Desert of Death's Domain Read online

  Yes, indeed, Ron knew the rest, but still there were some points in Gerard's report which didn't quite make sense. Had the Springers put all the antigrav shafts of the building out of order so that all late visitors would indiscriminately fall down to the basement? And if this had not been the case, how could they have known at what time he'd arrive and which of the many antigrav shafts he would use?

  He asked Gerard several questions. He did not quite trust the black-haired fellow and therefore formulated his questions in such a manner that Gerard would have given himself away unless he was an exceedingly skilful liar. But Ron had no luck with these tactics; Gerard remained firm and consistent in his statements.

  Finally Ron gave up any further attempts at tricking Gerard into involuntary admissions. After all, he had found out all that could be learned and it was high time now to develop a plan of action. The Springers were sure to interrogate him and in case no satisfactory answers would be forthcoming they'd resort to some trick and incapacitate his free will and dig up from his subconscious mind any information they desired, including the fact that the tall blond man they had in their power was actually a special agent of Division 3 and in particular what Division 3 represented.

  Ron decided it must not come to that point. He had to find a way and escape from their clutches before it was too late.

  He did not fool himself about the miserable situation he was in. The gadgets and weapons that could have helped bring about his escape were still in his luggage. Unfortunately he had left the hotel before his luggage had arrived from the spaceport. He didn't even have a tiny emergency transmitter on him to send out SOS signals. Thus he would be forced to rely completely on his own resources, his imagination and his two bare hands.

  He had arrived this far in his assessment of the situation when the steel door swung open. Two powerfully built Springers entered the room carrying a long, narrow plastic table. The tabletop displayed an array of gleaming instruments. The Springers did not utter a single word. The door closed automatically behind the two newcomers to the great disappointment of Ron, who had carefully watched for an opportunity to escape through that door. They placed the table in the middle of the room between the two rows of pillars. Ron's studies of extraterrestrial technology had familiarized him thoroughly with the kind of apparatus he was faced with here. He was overcome by fear and horror as he recognized the two encephaloceptors.

  The Springers had come to this decision much sooner than Ron had thought they would. And worse still, they had brought along all the devices he had believed it would take several days for them to obtain.

  The two Springers stood alongside the table. One of them drew a weapon and pointed it at Ron while his partner said: "We'd like to get some information from you, Earthman. But since we're afraid you won't cooperate with us, we'll help you along by releasing the blocking-off mechanism of your free will. Come over here!"

  In a flash Ron evaluated his chances. What would happen if he'd refuse? How and with what would they force him to submit to the interrogation? Would they really use the weapon that the second Springer held in his hand? It was a thermo-gun! One blast and they'd lose their chance forever to obtain any information they desired from him. Still, he couldn't risk refusing to obey them. There was no way out.

  Filled with this bitter realization, Ron began to approach the instrument table.

  At this moment the unbelievable happened!

  4/ THE MAN FROM GOSZUL'S PLANET

  One of the two Springers suddenly toppled over and hit the ground. His partner, his weapon still pointing at Ron, hesitated. He looked at Ron with a mixture of distrust and fear. Then he hurried around to the other side of the table to aid his fallen friend. But he had hardly taken two steps when he appeared to be held back by an invisible, murderous force. Ron saw how the man strained to overcome the unseen obstacle in his path. With an angry shout he planted both feet firmly against the floor and tried to push forward. But the invisible force was too strong for him. It dragged him down, threw him to the ground and squeezed him so hard against the stone floor that he became unconscious.

  Ron observed the incident dumbfounded. His gaze wandered over to the Springer who had been the first to be slammed to the floor. He too seemed to have lost consciousness. Ron stepped around to the man to make absolutely sure. He shook him but the man did not move.

  This is when Ron realized that his chance had finally come. "Let's merk*!" he snapped at Gerard.

  "But... but..." the dark-haired one stammered. He was plainly perplexed.

  Ron seized him by the shoulder and pulled him along toward the door.

  This time the doorknob offered no resistance. One slight turn and the door opened. Outside was a narrow, dimly-lit hallway.

  He stepped outside, leaving the steel door that had barred his way to freedom now behind him. And as he held the Springer's weapon in his hand he suddenly experienced again that tremendous surge of activity which according to Gerard was caused by the peculiar liqueur. How he wished that right now several Springers would show themselves at the end of the corridor so that he could demonstrate to them what to expect if they deprived a special agent of Division 3 of his freedom!

  But he had to clear his mind of such delightful speculations. Now he must concentrate his attention on two things: if possible he wanted to leave that building quite inconspicuously and, further, he had to keep an eye on Gerard, who was still confused by the unexpected turn of events in the basement and who might do some foolish thing or even try to run away.

  But so far Gerard had cooperated. He ran along with Ron and stopped when Ron held him back so that he could peer around the corner which was some 10 meters away from the door of their basement prison. There was no sign of danger to be seen around that corner. A bit farther ahead the corridor ended in the opening of an antigrav shaft. Ron was not afraid to use it. He pushed the first floor button and shoved Gerard into the shaft before him. Then he followed directly behind.

  The bright spot of light coming from the exit of the shaft into the first floor loomed above them. The suction from the gravitational field died down obediently as Gerard was level with the first floor exit. He grabbed the handle attached near the opening and swung himself out of the antigrav shaft. Ron followed him swiftly. He peered into the brightly-lit foyer of the big office building and as fast as possible hid the thermo-gun he had held until now, ready to shoot at any moment if necessary.

  Gerard stood and waited for further instructions from Ron. Ron looked around for a few seconds to make sure no danger was threatening them. But all he could see was the usual crowd rushing in and out through the entrance doors of the big office building. All kinds of races came and went in a steady stream. Those nearest to Ron and Gerard gave them a suspicious or astonished glance. But this was mainly due—as Ron soon realized—to the sorry state his clothing was in after his fall down the antigrav shaft and the subsequent events.

  Ron felt this was a normal reaction that people would regard them with suspicion and surprise under the circumstances. This was as good a time as any to get out of this place. They mingled among the crowd streaming out of the building and a few moments later found themselves on the sidewalk of a wide avenue.

  Ron looked around. "Where are we?" he asked Gerard.

  But he had to repeat his question twice before he received an answer.

  "North district," Gerard answered curtly. "Five Oceans Boulevard."

  There was a taxi stand in front of the building. Ron thought it would be too dangerous to hail one of the vehicles standing directly at the entrance of the house they had just escaped from. The risk was too great that he might again fall into the hands of one of the henchmen of his former captors.

  He turned to the right and walked on foot for a little while. It was evening. The faint light coming from the sky was drowned out by the myriads of neon signs on the houses lining the street. Ron noticed some restaurants as they made their way up the road. He suddenly felt hungry. Better loo
k for a restaurant where his rumpled suit would not cause any unnecessary attention.

  He turned around to have a good look at the building they had just left. He wanted to make sure he would be able to recognize it again. He was so startled by what he saw that he bumped into Gerard, who had been walking alongside.

  High up on the front of the huge office tower facing the avenue sparkled an enormous sign with letters at least five meters tall, announcing for all to see: TERRAN TRADE COMMISSION.

  • • •

  This made quite an impression on Ron but still it failed to spoil his appetite. Gerard firmly declined Ron's suggestion to have something to eat. "I've no money," he growled.

  "For heaven's sake," said Ron, "that makes me think maybe those guys have..." He didn't finish his sentence but put his hand in his pocket. He found his wallet and opened the magnetic lock. None of his money was missing.

  "Let me treat you," Ron said good-naturedly and slapped Gerard on the back with a friendly gesture.

  Gerard's eyes flashed for an instant. Ron noticed this but it did not arouse any suspicions in his mind, rather he attributed it to the fact that Gerard suddenly had become as ravenous as he himself.

  Several hundred meters away from the Terran Trade Commission they found a snack bar which didn't seem likely to object to their disheveled appearance. The robot host at the door directed them to a table in the back of the restaurant. While Ron was busy dialing the menu selector on the top of the table after picking a hearty meal according to the instructions on the code register attached to the dial-a-meal, Gerard Lobson for the first time volunteered a question.

  "What was that," he asked, his voice still trembling. "I mean... down in the basement?"

  Ron looked at him puzzled and, his finger still stuck in the automat's dial, he momentarily interrupted selecting his dinner.

  "Oh that? Nothing special. A friend of mine got into the game just at the right moment."

  Ron turned his head, trying to look through the window leading to the street. He wasn't quite sure but he thought he detected a cube-shaped vehicle with thick glass panels passing by outside the restaurant. He suppressed the desire to get up and walk out into the street to get a better look at the glass cube. But then he decided against it. For the time being it would be better not to let Gerard know about everything.

  Gerard insisted on ordering a liqueur of the type the Springers had originally forced on him and Ron.

  "I've invited you, Gerard, but this does not extend to this mysterious beverage. You should realize by now that there is something wrong with it. It contains some drug."

  Gerard kept staring at him.

  "You're probably right. But I like that drink, it tastes good to me."

  However Ron was the one with the money so his will prevailed. Gerard did not get his liqueur. He did not seem to mind especially. Instead he drank down five glasses of strong Terran beer within the next half hour and was not sober when Ron had finished his meal. Ron wasn't bothered by Gerard's tipsy state. He was pleased that Gerard was sitting there brooding quietly. This provided him with the opportunity to bring some order into his own thoughts. He felt overwhelmed by the flood of new information that was hard to digest at one sitting.

  So the Springers had established a foothold in the building where the Terran Trade Commission was located. The call Dr. Zuglert had made to the Florida shortly before he disappeared had been conducted from a number of the Trade Mission. On the other hand, inspector Neary had declared that no such person existed in their offices, had never been there and therefore could never have placed that TTT call from Neary's own instrument.

  Meanwhile Ron had found out that a 50-second TTT call via telecom-line had been charged by the government communication services on Lepso to the Terran Trade Commission. This was no secret and inspector Neary had to admit in the meantime that he had wrongly accused Dick Kindsom of trying to make a fool of him.

  Was Neary in cahoots with the Springers? Had the Springers apprehended Zuglert? How could he have gained access to the telecom? Had the Springers' supervision of Zuglert been too lax? Ron assumed that this last thought was correct, regardless of whether his other suspicions were justified or not. The only reason Zuglert had been able to place his call to the Florida must have been that they had left him unguarded for a few moments. Probably they had not imagined the half-dead Zuglert capable of any activity.

  So far so good, decided Ron. But from where had Zuglert conducted his conversation with the Florida ?

  At first Ron wanted to dismiss the notion Neary might work hand in glove with the Springer bandits. Any officials working for extraterrestrial outposts were carefully screened and trained for their jobs. There were hardly ever any misfits among them.

  Under normal circumstances, of course, Ron corrected himself immediately. He remembered the Ara whom he had seen in Dr. Zuglert's office. Wherever these Aras were involved, one was well-advised to be especially cautious. The Aras were masters in the preparation of modern witches' brews. If Neary really did collaborate with the Springers, then it was only as a result of someone having forced his will upon him.

  Yet there was another possibility to reckon with, namely that Neary had no idea what was going on and that the Springers who had established themselves in the same building as Neary's mission had tapped his line and installed a telecom apparatus of their own from which they made calls using the code number of the Trade Mission. Ron wouldn't put it past these sneaky Springers, particularly since the tap would make it possible for them to listen in to all conversations Neary carried on from his office.

  Ron made up his mind to pay a visit to Neary as soon as possible and to discuss this eventuality with him. He wondered if it would make any sense to return immediately to the Trade Mission and use this opportunity also to hand over to the Lepso police the two Springers lying unconscious down in the basement of the building. He quickly dismissed this part of the plan. The Springers were sure to tell the right lies to the police and in the end he might be accused of attacking them in the first place. Gerard Lobson would not be a witness he could rely on in this case.

  No, he would not run such a risk but nevertheless he was determined to talk to Neary—the sooner the better.

  He looked up. Gerard was still growling and mumbling to himself in his drunken stupor. His eyes were bloodshot and his appearance was anything but appetizing. Suddenly he raised his head and peered at a point directly behind Ron's shoulder.

  Gerard's expression changed. His eyes, until now all swollen and with a glassy stare, opened wide with horror and became fixed on the spot back of Ron. Ron imagined for a moment Gerard was trying to use that old trick and distract his attention while he would do something he didn't want Ron to know about. But at the same moment he became aware that all around him people were jumping up from their chairs. Somebody shouted: "Get a doctor but fast!"

  Ron turned around. Looking past two men who were walking to a table placed behind him, he caught a glimpse of a man who just must have risen from his chair. He probably had just finished his meal and was about to leave the restaurant.

  By now he had hardly enough strength left to stand up. He gripped the edge of the table, trying to support himself as he swayed unsteadily, his mouth wide open and gasping for air. His mouth was a dark hole within a yellow-brown, horrifying, distorted face that resembled more a dead man's skull than that of a living person's head.

  Suddenly Ron began to remember. The memories of the data implanted by Maj. Quinto's mysterious instruments became activated. He recalled the conversation Dick Kindsom had carried on with Dr. Zuglert and especially the way the poor doctor had looked. His appearance had been identical to that of the sick man here in the restaurant.

  Ron acted with lightning speed. He grabbed Gerard's lapels and jerked him off his seat at the table. "You stay close behind me!" he commanded.

  Gerard nodded his head mechanically. His eyes were still glued to the spot where the man with the dead mm's skul
l had been standing though he was now hidden from sight by the curious and frightened crowd around his table.

  Ron pushed aside the people in his path. "Let me thru," he announced. "I'm a physician!"

  Out of the corner of his eyes Ron saw that Gerard followed behind him obediently. The people stepped aside to make room for him.

  Nobody asked to see an identification. They were all strangers who had by coincidence been present in this eating place when one of the guests became ill. It did not occur to them to question anybody who declared himself to be a doctor.

  Ron worked his way straight to the table where the skull-headed man was still swaying, trying to keep his balance. The sick man did not seem to notice him. He was a Terran, no doubt about that. Ron seized him by his arm. "Come along with me, I'm a doctor," he urged him in English. "I'll help you."