by Perry Rhodan
Marshall quickly installed his tiny breathing device and took a few deep breaths, then rubbed the sweat from his brow.
The odor was spreading like a viscous fog, constantly reinforced by new emissions from Cargo Hold F.
Ara zoologists, even though somewhat used to this sort of thing, fell unconscious in droves while some managed to escape along with the curiosity seekers. Only after an hour had passed, the stench-wave growing nearer to the gigantic terminal building all the time could the unloading of the animals be begun.
Kolex stood next to Marshall at the broad ramp and watched while a 30-foot polyp-monster was seized with tractor beams and placed behind the energy barrier of a transport cage.
"An oxygen breather!" exclaimed Kolex excitedly. "And what a smell! This one feature alone is something entirely new to us! One question: why do these creatures give off such an unbearable odor?"
John Marshall played his role of a business-minded galactic trader to the hilt. "If I had known they smelled like this, you would have had to pay a lot more than two million!"
The remark reminded Kolex that he had tried to pressure the animal dealer. Inspired by the feeling he ought to make up for it, he commented: "Our deal is known all over town, Ixt! Just yesterday I was visited by the Secret Service! Have you ever done anything on any world under Ara jurisdiction that conflicts with our laws? The officer inquired in great detail as to how our deal had come about! Trust me, Ixt, and I'll try to help you! I have no small influence even with the Secret Service!"
John Marshall immediately went cold and checked Kolex' thoughts; but the chief of the Purchasing Administration was saying just what he thought.
"Secret Service? Me?" said John in simulated surprise. "No, I've never been aware of running up against any laws. Did the officer say why he had come?"
"Yes, Ixt! Your personal identification isn't consistent! There's supposedly a galactic trader named Ixt living on Xylon in the Hogur System! Ixt, when I look at the wonderful treasure you've sold us, it does my heart good! Even if you were under suspicion for something, I would try to help you! Trust me, Springer!"
John Marshall wondered why the ground didn't open up beneath his feet and engulf him. He couldn't let Kolex' remark go unanswered but just at that moment Laury Marten's telepathic call came to him.
"Later!" he telepathed back to her. "Not now! 10 minutes from now, fine, but not now, Laury!"
"But I found them! I found the people the Springers' rumors said were in the zoo! Marshall, I must tell you right now that..."
Even swearwords could be transmitted telepathically and John Marshall ignored the fact that she was a lady. He was the leader of their commando team and he forbade her to bother him now with her telepathic message.
He took a deep breath. Then he looked at Kolex. "What were you saying, Kolex?" Then he laughed. "Thanks," he went on. "I won't forget that you wanted to help me but I don't think it will be necessary. I would really like to know, though, why the Secret Service is so interested in me. I am Ixt and this Ixt on Xylon must be an impostor!"
"...In any event, you've sold us the most sensational catch of the last millennium," Kolex said—and yet, it sounded as though meant to hint at something, have a double meaning, and be a warning, all at the same time!
Marshall checked over the Ara's thoughts but found nothing more than what Kolex had told him. What motive had prompted Kolex' clear warning? Did he act on the basis of his feelings?
• • •
Behind a low hill in the continental zoo, Laury Marten suddenly saw a structure that reminded her of a Swedish peasant's hut.
She had been on the way to the enclosure where the bombos were kept, those ape-like creatures with two heads. The bombos not only possessed short arms that resembled those of men but could also speak, write and read.
The direction-finder built into her land-going vehicle had been set to the bombos' enclosure when by merest chance she had seen the Swedish peasant's hut. A quarter of a mile away, enclosed by poplar trees and roofed with straw, it had struck her like a greeting from Terra!
Braking sharply, she brought the vehicle to a stop, climbed out and ran towards the energy-barrier, keeping a lookout for Froghs.
No froghs were visible as far as she could see. When she ran into the energy-barrier and was thrown back half a step, she had made her decision.
She was not just a telepath, she was also a human disintegrator. She could dissolve molecular bonds by the sheer force of her will. Thanks to her ability she could step through solid walls and even energy screens with no danger at all.
Laury Marten stretched her hand to the invisible energy barrier, concentrated and focused her will like the burning point of a lens on the barrier. She felt the barrier resist, so she strengthened her concentration. Then she took another step and smiled in relief. The solid, undamaged energy barrier was now behind her.
This section of the zoo lay over 120 miles from the area open to the public but one could still see everywhere just how much effort the Aras had expended in simulating the original environments of the inmates.
The Swedish cottage towards which Laury ran could very well have been standing in Sweden. There was nothing alien about it. It was a Swedish cottage reproduced to the most minute detail. But when she actually stood before the house, she was startled. Just how old was this cottage, she wondered in surprise, shaking her head upon seeing the crude, wrought iron door handle and the hinges, nearly an inch thick.
When she took a look inside, she saw an open fire and a copper kettle, black with soot, hanging on a tripod.
Middle Ages, she thought in amazement and searched for the farm cottage's inhabitants; even with her telepathic powers, however, she found no one in the immediate vicinity.
She turned quickly around to look for any of the ever-suspicious Froghs but had to smile in relief when she saw that none of the serpent-creatures were around. She dashed around the house; now she had the building and the rustling trees to cover her from the rear.
Her steps grew slower. The narrow, plainly used footpath led upwards along a slope. She had expected a new surprise when she reached the top but what she actually saw stopped her dead in her tracks. Uncomprehending, she stared at a structure erected in Aztec style! Aztecs? Historical dates ran through her mind. Aztecs: Indian inhabitants of Central America, subjugated by
Cortez between 1519 and 1521, their culture destroyed and their gruesome and bloody religion wiped out at about the same time. With that her knowledge of Aztecs was exhausted but the building before her eyes—A Palace—reminded her of pictures she had seen of Aztec architecture.
17th Century? Was the Swedish farmhouse from that period too? Then she gave a start—a man had stepped out of the large doorway at the side of the Aztec palace! Laury Marten felt her heart pound. A man, quite unaware of her presence, left his palace and walked towards the left, in the direction of a flat structure that looked like an enclosure for a fountain. But how he walked! Like a king! And like a king's, too, were his figure and bearing! He was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was dark and shone like silk. Now he lay down at the flat enclosure. The girl mutant slowly started to move. The man still knew nothing of her presence. Then she stumbled.
Two stones struck each other and the silence carried the echoes even farther than usual. The man raised his head and saw her, then got to his feet. His right hand went to the hilt of his short sword while his left pulled off his broad-rimmed hat. He took half a step backwards and made a deep, graceful bow. He straightened up and—and Laury Marten and Duke Rodrigo de Berceo stood facing each other! She stared at him like a little girl. He was of mixed blood—mixed to advantage. Aztec and Spanish blood had combined in Duke Rodrigo to produce an extraordinary example of manly beauty.
How fiery were his eyes! How commanding was his jaw!
His nose was just a little too big but even that was enough to give his masculine face the touch of a fearless crusader, of a proud man!
And n
ow he was smiling at her. Laury saw his nostrils tremble and felt his gaze, which held only the highest respect.
"'Kartaga tardaga?' Who are you?" she asked in the language of the Aras, as hesitant as a shy schoolgirl.
"Duke Rodrigo de Berceo, son of the Aztec Princess Uxatelxin and the Spanish Duke Juan de Berceo. I was born in Mexico in the Year of Our Lord 1652 and at the age of 22 abducted to Tolimon. Would it please you to hear more, milady?"
Born in 1652!
Back on Earth, it was May 2040!
And Duke Rodrigo de Berceo looked no older than 30!
To live 400 years and still look 30?
Until Laury Marten thought to use her telepathic ability to search Duke Rodrigo's mind, previous minutes of hastily formed questions and answers had ticked by. And her astonishment grew.
Her eyes were continually drawn to his form and the more she looked at him the more familiar she became with his costume: tight-top boots reaching to his hips, skin-tight pants of velvet, a short and armless jacket closed by a wide belt, the soft, turned-up blouse collar protruding elegantly from the jacket's neck, the billowing sleeves of the snow-white blouse ending in delicate points, the gleaming scabbard and the short sword swinging back and forth on its silver chain and the plumed broad-brimmed hat waving in the wind.
The heavy golden chain about his neck did not seem ostentatious: like the Aztec sun-god amulet it carried, it simply belonged to the costume of the 17th Century.
It seemed like a crime to Laury Marten to search through Duke Rodrigo's thoughts. Even though she remembered that it was her duty and part of her mission, she did it only reluctantly. That fact alone was the first sign of something happening to her which even she was not consciously aware of.
And then, a fraction of a second after first looking into his mind, she realized he had been telling the truth—this '30'-year-old really was born in Mexico in 1652!
I've got to tell Marshall about this! was her only thought and while Duke Rodrigo admired her from a short distance away she made contact with John Marshall in Trulan. In the next moment she received his harsh reply and stinging rebuke and then John Marshall broke the contact!
Rodrigo, however, interpreted Laury Marten's visible anguish as having resulted from his openly expressed admiration for her.
He, the man from the 17th Century, suddenly kneeled before her, grasped her hand and pressed his lips against it in a polite kiss. He begged forgiveness for the fire in his heart.
At any other time, Laury Marten, child of the 21st Century, might only have smiled in sympathy at his manner of speaking—but now she saw only the homage of a man who was concerned that he might have gone too far in his admiration for a beautiful young woman.
Laury Marten did not take her hand away.
• • •
John Marshall met with Egmon and Tulin, two of Rohun's Agents, in the Hall of Dreams as he had at length been able to arrange with Tulin.
There was no meeting-place less obvious than this obscure pleasure palace, which was forbidden for all Aras. The Hall of Dreams was devoted entirely to poisoned dreams—drugs. Whatever Hell had invented to ruin mankind could be had here for a price. Any wish at all could be realized in the Hall of Dreams.
John Marshall closed the ray-screen that shielded his booth in invisibility. Despite the multitude of private booths in the Hall of Dreams, a newcomer would only see, as he had when first coming in, a vast domed interior, yawning in its emptiness.
He stretched out on the bare floor. The herfnis drug lay next to him but he had no intention of rubbing it between his fingers and then surrendering his soul to the orgy of colors the poison offered.
His telepathic power broke through the ray-screen and grasped for the thoughts of Egmon and Tulin—instead, he gripped into the mind of someone at the main door who had come here for a mere diversion, taking the first step off the precipice as it were.
Overcome with loathing, Marshall regretted ever having had the idea of meeting in the Hall of Dreams. Then he caught the thoughts of Egmon and Tulin, who neither suffered from addiction nor had the desire to play games with dangerous drugs.
The dare-devilish Tulin whispered to Egmon: "How are we ever going to find him?"
John Marshall then brought his psychobeamer to bear, leading them through the maze of invisible ray cabinets and stopped them in front of his own booth.
He opened the ray-screen for a few moments and Egmon and Tulin grinned in astonishment when they saw him lying on the bare floor. They sat down on the floor beside him. There was no other place to sit.
Both Springers threw coins in the comer. Tulin muttered a curse. "That's good money down the hole. 'Pearl Dreams' they're nothing compared to my nightmares!"
Marshall had no idea what Pearl Dreams were but Tulin's nightmares interested him.
"My nightmares are the latest Ara robots on duty in the serum works, Ixt!" he explained grimly. "Now we know why there isn't any Estgal clan anymore! The Aras are always coming up with new deviltries to make our work harder for us—and now they've mixed watch-robots with the work-robots! You can't tell them apart but the Watchers are there, never fear! Positronic watchdogs is what they are! Living alarm boxes! They work like the others but their job is to report the slightest little untoward incident in the final serum production stage, no matter how trivial! By all the gods, Ixt! Are you sure no one can overhear us here?"
"I'm quite sure, Tulin," said Marshall reassuringly.
"I hope so," said the taciturn Egmon and sank back again into gloomy brooding.
"So," said Tulin, "the bribed Ara was frustrated by a Watcher when he took the preservation formula and..."
"But that wouldn't have been in the final serum production stage!" John Marshall objected sharply.
The brawny Tulin scratched his red hair. "Then those positronic snoopers are everywhere, Ixt! Of course—they must be everywhere, and for the moment anyway that's the end of our flourishing little business. What a shame!"
John Marshall could not bring himself to even smile at Tulin's sorrow. He was not interested in whatever games the Springer agents had been playing with the Aras. The introduction of the watch robots meant the abortion of his mission!
Laury Marten might just as well break off her studies in the Galactic Zoo. When Springer agents, old hands at this sort of thing, openly admitted that their hands were tied, then at most further action would only mean he and Laury would be revealed as Terrans—even though the planet Earth had ceased to exist in the eyes of the Arkonide Imperium more than 50 years before!
Egmon, who had been musing, raised his head. "I'm getting 5000 shaks tonight!"
John Marshall raised his head, too, and stared at Egmon. What the white-blond Springer had just said gave the lie to all of Tulin's remarks.
Dispensing with subtlety, Tulin threatened his fellow clan member: "Egmon, if you—"
"With this!" said Egmon and pulled a tuning fork out of his pocket. It was identical with the device known on Earth by the same name. Egmon delighted in the astonishment of the two men sitting across from him. "The Aras might be good at brewing their remedies but they ought to leave building robots to the experts. The Watchers have a flaw the Aras don't know about yet." His grin widened. "Or can you still buy an old-fashioned tuning fork anywhere in Trulan now?"
John Marshall admitted that he did not know what he was driving at.
Egmon winked at him. "Watch Robots are allergic to G sharp. I don't know what goes on in their positronic brains when they hear it but it's a fact that when a G sharp is sounded they break down without notifying Central of it. That's how I'm getting my 5000 shaks tonight!"
Shak capsules were the only cure for Ferm's Disease, a treacherous allergy caused by spaceship transitions into hyperspace. The sufferer usually died in a matter of months.
"You can really knock out robots with that thing?" demanded Tulin, still not trusting Egmon's claim. Egmon stuck with his statements but before an argument could ensue Marshall reme
mbered the reason they had gathered here.
"The second nightmare is of a different sort," answered Tulin, glancing at John Marshall. "Ixt, we've set 18 agents to work on this. Egmon escaped being arrested by only a hair. I even had to keep Huxul's wife busy for two hours while Huxul was having his 'accident'. He's in the hospital now, by the way. The Aras will have seen through our trick by this time but Huxul won't be awake for at least 10 days!"
"Was he mugged?" asked John Marshall sharply, feeling uncomfortable. He knew Tulin but for some reason the 30-year-old Springer had never explained why he hated the entire Ara race. Because Tulin always used the most radical means he could against the galactic physicians, Marshall feared the worst.
"We didn't beat him up," Tulin growled, "we just inoculated him-with gerf!"
"What's gerf?" demanded Marshall.
"The Ara Secret Service uses it too-whoever gets the stuff in his bloodstream sleeps for 10 days and during that time has to be artificially nourished. If not..."
"What's the point of this clumsy action?" Marshall asked, considerably disgusted. Rohun's agents had been behaving like stupid schoolboys and in the meantime the danger had increased.
Now the Ara Secret Service had to notice that something about him was not in order!
"Here..." and this time it was Egmon who laughed quietly and happily, offering Marshall a folder.
Wondering, Marshall took it. "What's this?"
"The Aras' proof that you are not the same Ixt who lives on Xylon in the Hogur System! Now who are you, really?"
"I'm curious about that myself," said Tulin. "If I didn't know" that Rhodan and the Earth have been destroyed, I would think that you were some creature from Earth and..."
"But fortunately there isn't any planet Earth anymore—it was turned into a flaming sun!" Marshall interrupted coldly—but inwardly he was feverish. He swiftly checked over the Springer agents' thoughts and the result put him somewhat more at ease. Neither one took the hint seriously—for them Perry Rhodan had long since disappeared into space with the Titan and the Earth destroyed under the fire of Arkon bombs 50 years before!
