by Perry Rhodan
"Red-skinned beauties with copper-colored hair?" Rhodan shook his head and winked an eye at Marshall, who was impatiently waiting at the door. "I'm afraid the Zarlt is too preoccupied with worrying about certain other matters to find time to make sure we can indulge in pleasant female company. You'll just have to do without the ladies."
"They probably don't have any pretty girls anyway!" Bell gave up brushing his unruly hair in disgust.
"Sounds like sour skapes (Exceedingly bitter Venusian lemon-size snow white berries) to me," growled Marshall, who grew more impatient by the second. "I'd like to know if that's all that is bothering you, Reggie."
"That's all," Bell confirmed with a wide grin.
Rhodan checked the charge of his small needle-beamer before he stashed it away in his rear pocket. Then he motioned to his two friends. "Ready to leave? Okay, then let's go."
3 minutes later, the exit hatch closed behind them with a dull thud. The Zarlt's car was waiting for them. They climbed aboard and the car drove off quickly across the field until it reached the main road leading to the city. They were traveling along the highway at breakneck speed toward the silhouette of the distant capital of Zalit. Soon the outlines of the characteristic funnel-shaped buildings were clearly discernible against the bright sky. It was two hours till sunset.
Now they were driving through the suburbs with their many parks and green pleasure belts. Rhodan knew that this area was crisscrossed with subterranean passages and rooms where the rebels were lying in wait for the signal to attack. Marshall needed only send out a telepathic command which would be received and transmitted by Betty Toufry for the revolution to start...
But this point was still in the future. It all depended on the Zarlt's actions–but nobody knew what his exact plans actually were.
The palace came into sight. Its tall walls rose to a height of 450 feet, easily surpassing all other buildings around it. The palace walls reared upward and out at an angle to the ground. Their red hues were intensified by the slanting rays of the setting sun, Voga. Rhodan noticed that the usual guard posts near the palace portal had not been reinforced. This seemed almost suspicious, considered in the light of the events which had taken place the previous day. Glancing swiftly to the side he also realized that there was a new Mooff inside the pressurized container standing on the wide lawn—its former inhabitant had been exterminated by the action of his Mutant Corps.
Perry Rhodan could already feel the probing thoughts and attempted suggestions by the new replacement: the usual request to hand over to the guard post all weapons that the visitor might be bringing along. The strength of this hypno-command was almost negligible. Rhodan and his two companions simply ignored it.
The car came to a halt.
"That driver could at least open the car doors for us," grumbled Bell, using the English language, "seeing we're not being welcomed like regular guests with a little reception committee."
"It's not customary here," Rhodan enlightened him as he got out of the car. "Besides, this is not an official visit, just an ordinary 'friendly' call."
"We'll know afterwards if everything is just 'friendly' here," Bell countered with distrust. "I have a feeling..."
He could not elaborate further what these feelings were. He was interrupted by the appearance of three gaudily uniformed Zalites who stepped forth from the inner portal. Their shouldered arms aroused anything else but reassuring feelings in Rhodan and his friends. Both gunstocks and barrels were profusely ornamented with gold and silver; the slings were elaborately embroidered.
"For heaven's sake!" exclaimed Bell. "Looks like an operetta—are we supposed to be playing extras with a walk-on part?"
Marshall suppressed a grin. He searched quickly in the thoughts of the three guards but encountered nothing but very superficial impressions. The first one thought of anything but the task at hand. He couldn't be less interested in receiving the Zarlt's visitors, who meant nothing to him. The second was busy figuring out what practical joke he could play on his wife's brother. The third post...
The third post had no thoughts whatsoever! Marshall noted, perplexed.
There was no time, however, for Marshall to ponder this psychological curiosity for the three guards stopped in front of them, presented arms, smartly executed an about-face and began to march slowly into the building. With a quick nod Rhodan urged his friends to follow. The little procession advanced solemnly to the nearest elevator, which brought them to a higher floor. Here they were taken over by three other operetta soldiers. Marshall had no opportunity to check out their thoughts because he suddenly sensed strong impulses originating from various directions. He was certain that these were not any hypno commands and that therefore he was the only person to notice them. But before he could make sure what the meaning of these impulses could be, they weakened and vanished. The whole interlude lasted barely 30 seconds.
They were following their soldier guides through a long, slightly curved corridor. All the while, Marshall was frantically racking his brain trying to grasp the significance of these thought impulses. Were they an attempt by the Mooffs to probe the visitors' minds? In that case the Mooffs already had found out who their enemies were.
But hadn't they always been aware of this fact?
The three guards came to a halt. Again they presented arms. A door opened. A small hall could be seen with a table in its center: five persons were seated at this table. In the background rose a flat podium framed by colorful curtains.
4 of the assembled Zalites remained seated. Only the Zarlt rose and walked toward his guests, his hand outstretched in greeting. "Welcome, Perry Rhodan. You are on time."
Rhodan shook hands but did not return his host's firm grasp. Bell and Marshall were welcomed in the same manner. Bell grimaced as if he had touched something repulsive. The Zarlt did not seem to notice.
"May I introduce you to my officers. You have already met some of them—Hemor and Cenets. This is Milfor, Chief of Armament. Orbson is the commanding Admiral of our space patrols. Now, please be seated. I have arranged a small dinner party in your honer. It's more conducive to negotiations."
Rhodan sat down in the center, flanked on either side by Marshall and Bell. Demesor took the seat directly opposite Perry Rhodan. The Zarlt had Hemor and Milfor to his right while Cenets and Orbson were to his left.
While the company was still exchanging some polite small talk, Marshall experienced his first big disappointment. He concentrated on his task to explore the thoughts in the Zalites' subconscious mind. He started out with Demesor.
He encountered a defense-block erected by one of the Mooffs.
It could not be anything else because non-telepaths were unable to shield off their thoughts on their own without many years of special training. Moreover, a certain parapsychic talent was needed for this feat. And this is what the Mooffs had in ample supply. This meant then that they had already inserted themselves in the proceedings.
Next he tried out the four officers but found out quickly that the situation was similar in their case as with the Zarlt: it was impossible for him to read the thoughts of the five Zalites sitting across the table from him. This was a handicap nobody had taken into account. And Marshall least of all. He had to warn Rhodan, who was a telepath with a limited range of abilities.
"No, just a few accidents," said the Zarlt at this moment in answer to Rhodan's question what the cause of yesterday's disturbances had been. "Negligence. Such things will happen occasionally. Those derelict in their duty have already been punished."
Rhodan smiled in silent acknowledgment. The same instant he was receiving Marshall's telepathic message and warning. Not only that the minds of the Zarlt and his vassals remained inaccessible but a new danger was added: the Mooffs could read the Earthmen's thoughts and could of course take the necessary steps. A defense screen was the only way to prevent that.
Rhodan, Marshall and Bell quickly erected a barrier around their mind while Marshall, in addition, continued t
o break through the Zarlt's block in order to reach the actual point of origin, the Mooff suggestor.
Servants brought platters heaped with local fruit and various beverages. Rhodan preferred to drink fruit juices while Bell indulged in the heavy Zalit wines. He took great delight in watching the pretty servant girls who came to replenish their empty glasses.
The Zalit girls were indeed very pretty. The Zarlt had good taste, even Bell, the connoisseur, had to admit. The red-skinned girls walked around gracefully and made sure that the glasses were always full. Bell kept imbibing heavily, just to be able to admire the magnificent movements whose even rhythm began to fascinate him.
"You like them, do you?" the Zarlt inquired with a smile. And as Bell absentmindedly nodded his approval, the Zarlt added: "They can do more than just serve at table."
This remark startled Bell.
"Oh, no... that's not what I meant," the Zarlt laughed in amusement. "They can also dance—that's what I intended to say."
"Can you read thoughts?" Bell burst out. For a fleeting moment his cheeks blushed deeply in embarrassment. Rhodan came to his assistance in order to extricate him from this tight spot.
"Your remark was a bit ambiguous, Zarlt," Rhodan said with a friendly reproach that nobody took seriously. "But we have no objections to a little dance performance."
"Let's first discuss pertinent matters of strategy." Demesor felt impelled to broach the urgent subject that had induced his guests to accept tonight's invitation. "I'm referring to our common action against Arkon."
Rhodan's eyebrows shot up. "Against Arkon?" he echoed in wonder.
"Of course I mean to say against the robot brain," the Zarlt corrected himself. "It's only because of our love for the Empire that we want to remove the rule of a robot. You can appreciate this even if you are at home in another system—even in another part of the galaxy presumably."
Clever, clever, boy,thought Rhodan to himself. Now I'm supposed to think of Earth and give away its position. Then the Mooffs—presuming they can read my mind—will know what they're after. Or rather their masters on whose behalf they're acting. Demesor probably doesn't even know why he made that remark. He's just an unwitting puppet in the hands of the Mooffs.
"True, my system is not part of the Arkonide Empire and therefore its fate needn't concern me. Unfortunately, however, I became embroiled in its affairs. The Brain is after me and I need some protection which you were kind enough to offer me. I am in your debt."
Milfor leaned forward and directed an icy glance at Rhodan. "Isn't it time now to express your appreciation in more than a few polite words?"
It was plainly evident that the Zarlt did not care for this direct approach. He tried to mediate. "I'm sure Milfor didn't mean it that way, Rhodan. Naturally, I'm also counting on it that you'll assist us in our enterprise. After all, you made a promise to that effect. As you know, we are mainly concerned with the fortified ring around Arkon. It seems impossible to penetrate it. But you were successful."
This was a question even though phrased in terms of a statement.
Bell drained his goblet and motioned to the beauty with the coppery hair. He drank in her graceful movements almost more appreciatively than the wine she poured for him. It wasn't entirely by chance when he brushed his hand against her temptingly red-brown arm. Her skin was taut, smooth–and cold.
The Zarlt noticed this little incident. He called out to the girl, speaking sharply in an unknown tongue. She bowed humbly and moved quickly away. Demesor apologized to Bell. "Forgive this slave girl for bothering you. It was just a blunder."
"Oh, not at all," said Bell: "please don't punish her for it. They are really awfully pretty, your girls.
"Zarlt Demesor," Rhodan addressed his host, "do you really think that your reign over the Empire would benefit it more than that of the robot brain?"
For a moment Demesor seemed dumbfounded by this round-about rebuff. His suspicions that Rhodan did not intend to help him with his plans seemed to be borne out by this remark. Maybe the stranger no longer needed protection from the robot brain. Or there might be some other reasons?
He managed a sour smile. "It's always disadvantageous for intelligent beings if they are dominated by a machine–and it's especially humiliating for them."
"But a machine can make faster and usually better decisions, you must admit. Otherwise we would not employ robots in our service."
"Robots?" asked Demesor. Rhodan thought he detected some signs of fear flitting across the Zarlt's features. But then Demesor smiled again as if nothing had happened. "True, but only, as you say, when they are our servants and not the other way around. That's a very important difference. We must not be ruled by them; they must obey us."
"If they are more capable than we, then the situation will change radically," Rhodan prophesied calmly. "This is what happened in the case of Arkon."
The Zarlt leaned closer. "Do you mean to say that the robot brain on Arkon was justified when it eliminated the Arkonides' reign?"
Once again it took several seconds until Demesor could digest this statement. "The Arkonides are decadent and no longer qualified to administer their huge realm," he finally admitted, willing to make a compromise. "However, don't you agree that the Brain ought to have looked around for some better regents before it replaced them with its own rule?"
"Who can tell," Rhodan smiled knowingly. "Maybe it did search first for a suitable human replacement. But at that time Elton was still the Zarlt of Zalit. Perhaps Elton was rejected by the Brain as an unsuitable choice."
Perry was very diplomatic.
Demesor clapped his hands quickly four times. "Let the girls entertain us with some dancing," he said, in a more generous mood now. Then he changed back to some more serious business. "I'd like to get a clear reply from you to this question: can we count on your assistance when we attack Arkon a week from now?"
6 of the girls obeyed the Zarlt's command and obediently marched up to the stage. Soft music could now be heard coming from the loudspeakers. The melodies were alluring and full of unusual harmony.
"Finally things are getting a bit more interesting," Bell commented, obviously not at all concerned with the problems that seemed to weigh so heavily on the Zarlt's mind. Bell turned to get a better view of the stage. He was lucky: the Zarlt had taken care that his guests were exactly facing the podium.
Rhodan, on the other hand, decided to make an end to all this beating around the bush. "I'll give you a straight reply, Zarlt Demesor: we will not help you in your undertaking–and this for a very simple reason. And I'll tell you what it is. If you aren't capable of overcoming the barrier obstacle around Arkon on your own, then you can't be capable either of ruling the Empire. Did I spell that out clear enough for you now?"
It was more than clear, it was an open effrontery.
The Zarlt swallowed the insult.
His smile changed to a grim expression but he threw a glance of warning to his officers requesting them not to act hastily. "We're sorry to hear that," he uttered with some effort. "We're sorry indeed. You'll understand, of course, that we can't regard you any longer as our guests under the circumstances. You'll leave Zalit this evening with a transition toward the edge of this galaxy. Our spacewarp sensors will make sure that you really do obey these orders."
Rhodan appeared quite unruffled as he declared: "If that is your wish, Zarlt, we'll leave this very night. And under the circumstances..." he rose from the table "...it obviously makes no sense for us to remain any longer here in your company."
Bell did not get up. He stared fascinated at the stage where the six girls had just started to dance. The caressing melody seemed to meld the lithe bodies which moved so harmoniously as if they had been made from the same mold. They resembled each other to such a degree that Bell could no longer tell which of these dancing girls had kept pouring wine for him.
Rhodan sighed and sat down again.
Marshall smiled faintly. He, too, was interested in the girls. Perh
aps they knew something...? Something very strange happened to him for the second time this evening. When he started to probe the dancing girls' minds he did not encounter a defense shield but something else. He could not say what it was, only that he had experienced it earlier. Where had that been?
Now he remembered. Outside the portal when the three operatta-type officers had greeted them. One had been thinking of his brother-in-law, the other of some trivia–and the third had not been thinking of anything whatsoever.
That's what it was!
These six dancing girls weren't thinking of anything either!
They weren't thinking at all!
His attention was diverted momentarily. The music had changed. Its rhythm was wilder and faster. The girls flung their legs up in the air and began to stomp on the floor with ever-increasing speed. Bell was sitting rooted to the spot, a picture of total absorption. He didn't take his eyes off the girls for a single second.
Now they descended from the stage and approached the guests with gliding steps. They danced around them in a playful manner, skilfully evading Bell's grasping hands.
Marshall resumed his previous train of thoughts but when he found the solution barely three seconds later it was already too late.
The girls had assumed positions, a pair behind each visitor's chair. Before Rhodan realized what was going on, and before he could receive Marshall's telepathic warning, he was encircled from behind by metal clamps which pressed his arms close to his body.
Marshall and Bell shared his fate.
Poor Reggie! All his illusions were suddenly shattered. He felt these adorable girls so close to him but there wasn't anything he could do about it. The skin of the two girls who were holding him so tight was smooth and cold.
As cold as steel!
"They are robots," Marshall said aloud. The steel-wool had sure been pulled over their eyes!
Bell's red hair bristles stood on end like a porcupine. He made vain efforts to turn his head so that he could see the faces of his deceptive guards.