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

"For heaven's sake, man, talk about luck!" said the dark-haired fellow.
Ron tried to sit up. He felt pain all over his body without being able to localize it exactly. His mind was clear, tho; only his body seemed to have been mn over by a steamroller.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"On the 23d floor," answered the dark-haired man. "Room number 2-3-0-4-8. I don't think you've suffered any..."
Ron sat up with a start and interrupted the man before he could finish his sentence. "How did I get here of all places?"
The dark-haired man looked at him astonished. "I happened to see you crash down that antigrav shaft, the one that was temporarily out of order. Didn't you see the warning notice? I took another shaft down into the basement and brought you up here to where I had wanted to go in the first place. I was just about to call a doctor when you came to again."
Ron straightened up but he could not manage to see the entire room. Somewhere behind him, about 1.50 meters above the floor, was a lamp whose bright light bathed him and the dark-haired chap with a blinding glow. Beyond the cone of light everything was in complete darkness. Ron felt ill at ease.
"Are you alright?" asked the man soLicitously. "Do you need a doctor?"
Ron shook his head. He was certain to have suffered a few bruises as a result of his fall. But he felt less certain about other matters.
"Who are you?" he inquired.
"My name is Gerard Lobson," came the answer. "This is my office."
"2-3-0-4-8, did you say?"
"Yes."
"How long have you had your office here?"
Gerard Lobson frowned as if he didn't like this question and answered with some hesitation: "For about-4 years."
"Why are you lying to me?" countered Ron.
Lobson recoiled slightly. His eyes widened. He seemed to be seized by a sudden spell of terrible fright.
"Why am I lying ...?" he gasped. "I am not lying ... why should I?"
"This office was Dr. Zuglert's, at least until a few days ago," Ron stated with a firm voice. "I demand ..."
A sudden noise cut him off in the middle of his sentence. It was a scraping sound on the floor, coming from far beyond the blinding lamp. Before Ron could make a move, a deep, resonant voice boomed: "Stop! Turn on the light! That will do."
The lights in the ceiling flared up. Ron felt dazed for a brief moment but then he realized that the stranger's voice had spoken in Arkonese. He turned his head and noticed a writing desk to his right. On it stood the lamp whose bright glare had blinded him until a few moments ago. Behind the writing desk he perceived 3 figures, 2 robust broad-shouldered shapes and the third very thin, emaciated and quite a bit taller than the other two.
Now Ron no longer had any doubt that he had walked into a trap.

* * * *

One of the broad-shouldered persons approached from behind the writing desk. Ron could make out some object the man was holding in his hand. The stranger bent over Ron's half-reclining body on the floor and held the object close to Ron's face.
"Drink that, will you!" He was still addressing him in Arkonese. Now Ron could clearly see what the man was holding in his hand. It was a small bottle, containing a few cubic centimetres at most and with a brightly-coloured, violet-yellow label.
He was hit by the sudden realization that this was the same stuff the Araukarian woman had offered him in the hotel. Strange, how many people should seem so anxious to make him imbibe this beverage.
He turned to Gerard Lobson, who had slid away from him but who was still kneeling on the floor. "What does he want?" Ron asked in English.
Gerard appeared to react with surprise. "He says you should drink that."
"Why?"
Now Gerard's mood changed to fear again. "For heaven's sake, drink it down, don't ask so many questions. He ..."
Ron raised up sufficiently by supporting himself on his left elbow while he pushed aside the arm of the broad-shouldered man with his right hand.
"Drink it yourself!" Ron snarled. "I'm choosing my own drinks."
He was still speaking English but he wasn't too sure whether he could convince the 3 strangers that he didn't understand the Arkonese language.
Quite obviously, two of these were Springers, members of the race of galactic traders who had their fingers in almost every pie as far as business was concerned. The third one might be an Ara. The Aras were a race closely related to that of the Springers but while the Springers were involved in commerce the Aras were exclusively concerned with science, especially bio-medicine. Both, however, were equal in their lack of scruples.
The Springer who was bending over Ron became furious. "You're going to drink that!" he yelled, but now in English.
If only I didn't ache all over, Ron thought angrily, I'd show you what I'm going to do!
He tried to stand up. To Ron's surprise the Springer did not interfere with his attempt. Ron did his best to ignore the pain and leaned with his back against the wall behind him. The Springer was still holding the tiny bottle out to Ron.
"What is it?" asked Ron.
"It's some liqueur. Drink it!"
"And drop dead in a few seconds?" Ron said sarcastically.
The Springer shook his head. "If we'd want to do away with you we have far better methods than poisoning you," he declared.
That made sense. Ron did not really believe that the little bottle contained some fatal poison. More likely it held some drug which would render Ron tractable to the Springer's wishes or make him talkative or something else.
With a trembling voice Gerard Lobson kept imploring him to drink the liquid but Ron remained resolute. "No, absolutely no!" he said, "and that's final."
The Ara behind the writing desk hissed angrily. Ron noticed something moving swiftly in the back of the room. Using his shoulder as a lever Ron pushed away from the wall and flung himself forward. But the accident in the antigrav shaft had left him weak and lessened his reaction time. Before he could hit the ground he felt a heavy, breathtaking blow. A booming bell was ringing inside his head and then he was overtaken by darkness.

* * * *

As Ron came to for the second time the scene had changed. But it was once again Gerard Lobson who bent over him. "Now they made you take the liqueur by force," he said vindictively.