by Perry Rhodan
He was stunned by the impact but soon recovered and realized that this misfortune had been caused by the different gravitational conditions inside the Arkonides' living space. They had restored the same gravitational pull here that existed on their home planet, which corresponded approximately to that of Earth. Tako's Arkonide transport suit, however, had been adjusted to the 2·8 G's prevalent on the planet Naat.
Tako made the necessary adjustments and sank gently down into a soft flowerbed. Cautiously he crept toward a nearby bush to take cover. Then he looked around to orient himself in his new surroundings. The interior of the funnel was brightly lit. Tako had landed on the lowest floor - at the very bottom of the funnel-stem. The lowest floor formed the base for the terrace storeys above it; it was circular in shape and had the same diameter as the funnel-stem, which it closed off like a lid cover.
This circle whose diameter was some 90 feet across had been landscaped like a garden. Tako raised his helmet a bit in order to get a truer impression of his surroundings. A thousand breathtaking, bewildering odors overwhelmed him and made him sneeze.
Narrow pathways crisscrossed the maze formed by flowers, trees and bushes. Tako heard the sound of murmuring water. The Arkonides had probably put in a little artificial brook in their garden.
Tako's glance traveled upwards after he had seen his fill of the beautiful scenery around him. The funnel walls rose powerfully yet daintily, diverging as they rose higher and higher, finally seeming to vanish at the top edge of an intensely black circle.
The sky! The dark nocturnal sky of Naat. Tako Kakuta felt somewhat reassured when he realized that even in the midst of this almost decadent splendor he was not entirely cut off from the natural environment. Being able to look at the sky, even if it was reduced to a mere black spot, chased away some of the anxiety he had experienced awhile earlier.
He carefully studied the structure of the terraced storeys of the funnel house. He estimated the height of the individual terraces to be approximately 12 to 15 feet, accordingly these funnel walls were divided into 40 to 50 terraces which were arranged on top of each other.
The various terraced storeys offered a pleasantly diversified sight. Open niches alternated with glass walls and windows. Occasionally some platforms jutted out from the regular arrangement of the circular terrace walls, obviously serving as lookout points or landing platforms for incoming airplanes.
The park where Tako had landed extended also across the three lowest terraced storeys, partially in the form of hanging gardens which made the contours of the terraces disappear behind opulently spreading greenery. Strange looking structures and sculptures peered out from among the plants. Tako was sure they were part of the many foot-bridges and platforms the Arkonides had built in this verdure so that the inhabitants could stroll about in the fresh air if so inclined.
He tried to locate stairwells or vertical corridors that connected the various levels with each other but in vain. They were probably situated at he back, directly at the funnel wall, therefore invisible from where Tako was standing now.
Tako consulted his watch. He had spent roughly 10 minutes looking around and taking an inventory of the terrain. Now he knew what the interior of the funnel-building looked like, at least superficially. He wondered why he hadn't seen a single Arkonide so far.
Were they all asleep?
Tako risked a second, very short jump, and landed on the fifth floor terrace. The park and the gardens were lying below. From his vantage point he could now see the brook and the little pond whose babbling noises he heard before.
He was standing on a section of the corridor whose side facing the funnel interior was open except for a three-foot high balustrade. On either side of the balustrade, however, rose high walls reaching all the way up to the beginning of the next terrace above. The open section of this corridor was closed off by doors from the adjoining rooms. Tako turned to the right and was pleased to note that the door - as all Arkonide doors are wont to do — opened automatically as soon as he approached to within three feet of it.
The room beyond the door was brightly lit. Along the window wall Tako noticed several consoles whose levers, switches and gauges indicated that these were telecom transmitters. A few isolated armchairs were standing in the middle of the room. The opposite wall was covered by a row of videoscreens. "The ceiling near this wall revealed a circular opening. Quickly, Tako walked over to this wall, positioned himself directly below the circular opening in the ceiling. Immediately, just as he had expected, he felt the gentle pull of the artificial gravity field. He needed only to push off with a gentle effort and the field would have carried him safe and sound up to the next floor. An antigrav lift, Tako thought, with which he was quite familiar from the terrestrial spaceships.
Another glance at his watch reminded Tako that it was high time to return to the spot where he had left Rhodan and Bell. Fourteen minutes had gone by since he had parted company with them.
He closed his eyes and concentrated on the spot where the two were waiting for his return. Then he jumped.
• • •
Sergh of Telfron, from the House of the Hugral, stationed on Naat according to the Imperator's wise decision, generally had not the slightest idea what time of the day it was at the present moment outside the walls of his funnel-building. Being an Arkonide, and moreover belonging to a highly respected family, he would have considered it ridiculous or repulsive - according to his mood of the moment - if anyone had harbored the thought that he, Sergh, might arrange his day according to Nature's arbitrary division of light and darkness.
Sergh's actions were guided solely by his own needs and desires. He had not even the faintest idea how great an advantage he was enjoying compared to the Naats as well as to most of his fellow Arkonides who belonged to a lower social class: he held a public appointment which was actually carried out by smoothly working machines and a large staff of subalterns. He was residing in a funnel house far more luxurious than those on Arkon; it was much larger, better equipped and more lavishly furnished. All that was required of him as far as his office was concerned was his mere presence. For the rest of his time he spent indulging in his various hobbies.
He did not over exert himself in the pursuit of his pleasures either. His main occupation consisted in playing the 'simultan game,' which was enjoyed in a reclining position. This was naturally a most appropriate posture for those decadent and lethargic members of the Arkonide race.
Every day, for a few hours, Sergh would at least temporarily assume an upright position and visit the magnificent gardens of the lower floors. There he used to while away the time stretched out in the grass or rocking himself gently on one of the hanging walkways while engaging in pleasant conversation with one of his subalterns or some visitor.
And this was exactly what he was doing at the moment He had chosen his young deputy, Ghorn, for today's little outing. This choice had evoked little enthusiasm from Ghorn, since it involved leaving his comfortable couch, and most of all his fictive-screen, on which his thoughts would create abstract geometrics that were dancing and gliding in colorful patterns, following the rules of the simultan game. But seeing that Sergh was the only person whose word really counted in this palace, Ghorn refrained despite his lethargy - from leaving any of Sergh's wishes unfulfilled.
Together they were floating down through a series of anti-grav shafts till they reached the lowest floor. They came to the little babbling brook which emptied into a small pond. They reclined on the grassy bank of the little pond.
"Ghorn," asked Sergh, "why do you suppose it is easy to produce a blue figure with 13 angles but never a red one when we play the simultan game?"
Ghorn breathed a sigh of relief. He had secretly feared his boss would bring up a far more boring topic of conversation. "I don't know for sure, sir," he answered readily. But I suppose that such a thought pattern simply cannot be formed by our brains. A red 13-angled figure corresponds to a configuration of our thought centers which ca
nnot be achieved by Arkonide brains."
Sergh seemed intrigued by this brilliant notion. "Interesting, most interesting," he muttered. "This is very close to my own explanation of this puzzling phenomenon." He slightly raised himself on his elbows and peered over to a flowerbed with long-stemmed Fareh blossoms. "I am convinced," he continued after this major effort, "we might obtain many novel aspects if we could induce alien intelligences to participate in a simultan game. We could even go so far as to force some aliens to play the game. I am thinking of the Naats ..."
He drifted off into a reverie. Ghorn waited the correct period of time as required by proper Arkonide etiquette before he added respectfully: "It might even be feasible to condition non-intelligent life forms in such a manner that their primitive brain-wave patterns could be registered by the simulator."
Sergh congratulated himself on his splendid choice when he had asked his deputy Ghorn to accompany him down to the park. No doubt this was one of the young man's rare, good days. His ideas were fascinating.
Just imagine the magnificent display of colors and shapes, Sergh quickly thought to himself, if Ghorn's present thoughts could be fed into a simulator!
"Yes, indeed," Sergh spoke aloud, "that wouldn't be a bad idea. Someone ought to investigate if such an experiment would work in reality. Yes, indeed, a striking notion..."
That remark was as far as he would commit himself. He carefully concealed any display of the enthusiasm this splendid idea generated in him.
Ghorn, on the other hand, was thinking: I bet you'll find out soon, you old phokx. And if the experiment should succeed, no one would dare doubt any longer that the idea originated in your brain.
"The instinctual pattern of a Vnatolian serpent-fish ought to look sensational on the picture screen ..." murmured Sergh.
And since Ghorn had already started to give away freely his best thoughts, he objected: "I am less fastidious, sir ... or more pretentious, perhaps. I'd be interested to observe the emotional or nervous activity of a flower projected on the simultan game screen. What a marvelous picture could result if the simulator would register and project visually for us the emotional interplay of such a harmonious creature!"
In case Ghorn had counted on enticing Sergh to an even greater display of enthusiasm than before with this new suggestion, he was quickly disappointed. Sergh, who long since had languidly resumed his reclining position, once more raised himself up on his elbows, looked again over to the flower beds and remarked in a rather unexpected unfriendly tone of voice: "Somebody has been trampling around in my Fareh flowerbed! If I only knew who committed such a savage act I'd condemn him to wrestle with a Naat."
Ghorn felt cold shivers down his spine. For any Arkonide who had lost his immunity because of some criminal act and who was condemned to a wrestling match with a Naat, this meant death! The Naats considered such matches a sacred sport and all Arkonide attempts - long since abandoned - at civilizing the barbarian Naats had failed miserably in this respect: the victorious Naat would invariably kill the defeated opponent in such a wrestling match.
Ghorn stood up to have a closer look at the flower bed. He walked over while Sergh, halfway raised up on his elbows, watched him curiously. The flowerbed was a mess. It looked as if somebody had fallen down into it from a considerable height and had landed flat on his back. Ghorn fully appreciated Sergh's anger. These Fareh flowers were considered one of the most expensive ornamental plants. They came from a poisonous swamp more than 10,000 light-years away and the men who made this long and perilous voyage, only to gather up these greatly coveted plants, demanded a very high price for their trouble.
Ghorn advanced to the spot where the unknown person's feet had dug into the soft ground. From here he could no longer see Sergh. His view was blocked by many thick bushes. He could only hear the pleasant murmuring of the little brook which emptied into the pond.
Now he noticed footprints in the soft soil of the flowerbed. They were strangely shaped that Ghorn began to become exited, an emotion he very rarely experienced. Each footprint measured some 9 to 10 inches. That was much shorter than the usual length of an Arkonide foot. Besides, not only was it considerably shorter but also of a disgusting width.
Might have been caused by the fact that the stranger was wearing some footgear, pondered Gorn.
But who would wear such ugly shoes?
No Arkonide, decided Ghorn.
But nobody except Arkonides were permitted to enter the funnel building. Therefore some one must have stolen inside without permission. But automatic announcers were fail-proof. There was no possibility of tampering with them from the outside - unless the entire house were destroyed.
Ghorn emerged running from the cluster of bushes, a feat which seemed to frighten Sergh. Ghorn reported his findings to the administrator, who rose from the ground with a great deal of moaning and groaning. With a very cross face he walked slowly, as befitted a man of his station in life, over to the flowerbed and inspected the damage and the footprints.
The sight of the tracks strangely enough seemed to cheer him up. He pursued the trail beyond the trampled flowerbed right up to the spot where they suddenly ceased. Sergh turned around and with a malicious smile said to Ghorn: "A stranger has intruded into our funnel-house. Aclever stranger, my friend. We'll have some fun now to watch him and see what he is doing inside the building. Too bad he seems to have the bodybuild of an Arkonide or at least of a Naat. As I said before, I'd have preferred a Vnatolian serpent-fish. But of course it's too much to expect a serpent-fish to have intelligence and to be clever besides.
"Come along, Ghorn! Let's see where our unknown intruder is!"
• • •
Since Perry Rhodan had found out now from Tako that at least for the time being this funnel-house showed no sign of life or activity, he did not hesitate to apply the information he had acquired through the Arkonide hypno-training.
He knew that the automatic door mechanisms which regulated the opening and closing of the entrance gate to the funnel-house were installed in the upper end of the funnel-stem - below the floor of the garden that Tako had inspected immediately after he had telejumped inside the building a while ago.
"The mechanism is located there in an engine room," Rhodan explained to Tako, "And since the Arkonides have always been such wizards when they first installed these machines, no repairs are ever necessary. So nobody is staying in this engine room.
"When you teleport yourself back in there, Tako, and find yourself surrounded uncomfortably close by machines, don't worry! Just find the switch I already described to you and break the circuit for half a minute!"
Tako repeated Rhodan's order almost word for word. Then he disappeared.
Rhodan announced to the Ganymede : "Phase D!"
Then he turned to Bell and said: "When Tako cuts the circuit, the entrance gate will slide open over there. As long as it is open, the automatic announcer will not function. So hop to it and get inside as long as Tako has his fingers on that machine!"
Bell's first reply consisted merely of an assenting grunt. Then, "Don't worry, Perry," he added after a few seconds. "Believe me, I have ants in my pants. The moment that thing budges as much as an inch I'll take off like a super rocket."
The seconds seemed to be creeping at a snail's pace, Rhodan was aware that his friend Reg was just about to add some other impatient comment but before Bell could utter the first word a change occurred in the fluorescent glow of the opposite funnel walls: a black gap appeared between the portal and the wall of the funnel stem.
Bell had not made any vain promises. He took off like a bat out of Trans-Helvania and arrived so quickly at his destination that for a moment Rhodan feared the automatic announcer might still have registered the beginning of Bell's take-off.
The gate was not yet completely opened - Arkonide portals like their builders customarily would take their own sweet time - but Bell, all loaded down with his heavy disintegrator weapon, hastily forced his way through the narrow
chink, then with a mechanical movement of his hand adjusted the neutralizer to the weaker gravity. Once inside, still panting from exertion, he called over his helmet speaker: "Perry, hurry up! It's touch and go!"
But Rhodan did not rush. He knew how long half a minute seemed for his friend, all worried that the seconds would run out prematurely. Calmly he passed through the meanwhile completely opened portal, stepped beside Bell and waited till Tako in the engine room above them would take care of dosing the two panels of the portal once again.
Then he looked around.
The interior of the funnel stem was a circular hall 90 feet across. What he saw corresponded to the image he remembered from his hypno-schooling. Precious wall hangings, a flood of multicolored lights emanating from invisible sources, three-dimensional paintings covering the 38 foot high ceiling. The artwork gave testimony to an eccentric imagination. Any visitor entering this room would already be overwhelmed by the opulent taste of the landlord before he had seen any of the actual living quarters.
The symmetry of the ceiling was interrupted by a dark hole, lying somewhat off center. It was perfectly round and measured 9 feet across,Wide enough thought Rhodan sarcastically, to let an entire company pass through within a few seconds.
Bell looked up at the hole with a questioning expression.
"Go on!" Rhodan urged. "Get a move on, Reg!"
Bell bestowed a glance filled with sheer disgust upon his friend. "I've been waiting all this time for you finally to say something!"
With five long strides he reached the spot directly below the hole, gazed up into it as if striking careful aim and gently pushed off with a shove of his right leg. He was seized by the suction of the anti-grav field which pulled him upwards. Four seconds later he had disappeared through the hole.
Rhodan followed him without hesitating. The colored light in the entrance hall grew dark as soon as he had passed the hole in the ceiling.
