The Horror Read online

  A ROUTINE FLIGHT UNTIL—

  K-262 to Eppan.

  At first a mere checkup job, to determine if the Robot Regent of Arkon has planted agents there.

  But when the telepath boards the spaceship, he is gripped by a nameless terror.

  With all life in the Milky Way threatened by the Druuf Danger, the expedition to Eppan ordered by Perry Rhodan is but one of many probes... but it differs from all the rest when the men of the K-262 realize anew in frightening fashion a law of the conquest of space: the universe will confront inquisitive man time and again with mysteries and dangers. One of the greatest examples of this is the sheer terror of—

  Perry Rhodan

  Atlan And Arkon #66

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  The Horror

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  1/ HALF MOON IN THE ARENA

  The great arena at Rapmaag was an unfine madness. Here was the stench of sweat, blood and animals intermingled with the damp smell of the battle-torn earth... the fanatic shouts of the jumbled masses of spectators consisting of peasants, officials, dignitaries, merchants, smugglers, laborers, soldiers and noblemen... the clamor of fighting, the creak of leather, the clatter of weapons and the bellowing of wounded animals...

  In the midst of the spectator throng, Walt Scoobey gave the odd impression of being an overgrown elf or hobgoblin in his Eppanian disguise. He nudged his companion, Marcus Everson. "Sir, how will we find our contact man in this place?" he asked. He swept a meaningful glance across the vast circle of the arena where the surging mass of people presented a colorful panorama. There were very few seats left in the crowd.

  Standing 6'2" in his own disguise, Col. Marcus Everson was not any less grotesque than Scoobey. He searched the throng cautiously. "He'll get in touch with us," he answered. "It's advisable for us to keep our voices down. We can't take a chance of becoming conspicuous. I just hope that Goldstein thought of that."

  A fanfare of trumpets interrupted further explanations. The main war games were beginning. Six powerful draft animals dragged a cage into the central area of the arena. Imprisoned within the cage was a saurian type of beast.

  "Don't tell me there's anybody foolish enough to fight that monster!" said Scoobey incredulously.

  His voice was drowned by the enthusiastic howling and shouting of the crowd. Several assistants appeared in the arena, unhitched the work animals from the cage and led them out. They had no sooner been brought to safety than the gate of the cage was swung open by means of a long rope, which was cautiously manipulated from the edge of the fighting area. The monstrous creature hesitantly stretched out its serpent-like neck but the thrill-thirsty crowd's roaring appeared to confuse the beast.

  The attendants came back like so many picadores and prodded the monster with long, sharp poles. They achieved their objective because suddenly the monstrosity went into a blind rage and charged out of the cage in a cloud of red dust. As it came too close to the circular balustrade, the terrified spectators in the front rows fled upward to safety.

  Directly beneath the royal loge section a door opened at ground level. In a storm of welcoming applause, a tall Eppanian stepped into the arena. By Eppanian standards he was a big man, almost as tall as Everson. The narrow slits of his eyes were almost closed because of the roiling clouds of dust. His large protruding ears were covered with wavy hair. The warrior wore a light cuirass of leather for protection. In his right hand he held a heavy-bladed sword.

  "Do you mean to tell me he's going up against the beast with that toothpick?" Scoobey cried out in bewilderment. "That's just plain suicide!"

  Everson answered unperturbed: "I hope not, Walt—it would be a shame. That madman down there happens to be our contact man, who is supposed to lead us to Goldstein."

  Scoobey became nervous. His hand groped in voluntarily beneath the wide, colorful cloak that he wore in place of his Solar Empire space uniform.

  Everson quickly grasped his arm. "No weapons!" he ordered. "Do you want to give us away with a raygun shot?"

  Scoobey collected himself with an effort. "Are you sure that fellow down there risking his life is the man we want?"

  Everson nodded decisively. "Do you see the belt he's wearing? It's decorated with half-moon symbols. Our recognition signal happens to be: 'half moon in the arena'."

  Meanwhile the Eppanian gladiator had greeted the king and moved into the center of the arena, where he waited for his giant opponent to become aware of him. The visible portions of his body were marked by the scars of past encounters.

  A long drawn—out cry of challenge emerged from the throat of the warrior. The small, stupid eyes of the beast peered at him across the battlefield. With its head thrust forward on its serpentine neck, the monster made a scurrying charge toward the lonely, waiting figure, shaking the ground with its tons of muscle and flesh. A resounding cry of horror went up from the spectators when the titanic creature reached the Eppanian and threatened to hurl him to the ground. But just in time the man darted out of the path of destruction with a fantastic lateral broadjump. The beast hurtled past him, unable to control its massive momentum so quickly. The Eppanian straightened up swiftly to face his antagonist, who came to a halt at the barrier wall and then gathered itself for a new attack.

  Everson heard Scoobey attempting to stifle a groan of despair. The First Officer was leaning forward on the bench with his head supported in his hands. The Eppanian down below, fighting for his life, also ran to the barrier wall.

  "Isn't this inhuman?" muttered Scoobey.

  "It's all on a voluntary basis," Everson reminded him. "Nobody is forced to fight against his will. Gladiators are paid more than even the ministers of state—and they're probably more popular. That's why they play their highest stake, which is their life!"

  "Goldstein should have gotten in touch with us right away," complained Scoobey impatiently. "He's wearing the same disguise as we are. Sometimes I can't figure these mutants."

  Everson smiled, being familiar with Scoobey's mind and character. Without benefit of a calming influence, the officer was like a stick of dynamite with a short fuse. "Goldstein is still a youngster and this is his first assignment. Besides, these telepaths are very sensitive and cautious. Hey—look at that!"

  Everson's exclamation was related to events transpiring in the arena. Braced in a slightly crouched position with his back to the wall, their contact man held his sword at a low angle and calmly observed the onrushing charge of the great beast. In a blind transport of rage the great brute threw itself upon the frail man-thing who dared stand up against it. The Eppanian ducked behind the protection of a blind wall that the enclosure provided and from that vantage point he struck the first blow. Thrusting directly upwards he pierced the long neck of the towering animal. Berserk with pain and surprise, the monster crashed and flailed mightily against the rough clay-brick wall beneath the balustrades. Once more there was a shrill outcry from the fleeing spectators and Everson silently asked himself why those lower and more dangerous seats cost so much.

  Demonstrating a combination of cold-blooded calm and rash courage, the Eppanian manoeuvred around his massive and overwhelming adversary, at the same time deftly evading the whipping tail. The beast had temporarily lost sight of him in the red clouds of dust it had stirred up. The brilliant yellow of the royal box was dulled by the choking haze but the cry of the multitudes came crashing back like a tidal wave. In spite of the primitive instincts which were appealed to by the battle, Everson had to grudgingly concede that the situation was undeniably exciting.

  The gladiator fought with prudence and decision, shrewdly turning the slowness and superior weight of the animal to his advantage. His real weapons were intelligence and ner
ves of steel, whereas the sword was only their implementation.

  "He's making it!" shouted Scoobey excitedly. "By all the planets! Nobody will ever believe this story. They'll call me a liar." He looked ruefully at Everson.

  It was with some effort that the colonel suppressed the well-deserved observation that Scoobey had circulated many a dubious tale among the cadets of the Space Academy which were far more incredible than this one—and with equally serious mien. Yes, when all was said and done, Scoobey would no doubt embellish this fabulous fight and also reserve in its telling a supporting role for himself.

  The 'duel' below was nearing its end The monster's movements were becoming slower. On the other hand, the Eppanian continued to move about with the precision of an untiring machine. The final part of the contest was somehow depressing and Everson had a sense of revulsion when the mighty beast sank into the dust and darkened the ground with its blood. The beaming victor strode to the front of the royal loge and raised his arm in. greeting. The king stood up—a small, pudgy figure with short arms and abrupt movements. A frenetic applause overwhelmed the conqueror.

  There was a flat taste in Everson's mouth. Hundreds of Eppanians stormed down into the arena and the gladiator was carried out on the shoulders of a spirited throng.

  "It's over with," said Scoobey. "So what now?"

  "It'll definitely be a tough job to get to him now," admitted Everson. "His fans will be surrounding him for awhile yet. I guess he was the main attraction today. Maybe in the meantime we could take a look around near the king."

  "What for?" asked Scoobey, frowning in his impatience. "Do you have a yen to hail His Chubbiness or something?"

  Everson indicated the loge section. The entire group of notables had risen to its feet, most of them towering over the king by at least a head in height. Everson wondered what this most powerful man on Eppan might have to say if he were aware of the presence of 3 men here who had come from a planet more than 10,000 light-years distant. What would the ruler have thought if he had seen the guppy which they had landed in a desolate region not far from the city?

  But Everson took up the question posed by his companion. "Put yourself in the place of the agents of an alien power," he said. "Where would you be most likely to stay? Where would you keep yourself?"

  "Of course you're right, sir," agreed Scoobey. "If anybody is going to get a firm footing on this planet—or if anybody already has—he won't likely pose as a simple man in the street. Well, Goldstein has had enough time by now to find out if any operatives from a space-traveling alien race have shown up here already. If they have, we can only hope that he's been careful."

  Everson got up slowly. Even beneath the Eppanian disguise his imposing figure was impressive. The superior talents of the Arkonides in the biological sciences plus their extraordinary medicines and serums had enabled this 85-year-old man to appear like a hale and hearty person in his early 50s. The colonel would be able to live for 140 years.

  "Alright," he decided, "let's try our luck."

  They pushed their way from their seat section toward the exit. A small, wizened-looking Eppanian blocked their way. "You are probably leaving now because Mataal has finished fighting?" he asked. His voice sounded squeaky and shrill, with an ominous undertone.

  Along with Goldstein and Scoobey, Everson had come through a course of hypno-training in the Eppanian language and dialects. He answered in a friendly manner. "Mataal's courage and spirit were very inspiring. Our homeland lies far to the North, near Aplaag. Our own arena has nothing comparable to offer. This fellow Mataal is in a class by himself."

  A smile touched the withered face of the Eppanian. His eyes beamed with pride.

  Everson bent down toward the man in a confidential manner, at the same time dropping a number of coins into his pocket. "My friend, we have to return soon to Aplaag but before we do we'd like to see Mataal and get to talk to him. I'm sure you can help us."

  The man looked at him shrewdly and shook his head. "I can't get away from here just now," he said in a tone of regret. "I have to watch the entrance gate so that nobody comes in without a ticket. If I leave this place I'll lose my job."

  The man's smallness of character matched his diminutive stature. His petty domain of influence made him proud and important. He patted his pocket meaningfully where Everson's coins had disappeared. The colonel slipped him a few more coins.

  "I have an idea," said the dried-up little gnome promptly. "Go back into the arena. Right near the stairs leading to the spectator sections you'll find the gates leading into the fighters' quarters. They are guarded by Orgabaas, who is a friend of my wife."

  Scoobey grinned and nudged Everson with his elbow.

  "Cut that out!" exclaimed the colonel.

  "Orgabaas will be able to give you further assistance," promised the Eppanian. "But of course, that depends—" He again tapped his pocket but was referring to his friend.

  Everson thanked him and pulled Scoobey away. They retraced their steps and soon found the entrances indicated. An old crotchety Eppanian with a startlingly yellow complexion barred their way. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked them gruffly.

  Without a word, Everson slipped a few coins into the man's hand, causing the other's unfriendly expression to vanish magically.

  Scoobey mentally remarked, with some bitterness, that half the galaxy appeared to be on the take—always a hand behind the back.

  Once again Everson became the spokesman. "We want to get to Mataal. We're from Aplaag and we'd like to see this great fighter before we return home."

  Orgabaas nodded silently toward one of the entrances. Everson signaled his first officer to wait there and he entered by himself. A biting odor of poorly dried dye or paint smote his nostrils. The room was overcrowded with Eppanians. Somewhere in this jam of bodies was Mataal. Everybody seemed to be talking at once in great confusion and it didn't seem to matter whether or not anybody was listening. Everson shoved through a group of young Eppanians in order to get deeper into the room.

  Then he saw Mataal. The gladiator had removed his leather harness and now lay upon a bluish mat. His eyes were closed. Around him the fanatics were standing, crouching, kneeling or even lying down, all of them gesticulating wildly. Without compunction, Everson used his powerful arms to push through them to the mat.

  Wearing a congenial grin, he bent down close to Mataal, managing to whisper in his ear: "Half moon in the arena."

  Mataal opened the slits of his eyes. They were black and fathomless. Everson had the feeling he could have seen his reflection in them if he moved closer to them. He firmly met their searching gaze. The clamor of voices became louder now as everybody assumed this was the moment when they could deluge the famous warrior with their questions and requests for special favors.

  "My friends..." Mataal's gentle voice reached to the farthest corner of the room. "Please go!"

  Everson was amazed to see that the room was vacated at once.

  When all of his followers had disappeared, Mataal spoke again. "They are like children, wouldn't you say?" His voice was pleasing and cultured in its tones. Certainly this man must have other means of livelihood without any need for gambling his life. However, Everson was in no mood to get involved in a discussion of Mataal's admirers. "Where is Goldstein?" he asked curtly.

  Mataal rose lithely to his feet and placed both hands on the colonel's shoulders but even in that gesture Everson felt the matchless strength in the other's arms. "I'll lead you to him," he said willingly. "However, the young fellow's condition is different than you might imagine."

  The hidden meaning behind these words startled Everson. "Is he sick?" he asked, somewhat hoarsely.

  "I must confess that I don't know," replied Mataal. "I find him to be changed somehow but he doesn't speak of it. After his arrival he often disappeared for days at a time. I don't know what assignment you have given him but when he returned to me several days ago he appeared to be troubled. He became silent... withdrawn... indi
fferent. Since then he has not left my house." Everson's mind raced feverishly in reaction to this.

  What could have happened to the young mutant? Or did it have something to do with Mataal himself, who seemed to be extraordinarily intelligent for an Eppanian.

  "Did Goldstein say anything at all that might indicate his unusual actions are connected with a third party?"

  "He doesn't talk about it," Mataal reiterated. "You may judge for yourself. You may rest assured that your friend lacks nothing and is enjoying all the privileges of a guest." After a short pause he added: "If you wish, we can go now."

  Everson nodded his agreement and Mataal led the way to the exit. As he opened the door, Walt Scoobey stuck in his red-colored head. "Hello, sir!" he said, casting a sidelong glance at Mataal. "A few moments ago a whole army of people marched out of here. Do you mean to say they were all inside there?"

  "Walt..." Everson spoke tensely, momentarily dropping the Eppanian language. "This man has just told me that something's wrong with Goldstein. He says he's changed."

  Scoobey scratched his artificially enlarged ears. Spectators were coming from all directions to express their admiration of Mataal. With Orgabaas' help, the fighter managed to get clear of them. The three of them left the arena and Mataal led them into the city.

  The individual edifices they passed were more or less sumptuously constructed out of clay bricks, wood and rough-hewn stone, according to the wealth and means of each owner. Horse-like animals and the oval-shaped carts they drew behind them over the uneven streets served as the means of transportation. Mataal was again met with many deferential greetings. The three of them walked along together without exchanging a word.

  Mataal stopped in front of a building that was distinguished from the others by its conspicuous size. "This is my house," he said proudly and he led the way. Several servants in colorful dress opened the doors before them. Mataal smiled. "The visible success of a fighter," he said, "or his facade, if you will."