Caves of the Druufs Read online

  One of the Druufs equipped with a communicator pointed out to the Terranians that the rooms were filled with breathable air and that they thus could take off their spacesuits. Aside from that they were to wait until someone came to tend to them. He gave no indication of when this might come about.

  The suite consisted of three rooms altogether. The prisoners looked them over after they had rid themselves of their spacesuits and after the Druuf, who had thus far accompanied them, had left, taking the suits with him. The furniture was designed for the bodily dimensions of the Druufs. The bandy-legged chairs were so large that two men could comfortably sit in them side by side. Just one of the peculiar suspension frames fastened to the ceiling with thin bars that served the Druufs as beds would do to accommodate all four prisoners at once. The row of perfectly circular washbasins that lined the wall of one of the smallest of the three rooms would suffice to fulfill the sanitary needs of an entire army. One washbasin was large enough to serve as a bathtub in an emergency for a Terranian of not too husky build.

  There were many things whose significance they did not immediately recognize—for example, a table. Normally there was only the tabletop to be seen resting directly on the floor. For quite awhile they speculated on the function of this disk—until Reginald Bell, hoping to gain some insight, stepped on the rounded head of the table and apparently touched off a concealed contact. The disk sprang up and with the support of four sunken legs became a table. Though the prisoners could never use it, as they could just barely peep over the top when it was in position for use, at least the puzzle had been solved.

  After an hour of inspection they were clearly informed about the furnishings of their prison. The Druuf surveillance system was also clear to them. It was primitive but uncannily effective: they had taken away the spacesuits. Hence they did not even have to take the trouble to bolt the airlocks. Perry Rhodan had tried them out and the antechambers offered no resistance. Only—beyond the outermost lock lay an ammonia-methane atmosphere with a pressure of 2,500 Torr. Only a fool would choose to flee that path. The Druufs did not even need a sentry.

  That clarified everything—with the exception of the organ-like instrument attached to the wall of the center room that defied all explanation. Even at the very moment that the almost unbearable gravitational force had sunk to the accustomed norm of 1.00—that was about two hours after they had entered—it had not occurred to them that the organ, as they called it, might have anything to do with it.

  However, their curiosity was aroused, and with the thoroughness Terranians muster to satisfy their curiosity, they went about the business of dismantling and examining the organ. This met with success. They discerned the significance of the device and suddenly, quite suddenly, they got an idea how they could put it to use!

  • • •

  The only creature they had gotten to see in the three days of their imprisonment was a mechanical one: a Druuf robot, a monster like his creators. The robot supplied them with provisions. He seemed neither able to speak nor to make himself understood in any other manner. He arrived unannounced but always at the same times, placed a tray laden with bowls on the table that zoomed up as he approached, then disappeared again. One hour later he regularly appeared for the second time to clear away the remainder of the meal. This he did three times within a period of 24 hours.

  Perry Rhodan had directed some simple questions to him but not only did the robot fail to answer—he did not even react. So they were just as much in the dark about the most important question: how many Druufs were there in the subterranean base?

  They had tried to orient themselves by sounds but there were no sounds other than the ones they made themselves. To judge by that, the cavern system could be empty—except for them and the mute robot. However, it was equally possible that the walls and antechambers were soundproofed or that the Druufs were staying in some distant section of the cavern from which no sounds could penetrate to the chambers of the prisoners.

  It was clear to them that their plan would have no success if there were even one single watchful Druuf in their vicinity. He would notice the signals they intended to send with the aid of the variable gravity field and determine where they had originated. He would discern the intentions of the prisoners and make sure that they were prevented from realizing them.

  The situation would be quite different if the cavern system was empty. While the Druufs might admittedly still receive the signals, so would the parties for whom they were intended. However, the question of who would fly first to the methane planet to seek the originators of the signals, a Terranian or a Druuf ship, was as yet unsettled.

  Thus far only one thing was absolutely clear: they were compelled to send the signals. That was their only chance of establishing contact with the outer world.

  So they made all their preparations. The greater the middle time variance of the artificial gravity field, the easier the signal would be to receive—which meant that the quicker the lever could be operated, the greater the interval between the two tunings. Perry Rhodan had ascertained during a preliminary test that the gravitation could be boosted to about 12-normal. The lowest value lay at around 0.3-normal to judge by the decreased weight. That meant that when they would begin to transmit, their respective weight would increase 40-fold, then reduce to 1/40th within fractions of a second. They did not know how long they could endure this but they were ready to try.

  Of course the man at the lever would have to be rotated in quick succession. He was the one doing most of the work and would be exhausted after two, or at most three, changes of the lever position.

  Perry Rhodan was the first to take up that post. He squatted on the floor, leaning his back against the wall to enable him to reach the little lever without getting up each time. Reginald Bell erected a barricade of chairs in front of Rhodan's feet so that the sudden change of weight would not pull him down the wall and also to provide a steady foothold. After all preparations were completed, Bell himself and the two others stretched out flat on the floor. Sudden gravity pressure was most easily borne in this position.

  Perry Rhodan stretched his hand out to the side and saw that he was easily able to reach the lever. For an entire minute he gazed intently at the little grey piece of metal. Then he exhaled, to have clear lungs when the shock came, and placed his finger on the lever. Reginald Bell, Atlan and Fellmer Lloyd watched him attentively. He nodded to them and they put their heads on the ground.

  Then he pressed down.

  It was worse than they had anticipated. He had not meant to let the shock reach maximum force. His intent was to yank the lever right back up but he didn't manage. The traction of the 12-fold weight caused his hand to slide away from the lever and sent his arm pounding against the wall. It cost Perry Rhodan all the power of his muscles and his will to lift it again, place his finger under the lever and push it up once more. With a jerk the murderous load disappeared but the shift from 12-fold to less than one-third normal weight occurred so suddenly that Perry Rhodan felt nauseous.

  The manoeuvre had lasted 20 seconds rather than ½ second as originally planned.

  Perry Rhodan took time to catch his breath. He pumped his lungs full, then blew the air out again. Reginald Bell had raised his head and was looking over at him. Perry Rhodan nodded and forced himself to smile.

  Then he grasped the lever for the second time.

  2/ HADES: HISTORY IN THE WINGS?

  Sgt. Peter Rayleigh was almost convinced that he was sitting at his post in vain. Nothing had happened on Hades in the past 100 hours and Peter Rayleigh was willing to bet that the coming 100 would be equally uneventful.

  There was no one there, however, to take up his bet. Peter Rayleigh was posted in a small branch of the gigantic cavern that the ray cannons of the California had etched into the rocky mountain wall three months earlier to house the entire base—people, equipment and all. Peter Rayleigh was supervising a series of sensitive measuring instruments whose indicator scales were mou
nted on a plastic panel in front of him.

  From time to time Rayleigh quickly scanned the group of illuminated indicators but the pointers all rested listlessly on zero, showing no inclination to move.

  Peter Rayleigh was a young man of not more than 22 years. A few months ago he and a couple of others from his regiment had been assigned to a secret mission. Neither Rayleigh nor the others had any notion of what it entailed and they still had not understood when it was finally explained to them. They had been selected to reinforce or relieve the personnel on the base of Hades. It was said of Hades that it was located in a different time plane. While Peter and his comrades had heard about time planes more than once, they had not mastered the mathematics necessary to comprehend the phenomenon.

  For that reason Rayleigh occupied his time with speculating about just how far Earth might be from the point at which he was seated. The question was so intriguing and the image of a green meadow dotted with flowers so compelling that Rayleigh very nearly failed to notice that one illuminated pointer on the scaleboard had suddenly begun to move. Quiveringly it wandered a bit to the right, returned and then deflected again.

  Rayleigh was startled out of his brooding. He saw that the quivering pointer belonged to a G-meter, a device that measured strengths of gravity fields. It was so unbelievable that the gravity in the vicinity of the cavern base should have changed twice in rapid succession that for a few moments Peter Rayleigh was convinced that his eyes had played a trick on him. He remained motionless and stared at the apparatus. If he had not been mistaken the pointer would deflect a third time.

  Excited and in haste, Rayleigh memorized what he would have to do in that event: remove the readings from the gauge drum, compute the numerical deviation from the norm, determine the source of propagation and notify Capt. Rous, the Commander.

  Rayleigh rattled it all off in his mind as he intently stared at the scale. The pointer had returned to zero and had not moved again. Peter Rayleigh waited awhile—it felt to him like five minutes—cast a mistrustful glance at the pointer and leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

  Just as he did this the pointer deflected again. It was exactly as Peter Rayleigh remembered from the first time: quivering deflection, return almost to zero, renewed deflection, return to zero.

  Peter Rayleigh suddenly came to life. He sprang up and with one swift step was in front of the makeshift stand value on which the opalescent cases of the recording drums were resting in rank and file. It did not take long to find the drum that belonged to the G-meter. The two steep jags the stylus had traced with red ink on the gliding paper could not be overlooked. With trembling but nonetheless skilful fingers Rayleigh opened the window flap, ripped off at top and bottom the strip on which the reading was recorded and removed it. He absentmindedly closed the window flap as he stared at the paper. The two jags were about ½ minute apart. Between the jags the measured value, that is the red curve traced by the stylus, sank exponentially, but it did not return all the way to zero. The curve continued a short stretch horizontally, then climbed almost vertically to the second jag.

  The picture was clear. The figures resulted from on and off switching operations. The short horizontal course of the curve marked the actual, stationary value of the gravity field which was being turned on and off. This value was so low that the G-meter could just barely register it. Whoever was switching gravity fields on and off either was very far away or his gravity generator was no good.

  Peter Rayleigh could not decide offhand which of the two possibilities was correct. That would require a reading from one other instrument at least. He could merely state the direction from which the gravity influence emanated, as the actual antenna position of the G-meter was noted on the strip of paper. Rayleigh roughly converted the angle values into data that had more meaning for him and discovered that the impulses had come from 'above'. Therefore the gravity transmitter was in all probability not to be found on Hades itself but out in space. That result was important enough, it proved that the reading was not produced by an interior disturbance within the base.

  Peter Rayleigh arrived at this conclusion after short deliberation. He returned to his seat and called Capt. Rous. Just as Rous' face appeared on the small readout screen, Rayleigh saw that the illuminated pointer of the G-meter was deflecting again.

  • • •

  The orderly had a bewildered look on his face. Marshall Freyt hesitantly raised his eyes from the map he and Gen. Deringhouse had been studying, still so deep in thought that he did not immediately notice the young officer's confusion.

  "Yes...?" he asked absentmindedly.

  "Excuse me, sir," said the orderly, "there is a... a young girl outside who wants to speak to you."

  Freyt frowned. "A young girl? How do young girls get inside government headquarters?"

  The orderly answered helplessly: "I... I don't know, sir. She had all the necessary papers for entry. I... uh..."

  "Name?"

  "Toufry, sir. Ms. Betty Toufry."

  Freyt started to laugh. "You should have said that right away. Show her in!"

  The young officer saluted and withdrew more confused than ever. Gen. Deringhouse looked up from the map, smiling as he watched him leave. A few moments later the 'young lady' who had so nonplussed the officer appeared in the doorway.

  It was difficult to guess Betty Toufry's age. One could take her for 17 or 18 if it weren't for her eyes, which regarded the world with a wisdom far beyond that of a teenager. To judge by her eyes, Betty was at least 30.

  Only very few people knew that she was really about 80 years old. The secret of the enigmatic collective entity on Wanderer that had granted Perry Rhodan and his closest associates a certain degree of immortality was well guarded.

  Betty Toufry seemed quite excited as she shook hands with Marshall Freyt and Gen. Deringhouse. Freyt leaned back, offered her a chair and gazed at her intently.

  "Let me guess," he began in a friendly voice. "Something important has happened but nothing so urgent that you had to call me. You have looked in because you just happened to be in our neighborhood, right?"

  Betty shook her head slightly, smiling. She knew Freyt's approach. Every time he met her he insisted upon trying to read her thoughts. It was a game they had developed when Betty Toufry was still a child and the then most talented telepathist in the Terranian Mutant Corps.

  "Wrong," Betty answered, turning serious immediately. "It is a very important matter and very urgent. I took the quickest way here to give as detailed a report as possible about the matter." Conrad Deringhouse sat at the edge of his immense desk. Marshall Freyt watched Betty inquisitively.

  "Mr. Ellert has reported in!" Betty exclaimed.

  Deringhouse whistled through his teeth. "What did he say?" he asked tersely. Betty shrugged helplessly. "That's just it! I could hardly understand anything. The impulses came from the mausoleum. If I hadn't accidentally been nearby I wouldn't have noticed a thing. They were so weak, as if they came from a thousand light-years away... or even more."

  The two men remained silent.

  "The whole thing lasted about five minutes," Betty continued hastily, "and all I could understand was: 'Come quickly!' Where to come or why... I must have missed that."

  Deringhouse and Freyt exchanged brief glances. "Don't you worry about 'where'," Deringhouse consoled the telepathist as he slid off the desk. "You are not very informed about the events that occurred shortly before and after Mr. Rhodan's death and that is why you do not know where Ellert is. But we know about it all the more. However, we would like to know more about 'why'. Did you get the impression that Ellert was afraid of something?"

  One could see that Betty was trying to remember. "Yes... and no," she answered with a slight embarrassed smile. "You know... he seemed afraid somehow, apparently not for himself but for someone else. It seemed as if he were calling for help for a third party."

  Deringhouse looked up. "And he said 'Come quickly!' didn't he?"

  "Yes
. That was all I could understand," Betty confirmed.

  Deringhouse was now standing in front of her. He turned his head and looked quizzically at Marshall Freyt. "We do not know what that means," he said softly as if he already knew which decision Freyt had reached. "Which is just why we shall have to look into it," Freyt declared and stood up. "Betty, would you have any objection if I interrupted your vacation?"

  Betty smiled. "Not in the least, Marshall Freyt," she answered.

  "Then remain close by the mausoleum for the time being," Freyt instructed. "We do not want to miss it when Ellert reports in again... By the way, where is that conceited mouse-beaver keeping himself these days?"

  Deringhouse shrugged. "I am not informed about how creatures of his sort spend their vacation but surely he can be contacted at once."

  Betty suddenly laughed. "I just saw him a few hours ago," she said jovially. "He called me to have a look at his garden."

  "Garden!" Freyt and Deringhouse exclaimed in unison.

  Betty nodded. "Yes. He bought himself a small plot of land and is raising carrots."

  For a few seconds there was an ominous silence in Marshall Freyt's large office. Then all three simultaneously broke out in laughter. The outburst of merriment lasted quite awhile. It only subsided when Betty suddenly stopped laughing. A disconcerted look passed over her face.