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

Dunbee wondered why a person who missed a part of his body couldn't be put to sleep as well as a normal person but he was too shy to express his concern.
"It's got something to do with the functioning of the organs," the counsellor said. "Dr. Waterhome can explain it better to you if you're interested."
He opened a door and led Dunbee into a tiny room. A young blond woman greeted them. She sat at a desk but seemed to have little work to do. Dunbee fidgeted as she scrutinized him intently.
"This is Mr. Dunbee," M'Artois introduced him. "Will you please take him to see Dr. Waterhome, Laura!" He squeezed Dunbee's arm. "I wish you good luck."
He was gone before Dunbee could answer him.
"There's somebody in the office ahead of you," the blond girl said.
"I can wait," Dunbee assured her.
He thought of Jeanne, which made him choke up. If the ISC let him sleep for 300 years, his wife would be dead when he returned to Dubose. Dubose, that miserable hole in the boondocks with the pompous building of the Stardust Soap Co., how would it have developed after 300 years?
He heard a buzzer from the desk of the girl. When he looked up she pointed to a well-padded door and said: "Dr. Waterhome will see you now."
He stumbled as he got up and felt embarrassed when he noticed that her eyes followed him till he opened the door.

* * * *

The examination lasted two hours. Dr. Waterhome told Dunbee to come back the next day. By that time the results of the examination would have been evaluated and he would be advised whether his request would be approved by the ISC.
Dunbee returned to his hotel and tried to calm his jangling nerves. He toyed with the idea of writing a letter to Jeanne but was unable to pull himself together. Finally he fell asleep with his clothes on.
He woke up very early. His body felt stiff and he had a stale taste in his mouth. He thought he was sick and the waterjet massage didn't help to make him feel better.
However his feeble condition changed a few hours later when M'Artois informed him that the ISC had agreed to place him in one of its caves for 300 years. Now he felt as though dead.

* * * *

All the painters in the world seemed to have come to the northeast corner of Wyoming to give the magnificent landscape a colourful appearance. The Yellowstone River twisted and turned like a mighty snake through the deep gorges far below Dunbee.
The pilot of the helicopter descended from the high altitude. "We'll soon be in the outskirts of the National Park," he pointed out to Dunbee. "That's where the crypts of the ISC are."
Dunbee shuddered when the man used the word 'crypts'. But to make conversation he merely asked: "Were you born in Wyoming?"
The pilot laughed. "You won't believe it but I was born on the Moon. Does that surprise you?"
Dunbee agreed politely. He would have liked to talk to the man about his own problems but he was afraid that the pilot might object to it.
"I wouldn't want to let them put me to sleep," the other man mused. "Why do you want to do it?"
Now that Dunbee had a chance to talk about his fateful step, he was at a loss for words to discuss it.
"You don't have to say anything if you don't feel like it," his tall companion said. "But I always get a weird feeling when I bring people here."
"What kind of a feeling?" Dunbee inquired.
The pilot of the little helicopter glanced at him sideways. "I can't get rid of the impression that there's something wrong with this whole business," he explained. "Don't think I want to scare you. After all, the ISC pays me very well. But have you ever stopped to think how cheap their price for such a transaction is?"
"What are you trying to imply? Obviously the Corporation is very efficient and it must be able to keep its expenses down to a minimum. Why shouldn't it use low prices to attract customers?"
"Because," the pilot replied, "Cavanaugh is a slick businessman who knows how to make everything pay off. Just imagine, I get almost 40 Solars for each flight. Add the costs of the examinations, the administrative expenses and the outlay for the maintenance of the vaults. I can't figure out where he can make a profit. Sometimes I suspect that Cavanaugh is financed by somebody who's staying in the background and uses him for his experiments."
"Experiments?" Dunbee repeated, shocked.
"Perhaps the whole affair is only conducted on a trial basis and is slated to be enlarged if it's successful and promises to make money."
Dunbee retorted indignantly: "I've got a signed contract which has been approved by the Interior Department. The caves are being inspected at regular intervals by officials of the government. Of course I have to assume responsibility for such medical errors which are not caused by negligence but this is only customary."
The pilot didn't insist on continuing the discussion. He seemed to consider the subject closed and Dunbee had to be content with looking at the scenery although he felt the need to air the controversy further.
A few minutes later the pilot pointed to one of the mountains and said: "There it is."
"I don't recognize it. I can't see any buildings." Dunbee craned his neck in disappointment.
"Virtually everything is underground except the landing field," the pilot explained. "You'll be amazed how much room there is."
The helicopter slowly lost height. To the left a landing field hewn out of the forest came into view. The man from Dubose detected a road which led from the airport to the mountain where the sleeping chambers must have been located. He was seized by a vague anxiety. His heart beat faster and he rubbed his hands against the window. A red flag fluttered in the wind behind the trees. The name of the Corporation was imprinted on the cloth with yellow letters.
Dunbee had a notion that the sunny world bid him a last farewell before he would emerge on its surface again 300 years later. Now he was assailed by doubts. Was there really no other way out of his dilemma? Suddenly he remembered the summer days when he used to sit with Jeanne on the flat roof of their house. A gentle breeze from the mountains had waved Jeanne's hair and brought the smell of moist earth. Once in awhile they would sing a song together.
Why didn't I realize before, he thought, how much these little pleasures of our daily life meant to me?
Dunbee made an effort to quell his languid mood and to shake off his nostalgic thoughts. Now it was too late and he had reached the point of no return.
He was jolted by the landing of the helicopter and beset by a queasy feeling. The pilot climbed out. Two men in blue smocks came running across the field. The three letters ISC were embroidered at their chests.
"Here comes your reception committee," the flier said.
Dunbee was greeted very friendly. He presented the yellow card which M'Artois had given him. It entitled him to a sleeping place in the caves after he complied with the mandatory procedures. The two ISC employees assured him that they would do everything to speed his transfer to the caves. Dunbee said goodbye to the pilot and followed the two men.
There were three separate entrances leading down into the ground as Dunbee soon found out. They had solid doors of unequal sizes built into the rock which had a smooth and firm floor inside. The smallest of the entrances was just big enough to let four men pass at one time but this didn't let him draw any conclusions as to the actual dimensions of the caves behind.
"The door in the middle is the entrance to the sleeping chambers," one of the men explained. "The others lead to the preparation rooms and the administrative offices. We live near the offices since we have nothing to do with the examinations. The repositories are attended only by physicians."
Dunbee would have liked to learn more but they had reached the entrance to the offices which the guide had pointed out. An automatic sliding door pulled sideways into the rock and opened the way to a brightly illuminated corridor whose walls and ceiling were lined with smooth sheets.
"The sleeping chambers are far less luxurious," the other escort commented. He could hear a hint of irony in his voice, as if the man wanted to taunt him for some reason.