" Perry Rhodan 0103 - (95) The Plasma Monster" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

while he had been insisting on an editorial release so as to meet the issue
deadline. "On the basis of your article I have been commissioned by my
superior, the Chief of Solar Intelligence..." All Ballin heard was Solar
Intelligence and he could already see himself walking the streets as an
unemployed journalist. He might just as well cross off tonight's date with
Yvonne from his appointment calendar. But why was Solar Intelligence concerned
with his article in the first place? Since when had Press censorship reared
its ugly head again on Earth? "Where am I supposed to go? To Terrania?" he
asked sarcastically. Again he had missed half the context of the invitation to
visit Terrania. He still tied the whole thing to Solar Intelligence. "That's
right, Mr. Ballin, because after all you can't expect the First Administrator
to come here to Paris to talk with you." Talk? That's what the bald-headed
little fatso had said. A conversation with Perry Rhodan! Walt Ballin got to
his feet. "April Fool's Day has passed, mister," he said rather sharply, "and
I'm sure the First Administrator hasn't got time to spend every day reading
lead articles in the world Press..." The little man had opened his briefcase
and now he handed over a small plastic foil about the size of a postcard. "Mr.
Ballin, your ticket. But this isn't for any scheduled airline. At 13:40 a
space jet will arrive at the spaceport at berth 68-B, where it will be waiting
for you. Would you be kind enough to connect me with your editor so that I can
arrange for your leave of absence, Mr. Ballin?" Ballin finally gasped. "Hold
it! Hold it!" he protested, suddenly on the defensive. "I'm not on my way to
Terrania yet! What did you say your name was?" "Jeff Garibaldi, Mr. Ballin,
but in my case the name has no significance. Of course my parents did come
from Italy..." "And your grandfather was the notorious...?" "My great-great
grandfather, sir-but I'd rather say he was less notorious than he was
well-known among his contemporaries." Allan D. Mercant had known very well
the kind of man to select from the ranks of Intelligence to send against a
journalist like Ballin. What only appeared to be a superficial conversation
was actually a psychological manoeuvre that served to water down Walt Ballin's
initial excitement. In spite of himself, Ballin was forced to smirk slightly
when he compared the small fat bald-headed figure of Jeff Garibaldi with the
fiery Italian freedom fighter of old. On his part, Jeff Garibaldi knew what
was behind the smirk but said nothing. He was satisfied with the present
development of the situation. "And what am I supposed to do with this ticket,
Mr. Garibaldi? What business do I have in Terrania? That the First
Administrator of all people should want to parlay with me about my article is
pretty absurd! There must be something else behind it..." "Mr. Ballin, Solar
Intelligence has merely been commissioned to carry through with this
invitation. My directives do not go farther than that." "But this is
ridiculous!" exclaimed Ballin. He suddenly grasped the portly visitor by the
coat collar. "You have other plans for me? Your reason for my accepting
Rhodan's invitation is very sleazy, little man! You know that our first issue
this month carried my lead article in which I attacked the government of the
Solar Imperium and that's why you want to shut me up. If that fails, then
you'll make trouble with my Head Office and see to it that I'm fired! So now
tell me, Mr. Garibaldi, once and for all-why have you come here? It seems that
your name is significant, after all. It still means trouble!" But the little
fat man only laughed at him pleasantly. "Mr. Ballin, my ancestor was not la
bandit and Solar Intelligence is not in the gangster or kidnapping business.