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

"If you'd put me on the spot to tell you which of all those dots could be the police car, you'd get a big, fat zero for an answer," Ron admitted.
"Never mind," laughed the driver. "After all, I'm the one who has to find the right way."
Ron sank back into the seat. That gyro driver puzzled him. He had come at exactly the right moment when Ron needed a taxi ... he was willing to pursue a police aircar ... hardly any other cabbie would have agreed to do that ... incidentally, he had a license for altitude flying which was indispensable for this undertaking ... on top of that he had of course the instruments for radar flight ... the only way to track down a vehicle among thousands of others and pursue it ...
Ron could not help thinking these were too many coincidences at one time. His suspicions about the aerial taxi driver were suddenly aroused. Yet he could not convince himself that the friendly man from Goszul was seriously plotting against him.
He looked over in Gerard's direction. He was reclining in his seat with eyes closed, his mouth gaping. He was drunk alright.
Once more Ron directed his attention to the front of the vehicle. He saw that the swarm of dots on the radar screen had thinned out considerably. No more than a hundred of them were left and they grew less and less by the second. The flight path the policecar had taken was obviously not heavily travelled.
All of a sudden he wished he had his old pal and co-worker Larry Randall by his side. Left to his own resources he felt inadequate to deal alone with the problems he was facing on Lepso. He wondered what mission Nike Quinto might have had in mind for Larry. There was no chance back on Terra to ask this question. Whenever Nike Quinto sent you out on a mission it would be done helter-skelter and not until the agents were some thousands of light-years from Earth would they become aware that they had forgotten to ask something or take something along.
Where in the universe might Larry be right now?
"What's the fellow with you back there doing?" the driver inquired of Ron at this moment.
"He's asleep," answered Ron. "Sound asleep."
"That'll do him a lot of good. He didn't look too enterprising when he got into the car awhile back."
"That's true; he had too much to drink, I think."
The number of blips on the radar screen kept decreasing until only two were left. There was one near the middle of the screen while the other kept moving toward its edge and would totally disappear from the screen in a few seconds.
"Forgive me the question but since we have had the opportunity to get to know each other a bit better by now," the man from Goszul started up the conversation again, "why do you want to pursue that policecar?"
Ron was not at a loss what to say. "I want to make sure they really bring that sick man to a doctor."
"To a doctor?"
"Yes. Back in the restaurant he was suddenly seized by an acute attack of weakness. He could hardly stand up and his head looked like a dead man's skull."
The man from Goszul mumbled first something incomprehensible. Then he reported. "I've seen such cases quite often. Somebody was walking on the street looking hale and hearty one second and the next he would suddenly begin to turn into a living ghost, with sunken, hollow cheeks, dried-out skin, a yellow-brownish complexion, full of deep wrinkles ..."
"Yes, that's it," Ron confirmed eagerly.
"... and a little while later the police would turn up, load the poor guy on their gyrocar and take him away. I've often asked myself if there really is a doctor back in the Sukkussum Desert."
"Where did you say?"
"In the Sukkussum Desert. That's where we're heading now and that's where the police vehicles always take the sick people they've picked up. This desert is known by lots of different names; every race living here on Lepso calls it by their own special name. But I like Sukkussum best."
Ron pondered over the new bit of information he had just learned. Why would the sick people be taken to the desert? And Zuglert, could he be found there too?
"Tell me, what's your name?" Ron asked the cabbie.
"Rall," came the answer. "I've been living here on Lepso for the past 51/2 years, am properly registered and licensed as a taxi chauffeur and I also have a high altitude traffic license and ..."
"That will do, that's enough," interrupted Ron. "I didn't mean to give you the third degree. Tell me, how big is this desert?"
"About 1800 kilometers to the northwest till the Seymour Ocean. Some 300 kilometers to both northeast and southwest from here. Our line of flight is right down the middle. Quite a chunk of land, isn't it?"
Ron nodded in reply. He hoped the police car's destination wouldn't be at the opposite end of the desert. He was doubtful Rall's taxi-gyro could carry sufficient fuel for such an extended trip and back again to Zanithon. He expressed his doubts to Rall.
"Oh, don't worry about that" the Goszul man reassured him. "We've already flown halfway across."
"Across what?" Ron was puzzled.
"Over the desert. We've flown more than 1000 kilometers across it."
Ron calculated quickly. They had lifted off Five Oceans Boulevard barely half an hour ago.
"How fast are we flying?" he wanted to know.
"Speed about 25 kilometers per hour," Rall stated in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "Altitude roughly 15 kilometers."
These, thought Ron, were rather unusual flight data for an ordinary taxi.

* * * *

Now he was convinced there was some mystery surrounding this taxi driver. Nothing that would endanger him, on the contrary, something that might turn out to be to his benefit. Therefore he did not probe any further but left it up to Rall to choose the time when he would reveal his secret.
Several minutes after Ron had learned of the amazing performance potential of his taxi-gyro, he noticed that the blip of the police vehicle began to wander away from the center of the radar screen.
"They're landing," announced Rall calmly.
"Are you familiar with the terrain around here?" asked Ron.
"No. Nobody knows it. This is terra incognito, as far as we are concerned. No one has ever penetrated any deeper than 20 kilometers from the desert's edge and the airline companies avoid flying directly over it. They prefer to make a wide detour around it."
Ron realized he had to come to a decision what to do next. He tried to estimate at what distance from the spot where the police gyro had landed he would obtain the most favourable combination of indicated caution and effective radius of action. He requested Rall to descend to a height of approximately 50 meters and then to continue flying a bit farther in a northwesterly direction.
Rall acted according to Ron's instructions. While he was bringing down the gyro to a lower altitude he spotted the place where the police vehicle had in the meantime touched ground. He marked the position on an empty card, placed the card in the flight recorder. After it had determined the taxi's position relative to that of the police gyro, it recorded the taxi's course on the same card.
A few minutes later the gyro landed in the desert sand. Outside the windows of the taxi, Ron could make out row upon row of yellow dunes faintly visible by the dim light from the stars in the sky. He saw the veils of sand dust playing about the crests of the dunes and when he alighted from the taxi he heard the clinking and tinkling of the tiny grains of sand in the steadily-blowing desert wind.
Meanwhile Rall had switched on the parking light and he handed Ron the card from the flight recorder. On it he could see that the police vehicle was lying straight to the north from them and not more than 11/2 kilometers away.
Ron decided to act immediately. He asked Rall to watch the still-steeping Gerard but Rall refused to stay with the dark-haired fellow.
"You know, I've been with you ever since the beginning of this adventure; I'd like to continue with you to the very end. Why don't we simply lock him inside the taxi and let him sober up in there?"
"Do you know what you are suggesting, my man? The police may not like it at all that I‹m spying on them. There might be shooting, real danger and ..."