"(novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0108 - (100) Desert of Deaths Domain" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

Ron was dumbfounded. "Nonsense," he declared.
A derisive giggle came from the loudspeaker of the invisible transec. "Why won't you tell the truth?" asked the voice. "We aren't telepaths in the ordinary sense of the word, still we recognize quite clearly strongly-felt desires or thoughts of our fellow beings. And I'm quite sure I was reading you right."
Ron leaned back in his armchair. "Never mind whether you were right or wrong," he said. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what you want from me."
"That's a splendid idea," agreed the box. "But first I have to go back a little further. You don't know my home world Machraamp; nobody knows it. So you aren't aware either that we are a rather tiny race, only 8000 as expressed in your numerical system. This doesn't mean at all, tho, that we're on the road to extinction. Our population has always hovered around that number, sometimes a little more and sometimes a bit less. The fact that we are relatively so few in number led to a close relationship between the individual members of our race. When ten amongst us decided to travel to Lepso all of us felt fear and apprehension. Nevertheless we were forced to take that step, since there are certain items we can obtain in Lepso which are almost impossible to get elsewhere. That's why we let the ten go on their way but we kept in constant communication with each other.
"Recently we have learned that one of the ten has vanished. This caused a great deal of grief to us. Five more of us went out in search of our disappeared brother. We cannot simply leave him to his fate. He is in danger, we are sure, and we must come to his rescue. Do you understand?"
"Of course," replied Ron. "I still don't see, tho, what this has to do with me."
"Oh, that's easy. You are also on the lookout for one of your vanished fellow beings. If ever during your search you find some trace of our brother from Machraamp, please let us know about it."
This seemed a reasonable request to Ron. "But how can I get in touch with you?"
"There's nothing to it. The very instant you discover his trace, you'll be so amazed that I'll recognize your thought impulse ... now that I know what your thought impulses are like. I'll then get in touch with you as fast as possible."
"Fine," agreed Ron. "I hope you realize that I most likely won't be able to be of any assistance to you. The fact that two beings have disappeared does not prove after all that both vanished in the same direction. Perhaps I'll find my man without ever discovering any trace of yours."
"Quite likely," admitted the Machraampian. "I'm considering just one of many possibilities. I'm happy you listened to me and declared your willingness to help us. I hope that some day I'll be able to reciprocate."
Ron was about to pose another question when suddenly the alien creature together with the greenish liquid as well as the cube-shaped box disappeared. Ron was all alone in his hotel room.
With a sigh of resignation he rose from his armchair. Another one of these teleporters, he thought angrily. What a way to end a conversation! Simply vanish and leave your conversation partner with loads of unasked questions!
Ron Landry was none too pleased with himself. Ever since he had set foot on Lepso, he felt, he was a marionette dangling on the end of a string rather than the puppet master in charge of everything.
This situation must come to an end. Ron decided to go on the offensive; it was high time he'd start his mission in earnest.
A humming sound came from the door. Ron's right hand moved automatically to the small weapon he carried in his belt, then he looked around to figure out how the door could be opened. He found a small switch-panel at the side of his nightstand which was next to the wide bed. He pushed a button which showed a tiny image of an opening door.
The door swung open and revealed the sight of the beautiful Araukarian woman holding a tray with two glasses and several small bottles.
"I'm sure you'll follow my advice, sir," she said. "I've chosen the right drink for you."
Ron saw the two glasses, so conspicuously placed at the edge of the tray nearest to him, and the glittering row of the small bottles with their violet-yellow labels. It was barely a few seconds ago that he had realized he was forced into a role on Lepso he did not cherish at all, namely, being the one who was manipulated and not the manipulator himself. And here he was again, faced by the same situation: somebody telling him what he should do.
That was more than he could take.
"Take that stuff away and drink it yourself," he barked at the girl. "If I want to have a drink I'll order one, and besides I insist on having it delivered throughthe automated room service tube. Is that clear?"
The smile vanished from the girl's lips. She narrowed her eyes and looked at him with undisguised fury. Then the Araukarian woman turned around and left quickly.
Ron depressed another button on the switch-panel and listened as the door closed with a dull smacking sound.
Lepso! What a crazy world!







3/ AT THE MERCY OF THE SPRINGERS

That same evening Ron Landry found out where Dr. Zuglert's office had been located. He planned to have a look around there later on during the night. In the meantime he had learned via telecom from the nearest stationed unit of the Terranian fleet that nothing more had been uncovered as to where Dr. Zuglert might be at the present.
On the other hand all the particulars regarding Dr. Zuglert's person were known, all those which he had been forced to supply to the police on Lepso in order to obtain a permanent resident's permit. According to these data he conducted research in the field of bio-medicine, in particular the development of new therapeutic drugs. He was a native of Switzerland, had a Ph.D. from the university at Bologna in Italy, was 52 years old and had lived on Lepso for the past 14 years and a half. During this period he had left Lepso only 3 or 4 times for longer than just a short while-at least as far as the police could tell. His office was located on 86th street. Everybody, of course, realized that a research scientist had to have a laboratory somewhere. But nobody knew where it was.
As for the rest, the Lepso police refused to engage in any search for the vanished man. They advanced the argument that any person living on Lepso was entitled to come and go as he pleased, to disappear and re-appear, and consequently Dr. Zuglert might regard it as interfering with his personal freedom if the police were to start looking for him.
The telecommunications officer of the Terranian Fleet who supplied Ron with this information added at this point: "That's nothing but an excuse, Maj. Landry. They simply don't want to get involved. Maybe they'd unearth some facts there that they'd rather keep buried."
Ron kept mulling over this remark while he set out on his way to 86th street. As he entered the hotel's foyer he noticed another Araukarian girl behind the reception desk. She was every bit as beautiful as the first one who had tried to push a drink on Ron. But the new girl did not smile at Ron; most likely she had been informed by her colleague that it was useless to approach him.
Ron walked on foot part of the way to 86th street. Darkness had fallen and light sources of all kinds and colours enveloped the city in a flood of lavish brightness. Ron walked halfway around the square which formed the center of the city of Zanithon. During 20 minutes he managed to see so many diverse inhabitants of the galaxy as he had not been able to see in the last 3 years or so.
During his walk he had employed all kinds of tricks familiar to a well-trained special agent to make sure nobody was trailing him. Then he took a taxi, this time driven by a giant, fearsome-looking Naat. Ron asked to be let out on 84th street and he walked again for the next 2 blocks.
86th street turned out to be a typical part of an area full of office buildings. Older edifices constructed in a large variety of styles reared skyward on either side of the street. Thousands of brightly-illuminated signs actually made any further street lighting unnecessary. The traffic was very heavy but there were hardly any pedestrians to be seen.
The building housing Dr. Zuglert's office showed a few lightedwindows. Somebody, Ron thought, slightly amused, is so crazy in his pursuit of the shekel that he's even working all hours of the night.
He walked up a flight of low, wide steps leading to the huge glass entrance door. Ron was not surprised that he had to open this door manually; he assumed the electronic eye-opening mechanism had been shut down after office hours.
He entered the usual large foyer with the information robot on the left side and the row of antigrav shafts to the right. Ron had no reason to address the robot for any information. He knew Zuglert's office was on the 23d floor, room 23048. He pushed the button with #23 on the panel next to the nearest shaft. He waited until a red control lamp lit up in response to his call. Then he stepped inside the shaft, sure in the knowledge he would be supported and wafted gently toward his destination by the suction exerted by the artificial field of gravity.
Instead he crashed downward! There was obviously no artificial field of gravity. Ron shared the fate of any other person who'd blithely enter a vertical shaft: he fell with increasing speed toward the bottom of that shaft. He tensed his muscles, trying to brace himself against the inevitable impact.
There was a resounding smack and Ron Landry of Division 3 was, at least temporarily, out of action.

* * * *

When he regained consciousness he looked directly into a tanned face with gray, distrustful-looking eyes topped by a fairly-low forehead surrounded by a shock of carefully-groomed dark hair.