by Perry Rhodan
And cried!
Thora, the proud Arkonide, with a heart encased in ice—cried!
Rhodan tried to console her. He made a few feeble attempts to comfort her but could think of nothing that didn't seem inadequate under the circumstances. So he simply stood still, a pillar of silent strength, and put his arms around Thora's shoulders, drawing her to him and letting her give full vent to her flood of tears.
• • •
"Crew's aboard!" Bell reported. "Ship ready for lift-off." Rhodan directed his gaze to the observation screen. The first light of the new day on Venus shone on the horizon. "Time to go home," he said, lost in thought.
Bell reacted cheerfully. "Freyt's hair must have turned grey in the meantime. He knows next to nothing about our adventures on Venus, only such little scraps of information as I could give him." Rhodan put the ship's telecom mike to his lips. "Lift-off in 60 seconds," he announced quietly. Reginald Bell went to his post.
"Control check!"
Several levers clicked in place.
"No malfunctions!" Bell reported.
"All set. Blast off!"
The spaceship roared louder than a din of dinosaurs. Soon it was airborne in the ash-grey sky, destined to fly higher than any pterodactyl! Raskujan's camp—now controlled by Tomisenkow—was left far behind. To the northeast they caught a glimpse of the shimmering barrier surrounding the fortress. With the advice and consent of the robot brain itself, the positronicomputer had been reprogrammed by Rhodan so that such undesirous actions as had happened in the past would never be repeated.
As the sun rose over the horizon, a big yellow lantern veiled by the clouded atmosphere, Rhodan mused pensively, "If it had always shone for us, we would have been spared many perils on Venus." The Peacelord was headed home. But for how long could he hope to stay? where might he be needed next?
Anywhere from Mars to the Milky Way.
In this solar system or among the stars.
Next time...
Menace of the Mutant Master
