum time we're willing to allow anyone. Our sleeping times being with a period of 50 years. Are you able to pay the sum of 3,000 Solars?"
Although this was a fairly low figure it represented the greater part of Dunbee's savings. He had withdrawn that sum from his account although not without a guilty conscience. The trip to Wyoming didn't do much to raise his confidence. He felt as if he had betrayed Jeanne. Or was she glad that he had walked out of her life? He had asked her understanding and forgiveness in a farewell letter to her. "I've got the money with me," he said.
M'Artois, who sat in a ridiculous contraption of plastic which threatened to collapse under his weight at any moment, nodded. "I'm a psychologist, Mr. Dunbee," he said. "The conversation I have with you is one of my duties. The corporation has no intention of embarrassing you with unnecessary questions and precautions. However we must be sure to get certain facts straight."
Dunbee replied a little impatiently: "I'm ready. Go ahead!"
M'Artois smiled sympathetically. "You've described your situation at some length. You consider yourself an insecure person who has failed to cope adequately with his life. You have expressed certain difficulties in your occupation and your marriage which have shattered your nerves and otherwise affected your health. Your employer didn't appreciate your work and your wife neglected to show patience with you. You have no children. There was nothing positive in your report." His tone became more urgent. "Nevertheless, Mr. Dunbee, I believe you should try once more."
"I've always tried to do something with my life but I am too weak," Dunbee replied, discouraged. "I'm at the end of my wits."
The ISC counsellor reflected for a moment. "Maybe you're oversensitive," he ventured. "Can't you begin to appreciate the pleasant things in your life? Your standard of living wasn't so bad. Make up with your wife. Discover what your common interests are and take a trip together."
"This was my last trip," Dunbee declared stubbornly.
"Well then," M'Artois said distressed, "your decision seems to be irreversible. In that case I'll take you to Dr. Waterhome who is going to conduct the medical examination. You're no doubt aware that we can accept you only if your organism is basically healthy."
He left his office with Dunbee. They passed through a large room and entered the main corridor of the administration building in Cheyenne. Several employees carrying files, and one robot, walked by. Dunbee tried to look out a window but it was a gloomy day and he saw nothing but fog and rain through the glass.
Without any apparent connection M'Artois suddenly asked: "Are you an amputee, Mr. Dunbee?"
Dunbee was taken aback. "No, why?"
M'Artois' smile, which had disappeared for a second, returned. "It's one of the rules of the Corporation not to accept amputated people. I forgot to acquaint you with this information," the psychologist explained.