To Arkon! Read online

  Bell was waiting for him. Tako, who had followed Rhodan's orders, was now standing beside Bell. Rhodan took time om to praise the little Japanese mutant for the exemplary execution of his latest job. Tako acknowledged this gratefully, smiling all over his wide, round, baby face.

  The room they were in now represented the second progressive level that would acquaint a guest with the financial and social standing of his host. Unlike the entrance hall, this room had some furniture. Several armchairs, arranged in a random pattern typical for the Arkonides' taste, invited the visitor for a first rest pause. Hardly visible, circular grooves in the floor indicated where automatic serving tables were installed. A halfway uttered order expressed by the guest sufficed to raise these serving tables bearing the desired food or object to within easy reach, which was regulated by the way the armchair had been adjusted.

  The room was in the shape of a triangle. Its diameter was less than that of the funnel stem and its ceiling was just 10 feet high. This was an indication that behind the walls were housed the multitude of servo-mechanisms which permitted the Arkonide inhabitant to lead the kind of life he desired. The hole of the anti-grav shaft was again not properly centered in the ceiling. Neither was it located straight above the hole through which Rhodan and Bell had just emerged.

  There followed a number of additional rooms - each one smaller, more intimate and more lavishly furnished than the preceding one. There was no mistaking the owner's obvious intention to prepare his visitor step by step for the splendor of his actual living quarters.

  Rhodan and his companions passed altogether through six such halls, rooms and chambers before they penetrated through the ceiling of a small room and finally reached the lowest floor of the funnel's interior, which was covered with greenery and flowers whose perfume pervaded even to the inside of their helmets, filters notwithstanding.

  "We know," Rhodan said calmly after having concluded an inspection of their surroundings, "that the Arkonides prefer locating their living quarters in the upper storeys of such a building. And up there is where we'll have to search for the administrator. Therefore we must get as fast as possible beyond the 38th floor. To save time we'll have to separate and carry out individually out task at hand ... at least till we'll have found the administrator.

  "Don't be over-impressed by all this splendor and riches! Search for Sergh and don't stop any place where he obviously wouldn't be! You realize we are facing a much more important mission here than investigating what the interior of an Arkonide funnel building looks like.

  "The Ganymede has been immobilized; it can't budge from the spaceport. We want to set it free in order to fly to Arkon. We must reach Arkon because Terra needs help.

  "Just keep this in mind!"

  The admonition sounded so urgent, that not even the usually disrespectful Bell dared make a remark.

  • • •

  Sergh's idea of placing the unknown intruders under surveillance caused a great deal of unrest in the usually very quiet house. Ghorn, who was in charge of this action for the funnel's interior, was much busier than he cared to be.

  But when he wanted to deliver in person an important bit of news to his superior, Sergh was carrying on a telecom conversation which seemed to be even more important and more exciting; for Ghorn had hardly opened his mouth to start his report - "They have separated, sir! Would you like to ..." - than Sergh waved him off impatiently and hissed: "Shh! I'm just talking with Arkon!

  Ghorn withdrew. He was uncertain what he was supposed to do now. Telecom talks talks with Arkon were as rare as green blossoms. Maybe Sergh would no longer be interested in surveying these strange intruders after he'd finished that conversation. And since the whole burden of this enterprise rested on Ghorn's shoulders, he was naturally most willing to forgot about the whole thing, stop the surveillance and leave the strangers to their fate of getting caught by the automatic traps which Ghorn had checked out and found to be working again faultlessly.

  But one could never be sure about Sergh!

  While Ghorn returned to his observation post on the 40th floor, he was pondering woefully how much it would behoove him to become an administrator. Not necessarily right on as important a world as Naat; Ghorn was well aware that these administrative positions were reserved for the members of the most respected families. But Vnatol would do nicely for him. Then he'd be able to supply Sergh with his much-loved serpent-fishes - and more important yet, he could be his own lord and master.

  But the good old days were long since gone when the galactic empire was growing and another administrator was needed every day. The kind of position Ghorn wanted was rarely available.

  Ghorn was so preoccupied with these sad thoughts that upon his return to the control room he failed to notice immediately that a whole row of lights had gone dark on the panel which indicated the proper functioning of the various mechanical gadgets and installations. He sat down at the control console and stated that the automatic search instruments had meanwhile lost sight of the strange intruders. He tried to locate them again.

  While he was busy turning knobs and flipping switches, systematically letting pass in review on the videoscreen before him every room on every floor, he accidentally glanced over to the light panel. Now he reacted quite startled as saw the darkened row of light bulbs. He bent over his instruments and was surprised to note they were in perfect working order, although his light panel told a different story.

  He felt confused and a bit helpless. He stood up to investigate what might have gone wrong with this light panel. But as soon as he came to within two feet of it the darkened row of lights flared up again.

  Ghorn wiped the perspiration from his forehead. He moved back a step - and the lamps went out again. He stepped closer to the light panel and the lights shone brightly once again.

  Ghorn's confusion gave way to a mild sensation of fear. But calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, he returned to his console and continued his work. He did not feel reassured that the burning lamps on the light panel were clearly visible now.

  He kept fiddling with the buttons, switches and levers of his control panel until suddenly the light went out in the entire room, a heavy shutter moved across the window opening toward the interior side of the funnel-house and an impenetrable darkness spread throughout the small room.

  Ghorn had only a vague idea of the danger he was exposing himself to. He realized that the automatic safety guard instruments, which were part of each room of the funnel, might react too slowly if the picture he had of the current situation were correct.

  But like all Arkonides - and in this he was no different from Sergh, his lord and master - he loved the sensation of nervous titillation and was less concerned with the danger. A trait, which from a human point of view, was a symptom of hysteria rather than a sign of courage.

  He kept on manipulating the controls on his panel. He was so familiar with the arrangements in this small room that he could easily manage even in the dark. The videoscreens and the monitor lamps had grown dark together with the control room's illumination.

  A pale, flickering light suddenly penetrated the black room. The light seemed to come from nowhere and for a while didn't go anywhere; but then there appeared on the wall opposite Ghorn's seat a circular, 9 foot high spot of iridescent light which reached from the floor to the ceiling.

  Inside this light spot appeared the silhouette of an odd-looking figure. It was too small for an Arkonide although its two arms, two legs and a head were in the right place - too fat to be attractive and so shapeless that Ghorn arrived at the conclusion that what he was seeing in the shaft of light was not a silhouette of the creature's own figure but rather that of its wrap or garment.

  Ghorn saw that the stranger held something cradled in his arm. The thing had a short handle. Ghorn believed this to be a weapon of some kind. His unwarranted courage swiftly left him.

  He wanted to say something - something reassuring perhaps that would make the stranger ref
rain from shooting. But the same instant the figure moved its arm quickly toward its bulbous top and the shapeless sphere that Ghorn had believed to be its head slipped aside revealing a rather round skull. Despite his growing fear, Ghorn still managed to notice with amazement that this head was adorned with short bristles instead of the usual long hair.

  Ghorn once more was just about to speak but the unknown creature beat him to it: "Alright!" it said. "Turn on the light, will you!"

  Ghorn realized that the stranger spoke a somewhat crude yet correct version of the Arkonide language. Obediently Ghorn threw a few light switches. The shutters in front of the window vanished and the light came on again. Ghorn turned away from his control panel and looked at the intruder who was now standing behind him and over to one side. He realized now what had caused the control lamps to go out a little while ago; the intruder had positioned himself too close to the light panel, causing it to go dark, and had then stepped aside when he noticed that Ghorn's suspicions had been roused.

  Ghorn looked into a round, grim face. Above the forehead rose vertically a thatch of dirty-red hair bristles. Ghorn saw that the stranger's weapon was not aimed directly at him. The intruder seemed to feel very sure of himself.

  "What ... what do you want?" stuttered Ghorn.

  The intruder continued grinning fiercely. "I want to talk with the administrator. Are you the administrator by chance?"

  Ghorn's hands fluttered rather helplessly as he signaled a silent "No." Then timidly he added: "I am Ghorn."

  The stranger almost imperceptibly bowed his head. It struck Ghorn that this was not exactly a sign of politeness but rather was intended to be ironic. "My name is Bell," the intruder replied. "Reginald Bell." He pronounced the alien-sounding syllables of his name so fluently that Ghorn quickly dismissed the notion he might after all be dealing here with some poor misshapen Arkonide, especially since the man was wearing clothing of Arkonide design.

  What was the stranger's origin? wondered Ghorn silently.

  The intruder who called himself Bell pulled up a chair and sat down. "Get in touch with your administrator," Bell began. "Ask him to come here. Then I and two of my friends who will shortly join us here will have a talk with Sergh."

  Ghorn's voice was filled with desperation. "If you should have even the vaguest concept of our mode of living," he implored Bell, "you'd imagine what will happen to me if I ..."

  "I almost forgot," interrupted Bell disdainfully. "Sergh would banish you to some horrible desert planet, if not worse. Alright, then, announce me to him. My friends and I will go and see him together with you."

  Ghorn seized upon this suggestion like a starving man a husk of corn. The stranger represented a definite threat and Ghorn was convinced Sergh would share his impression once he laid eyes on him. It had definitely been a mistake when the administrator had decided to limit himself to mere observation of these intruders. Such creatures were dangerous; in one minute they proposed as many new ideas as an Arkonide would in perhaps one whole day. They were reeking of unnatural activity.

  Ghorn knew that Sergh's private apartments were equipped with a profusion of automatic safety devices. The moment the intruder and his friends - who apparently were foolish enough to insist on a private face-to-face conversation with the administrator - would cross his threshold, they were doomed.

  Ghorn tried to locate the administrator. He was feverish with an unaccustomed impatience and hoped Sergh would not happen to be in one of his private rooms just now, for none of the search instruments would reach him there.

  Out of the corner of his eye Ghorn was aware that Bell had in the meantime pulled up his helmet again. Ghorn heard him mumble a few words in an alien language. The Arkonide assumed that Bell was communicating with his two friends.

  Then Ghorn's attention was attracted by Sergh's face as it came on, looking tired and bored as usual on the picture screen. Ghorn heard a swift movement behind his back and knew it would be a matter of life or death for him to avoid letting Sergh catch a glimpse of the stranger. He rapidly made the necessary adjustments on his videoset. Ghorn noticed that Sergh was still sitting before the same telecom as during their earlier brief conversation, when Ghorn had tried in vain to announce to his boss that the intruders had become separated.

  Ghorn formulated his request very carefully: "Sir, if your time will permit I'd like to present to you an important problem."

  Sergh was not that tired that such a proposal would have annoyed him now. He remembered the fine thoughts which Ghorn had explained a couple of hours earlier and he displayed some measure of interest. "I wouldn't mind," he answered, stifling a yawn. "We can continue our conversation in my vide room. Will you come right away?"

  "Of course, sir," Ghorn answered eagerly. "I won't make you wait!"

  Sergh cut the connection. Ghorn heard Bell's voice growling behind his back: "Don't be in such a hurry, friend! My two companions must get here first."

  Ghorn did not reply but remained seated very quietly. A little while later the door opened but nobody entered the room. The door closed again and two figures seemed to grow out of the void.

  Ghorn turned around abruptly and started at the two. He saw a small man with a yellow complexion, slant eyes and a constant smile on his face. He perceived another man, almost as tall as an Arkonide, whose face was serious and who aroused fear in Ghorn the way he looked at him out of his icy-grey eyes.

  Ghorn realized that instant that the third man was the most dangerous of these intruders. The man with the steely glance addressed Ghorn now in a faultless, accent-free Arkonide dialect: " Paqpaq! Let's go, then! Or are you waiting for something else?"

  5/ AFOUL OF A MENTO-FUSE

  Ever since the beginning of Phase D, Col. Freyt had not heard a word from Rhodan. However he wasn't worried about that, for in case Rhodan would encounter serious difficulties they had arranged a special emergency signal and it would take a set of extraordinary circumstances, which Freyt believed to be most unlikely, for Rhodan not to be able to send the prearranged S.O.S.

  In any case, Freyt was constantly at his post to do all in his power should he receive Rhodan's appeal for help. Freyt was extremely tired, his eyes were burning and his head would droop down on his chest from time to time - but he stayed at his post.

  When the telecom's warning signal buzzed, Freyt's hand shot forward, hit the red release button squarely and his red-rimmed eyes fixed the image that began to take shape on the screen.

  What he saw there was not the no-picture-sign which he had expected from Rhodan, since he, Bell and Tako could carry with them no visual image transmitter on their mission. Instead Col. Freyt saw appear on the screen a bullet-shaped, hairless skull covered with leathery, black skin, staring at him out of three eyes with a most disinterested expression.

  Freyt concealed the repulsion he felt towards the gigantic Naat.

  "This is Novaal speaking," announced the Naat with a toneless voice. "I have a message for you."

  Freyt nodded his head and said: "I'm listening!"

  "The Exalted Administrator instructed me to inform you that it would suit him to receive a visit from the two Arkonides you have on board. Would you kindly pass this message on to them."

  Freyt knew what he owed his position. "I shall let then know," he answered. "They will have to decide for themselves if this visit will also suit them."

  Novaal's dark face turned into a grimace. Freyt was not sure whether this grimace was supposed to be a grin; in any case, for just a moment, he felt more sympathetic toward the Naat than he had before.

  Freyt informed Thora and Khrest, who were staying in their private rooms aboard the Ganymede , about this conversation. Khrest reacted with calm to it, while Thora's eyes were spitting fire, just as Freyt expected.

  Col. Freyt was rather surprised when barely half an hour later the two Arkonides got in touch with him and declared they would accept the invitation.

  Freyt's face grew sombre as he replied: "As far as I understoo
d there was no mention of an invitation. But I'll be happy to forward your decision."

  • • •

  Sergh was lying on a couch covered with precious Seveloth fur from Uthalls. Vibrations of constantly changing frequency and intensity were coursing through his body, which aroused in him a high degree of physical comfort and delight. Sergh was projecting a few bored thoughts onto the fictiv-screen.

  The result was miserable. Boredom and poor concentration combined to produce a monotonous, dull green which moved slowly and with sleep-inducing paucity of configurations across the screen. Sergh was none too pleased with himself.

  Too much-work during these past few hours! The door announcer began to hum. Sergh's hand fell limply down beside the couch and pressed the response button. On a little video-receiver next to the big fictive-screen appeared Ghorn's face. Quite unnecessarily the warning device on the opposite wall announced that he was carrying no weapons.

  "Oh, it's you," sighed Sergh with an insulting lack of enthusiasm. "Did you make an appointment?"

  "Yes, sir." Ghorn nodded his head with astonishing eagerness. "Come in!" Ghorn's picture faded from the video-receiver screen. The door opened automatically upon registering

  Ghorn's word impulses. Sergh could hear Ghorn enter the anteroom. Was this only Ghorn? It sounded as if— Sergh raised himself up on his elbows and glanced at the door. The simultan game ended in a disharmony of colors and forms. The door opened. Ghorn came in - his face an anxious mixture of slyness and a bad conscience. And behind him—! Sergh sat up startled and uttered a scream filled with utmost indignation. This was the first scream that had come from his lips ever since he had been a child.

  Having cried out, the administrator lacked any further strength for the time being to make any more utterances. His mouth hanging open, he stared at the three men who had entered his room together with Ghorn. Only some time later did he remember that he had instructed Ghorn to put under surveillance the unknown intruder who had so barbarically treated his precious Fareh flowers, and that at some moment Ghorn had begun to report about having located three intruders instead of the single one Sergh had at first assumed.