"(novel) (ebook) - Perry Rhodan 0099 - (91) Friend to Mankind" - читать интересную книгу автора (Perry Rhodan)

He saw only one other possibility of terminating the efforts of the machine but it could mean the termination of his life as well: the return of the men with the trunks!
Khrest expected to see one of the hulking bodies appear in the open hatch at any moment with a thermo-beamer in his hands. The scientist was unable to use physical force to free himself from his desperate situation. His strength had ebbed too much to break the metal clamps holding him down on the bench. His only hope was that the robot machine would stop its operation when it proved to be futile. There was no other way out of his dilemma that had any semblance of logic.
Bzzzzzzzzzt continued the nerve-wracking noise emanating from the contrivance. The rod spiralled down over the nose of the Arkonide, squirted a fluid and retreated. Then it was followed by the quivering wires which probed the contours of his face and the cycle was repeated.
Khrest kept worrying about the safety of the spacejet. Perhaps the aliens had already managed to force their way into the little ship. He was burdened by a feeling of guilt when he thought of the promise he had given Perry Rhodan. How could he keep it in his frustrating situation?
Khrest was not afraid of death. He was a seasoned veteran who rationally weighed his chance's and acted accordingly. He had come to this planet to live out his declining days in peace and solitude. Now he faced death even sooner than he expected but it would be far from peaceful.
Once more he strained his weak body to the utmost in a futile effort to break his bonds. The thought that he was in danger of losing the spacejet gave him extraordinary strength. He tensed the muscles of his arms and tried to raise his back. But to no avail.
Give up! he reasoned. Save your strength!
Khrest smiled although he was exhausted by his desperate effort. "Save my strength?" he exclaimed. "For what?"
There was only silence around him except for the buzzing of the confounded contraption which persisted in wagging its tentacles before his eyes and spraying the malodorous liquid in his face.
Soon it would be getting dark and Khrest wondered whether the trunk-men would return to their ship before nightfall. It did not require much imagination to picture the dismal consequences of their appearance.
The capacity of the machine was bound to be limited. It was likely to cease functioning when it was exhausted. Was there a possibility to increase its speed of operation and thereby end it sooner? No robot had enough energy reserves to go on forever. Khrest reviewed his knowledge of cybernetic science. The programming by an intelligent mind determined the basic principle of each machine, even the most simple one. Each robot was assigned a task which it had to perform. A working robot was no more than information converted into action.
His analysis of the unfamiliar machine had to be determined by the inevitable results of that theory. The reaction of the machine was triggered by the command of its data of information but it was unable to differentiate between a conscious and deliberate impulse or an accidental interference with its system as happened to be the case with Khrest. The robot had only two phases. It was either at rest or it did its work. There could be no middle ground between these extremes.
It was painfully obvious to Khrest at which phase the robot functioned when it attacked him. However there had to be a surefire method to escape the diabolical apparatus by simply switching it off. But how could Khrest find out what to do if he did not even know what he had done to set off this instrument of torture?
Bzzzzzzzzzzt, the machine whirred monotonously and the Arkonide began to resent it as a personal sneer. After another hour spent in discomfort, Khrest almost wished the aliens would come back. His face was sopping wet and his hair soaked. His eyes burned and the parts of his body touching the straps were sore. His feet protruding over the bench felt like lumps of lead.
You mustn't give up now! he kept admonishing himself. You have to be mentally alert when you confront the aliens! "Confront? My foot!" Khrest whispered sarcastically. Why didn't he give in to Rhodan when he urged him to retire in the high mountains of Terra? He could have found serenity on Arkon too. Atlan, who had wrested the power from the Robot Regent, would have seen to that. He wanted to shake his head but the pad restricting his forehead prevented him from moving. He no longer regarded Arkon as his home and he would not have felt at ease in the old world. In the course of years he had become more and more alienated from the Great Imperium. His activities were devoted to the support of the Earthlings. He felt little sympathy for the degenerated Arkonides and had lost his sense of loyalty to his people. After Thora, Rhodan's wife, had died her tragic death, he had cut the last ties to his place of birth. The negative genetic effect of the Arkonide heritage on Thomas Cardif, Thora's and Perry's son, had finally caused him to turn away from Arkon.
He was startled by a noise. When he shifted his eyes he could barely see the open hatch. Were his three opponents returning? Khrest ignored the labours of the machine. What mattered now was to detect the slightest advantage if it presented itself.
The old Arkonide fixed his gaze steadfastly in the direction from where the enemy would approach. Whatever happened he wanted to do everything in his power to save the spacejet. First he heard a rustling and shuffling sound, then stomping footsteps. Khrest maintained a cool determination despite his weakened condition. His fate was probably already sealed, yet he was not afraid. Though he was endowed with great courage it was his age that had diminished his fear of death.
The thuds came closer. The liquid dripping over Khrest's cheeks made him sneeze and close his eyes. When he opened them again, they stood before him, three stout figures with trunks, as tall as Khrest but twice as broad. They paused silently and motionlessly at the hatch and scrutinized him with big green eyes.
"Hello," Khrest rasped.

* * * *

When they passed through the airlock Golath had a strange feeling of being watched. He shook his trunk sharply. Zerft stood still and held Liszog back.
"What's the matter?" Zerft asked.
Golath didn't bother to answer. He had followed the broad-shouldered Zerft on their march and his wrath had grown steadily until it reached climactic proportions. "It's nothing," he finally said with pronounced disgust.
Zerft raised his arms and Golath saw that his trunk stiffened. Their eyes crossed in a blaze of hostility.
Liszog stepped between them, holding his injured hand. "Why don't we go on?" he complained. "My hand hurts and it must be dressed."
Zerft relented a little and Golath blunted the challenge, swaying his trunk. Zerft turned around and walked off without a word, leading the way to the control room through the main corridor. When they reached the hatch, Zerft suddenly stopped in his tracks. Golath and Liszog rushed to his side.
Golath was so perplexed he forgot to breathe. A stranger lay on the trunk cleaner! Not a Unither-an Arkonide!
The machine tried in vain to find the trunk of the short-nosed man. The three Unithers were completely stupefied until the stranger croaked something in a thin voice. It was a signal for Golath to step to the trunk-cleaner. Liszog gasped in horror. Zerft pushed Golath aside and drew his thermo-beamer out of the holster. "An Arkonide!" he shouted, his face distorted in hate, as he aimed his weapon at the defenceless man at their feet.


50 ADVENTURES FROM NOW
It's a burning Brand in the
World of a Hundred Suns








4/ SECOND THOUGHTS

Terrania had one of its rare rainy days. Its houses were shrouded in grey silhouettes. The parks and promenades were deserted. All people remained in their homes or visited places of amusement indoors.
Perry Rhodan gazed absentmindedly at the pattern of raindrops the wet weather had splashed on his large windows. Finally he turned away from the window and went to his desk.
Reginald Bell, relaxing in a comfortable chair, smiled at his friend. He knew the tall lanky man too well not to be aware of his emotions. "You are worried, Perry," he said. It was more an observation than a question. "There is nothing to be concerned about at the moment. Pucky is busy building a new home on Mars for his rescued breed and everybody else is taking care of daily routines more or less." Then he added glumly: "Including both of us."
"You call it routine," Rhodan corrected his friend quietly. "I call it painstaking attention to details and sifting through accumulations of papers. It won't be long before we will have to test the linear propulsion system of the Druufs in action. Then you will have more work than you like."
Bell made a futile attempt to put his red hair bristles in shape by smoothing them with his hand. He might as well have tried to comb a cactus. "It will be at least 50 years before we can install the new system in the first spaceship. By then," he stroked an imaginary beard, "I'll probably be collecting my pension."