" Perry Rhodan 0018 - (12) The Rebels of Tuglan" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

1/ OF REBELSтАж

The alien was impish. The ludicrous little creature ducked into a depression in the ground and waited.

The world appeared to be dead. Flat sandy reddish hills stretched as far as the horizon, long valleys with
sparse vegetation and occasional dried-out bushes. A dark red sun stood high in the sky, spreading a
weird and literallyunearthly light. It was cold, far below the freezing point. Here and there, vagrant stars
twinkled forlornly in the very violet sky.

The only visible sign of life was the curious creature which looked like a considerably magnified mouse
that was trying its best to become a beaver. Its tail was not long and pointed, in the typical fashion of
normal mice, but broad and strong, like a beaverтАЩs, resembling the blade of a paddle.

The animalтАЩs body was about a yard in all, covered with a thick smooth fur that glistened reddish-brown
in the rays of the dying sun. The pointed nose endowed the face with an expression of alertness and
brightness.

Its very broad rump argued against its being a typically fleet-footed member of the rodent family. At
least on dry land. It might be a quite different story in a river or lake. But unfortunately the lonely world of
the dying sun had no water. At least not on its surface. And this was one of the reasons that the race of
the mouse-beavers lived deep beneath the desert.

Life was monotonous and without hope but the mousebeavers were satisfied with their lacklustre lot. As
long as the sparse vegetation supplied them with enough to eat, they knew no worries. As aspecies they
knew no worries but there was this one exception among them, this being unique among its kind who,
unlike the others, did not suffer a diminution of its intelligence when day was done. When the sun set, the
wits of the others were extinguished like a candle wick. When night fell, their reasoning powers fell as
well.

Not so, the little nameless one. It was but one of the huge colony living on this unknown and deserted
planet, spending its days in grazing with the others who, after sunset, would crawl into their underground
burrows to sleep. The sun would rise again in the morn1ng and it would be time once more to feed; at
nightfall, to sleep. Sun up, sun down, and life offered no diversions, no excitement.

Until the strangers came.

The astronauts from another world.

The spacemen from Earth.

They arrived in an inconceivably large sphere, descended from the skies and landed in the desert. They
searched for something and after they found it they were ready to depart.

But they had brought something into this world for which the inhabitants had unconsciously been longing:
variety and amusement. Especially strong was the compulsion to play in the heart of this one exceptional
denizen of Vagabond.

Quivering with delight, the little mouse-beaver remembered the thrilling adventures and games it had
experienced. The strangers - odd, upright-walking creatures with arms and legs - had brought along
innumerable instruments and machines that made such wonderful toys. The strangers did not like at all