by Perry Rhodan
• • •
Nonetheless there was another way. Khrest forged ahead along the plateau till he rounded a bend and moved out of the Unither's sight. Hugging the ground he lowered himself down the bank and crossed the morass at the shore. His idea paid off. His boat was still there!
The success of his plan depended on his correct belief that the Unither watched only the slope. None of them had known anything about the existence of the boat. It was his intention to launch his foray across the lake.
But first he encountered some disappointment: the boat was brimful of water. The storm had swamped it with its waves during the night. Khrest was too weak to turn the boat over to let the water run out. The hull was made of thin but tough plastic. He picked up a sharp stone and smashed it against the part of the boat farthest out of the water, without making a dent. There had to be a better way. He took out his weapon although he was unable to determine whether its firepower could be adjusted, hoping the plastic material of the boat was incombustible.
His shot melted an irregular hole and the dripping plastic gave off a nauseating stench before it dropped into the water with a sharp hiss. The water squirted out of the boat and Khrest tilted the boat up by wedging stones under its bottom in order to empty it more.
The procedure took less time than he expected. He tore off another strip of his tunic, leaving little of the garment remaining. He wrapped a stone in the cloth and plugged up the hole to make it as watertight as possible again. The pressure of the water was not sufficient to expel the plug. Although the rain continued to pour some water into the boat, it was not enough to be of critical importance.
A coughing spell interrupted his work. He hunched his back and pressed his arms against his chest. It burned like fire. He gasped for air amid jabbing pains.
Was this the end? Was he condemned to fail in his mission so near to the goal? He suppressed his cough with a superhuman effort and was able to function once more. His moist eyes cleared up again.
Panting fitfully he pushed the boat out into the lake. This took him several minutes. Then he climbed in but nearly plunged backwards into the water again. He was so worn out by the effort that he lay motionlessly in the boat for some time before he was able to pull himself together to get up.
Khrest regarded his mission neither as tragic nor heroic. He did simply what had to be done in order to keep a promise.
He put down his weapon in the bow and picked up the paddle. Then he stuck the paddle into the soft bottom of the lake and slowly pushed the boat away, breaking out in a sweat. In doing so he lost his hold on the slippery surface and had to let go of the paddle. The boat floated out into the lake before he could retrieve the paddle buried in the sand. Yet this was no time to give up. Khrest used his hands to paddle himself back toward the land until he was able to pull out the oar.
He had nearly failed in the execution of the first part of his manoeuvre and the second part was bound to be even more hazardous.
• • •
The surface of the lake presented a fascinating show. The bottom of the lake radiated a pale yellow light of mysterious origin. Thousands of raindrops created a pattern of intermingling circles at whose centers little squirts of water bubbled up, producing an image of a huge, living mosaic. The Arkonide was enchanted by the spectacle despite his wretched condition. The light emitted from the water made the air above the surface luminescent, too. There seemed to be some radiant substance at the bottom of the lake. Ufgar had failed to write anything about the existence of this phenomenon. But then he probably never went rowing on the lake in a downpour either.
The boat moved around the curving shore and Khrest pulled in his paddle when he saw the spacejet in the distance. He was unable to detect the Unither. He probably was too well hidden.
Khrest paddled farther out into the lake. He considered it preferable not to approach his opponent from his flank, which would have involved the danger of being discovered prematurely. If he came in from the middle of the lake he might succeed in landing unseen at the back of the Unither. Fortunately the water had calmed down and the boat responded well to his steering.
As the distance to his goal slowly dwindled, tension built up in him to the breaking point. He kept reminding himself that he was engaged in a momentous task. It was an enormous plus for the human race to maintain exclusive possession of these little versatile spaceships which were capable of performing hyperspace flights. Swift and nimble, they were hard to detect and provided invaluable service for reconnaissance and secret agents' missions. It was very understandable that Perry Rhodan was loath to hand over such an important advantage without a struggle.
Now the duty of safeguarding this advantage had fallen on Khrest's frail shoulders. This awareness strengthened his spirit and he was prepared to do everything in his power to preserve the embattled spaceship.
Khrest cautiously entered the danger zone. Nothing happened. The rain kept falling monotonously from the cloudy sky and the water dripped softly from his paddle. The old man anxiously scanned the shore. It would be useless to throw himself down flat in the boat when the Unither started shooting. The plastic hull would melt like wax. He realized he had entered a regular mousetrap from which there was no escape.
Then he saw the enemy. He was still in the hole he had burned into the earth near the spacejet. His face was turned toward the slope. From time to time he shook his trunk impatiently. Khrest held his breath in suspense. A shot fired from his rocking boat at this distance could have hit the target only by sheer luck. Moreover he knew only too well that he was incapable of shooting anyone in the back. He stopped paddling and let his boat drift as he held his thermo-beamer in his hands ready to open fire. He did not want to miss his chance should the Unither turn around. He could barely see his head and his twitching trunk and wondered what went on behind that semi-spheric skull.
The scientist wiped his wet brow. The slight touch was enough to hurt him. The spacejet lay almost within his grasp but death waited between the ship and Khrest.
The boat ran ashore with barely a sound. Khrest's tension abated. He is liable to hear me, he thought; I need both hands to climb out. It will prevent me from aiming at him in case he turns around.
Fate is apt to produce many a quirk. At this moment the life of a man depended on the flip of a head.
• • •
Golath whirled around.
The almost imperceptible crunching of sand hit him like an electric shock. He was shattered by abysmal disappointment. All had been in vain. The Arkonide had outwitted him. He had not come down the hill. A little boat was beached at the edge of the water.
The old man stood his ground a mere 10 meters from him, pointing a thermo-beamer straight at him. Nobody had to tell Golath about the murderous devastation these guns unleashed.
The Arkonide had a wan smile on his lips. His thin ragged figure retained enough grandeur to stand proudly—an Arkonide of the ruling caste. This was the same posture generations of Arkonides had adopted as they landed on Unith.
"Drop your weapon and come slowly out of your pit!" Khrest ordered in Interkosmo.
Golath ducked down into his mudhole, splashing water in his face. The old man could not react quickly enough. Golath heard him running away across the slippery ground. He jumped up again, looked over the rim of his pit and roared in delight.
The Arkonide had shut down the protective shield and was running toward the ship. Golath raised his thermo-beamer and took careful aim. Just then his opponent looked back and threw himself to the ground. Golath fired and ducked again. A hissing stream of fire shot over his cover. When he peered out of his hole again he saw that his shot had missed Khrest. He saw the old man disappearing behind the spacejet and it was useless to resume his fire.
He scrambled out of his hole and crawled toward the vessel, hugging the ground. He had by all means to prevent Khrest from entering the spaceship from the opposite side.
When the Unither finally touched the cold meta
l of the ship he felt his spine tingle as he stood on the verge of a unique accomplishment. He would be the first outcast to return triumphantly to Unith. The community would receive him with open arms and shower him with honors. He was certain to bask in the gratitude of his people forever.
Then Khrest's shot rang out. The support leg next to Golath collapsed and liquid metal spurted into the morass.
He's out to demolish his own ship! The thought made Golath shudder in horror. In order to thwart the attempt, Golath pulled himself up over the periphery of the disk. The hull was polished and slippery wet. Golath crept on all fours toward the rotund cockpit until he was close enough to touch it. His weapons made scraping noises on the glistening surface.
"Sssssssssppp!"
Golath jumped to his feet. It was the typical sound of an opening airlock. He darted around the cockpit and came face to face with the Arkonide, who stood in his torn clothes with raised weapon at the entrance, squinting his reddish eyes.
They fired simultaneously. Before Golath realized that his foot had slipped while he fired, he was thrown back by a shattering blow and fell with a hollow thud. "He hit me," he murmured in astonishment.
Golath tried to get up again but his legs buckled under his weight. Although he felt no pain he was afraid to look down at his body. He used his arms to drag himself around the cockpit again. The Arkonide had toppled into the airlock. He was still alive but his shoulder was injured.
We Unithers are tough, Golath thought grimly, too tough for you, old man.
Golath shifted his weight onto his left shoulder. It was all over for him. He would never see Unith again. His wound was fatal.
"Arkonide!" Golath called fiercely.
• • •
Khrest opened his eyes. The Unither had wounded him and he did not think he could survive the injury. Yet this was no tragedy. He had saved the spacejet. It was an unbelievable victory, he reflected. "I've kept my promise to you, Perry," he whispered. "I've guarded your ship with my life."
He wanted to smile but the pain twisted his face into a grimace.
Then the Unither emerged once more from behind the cockpit.
I must be delirious, Khrest thought in wonder. These are the hallucinations of final agony.
"Arkonide!"
Khrest was startled. This mud-smeared monster was reality. His enemy stared triumphantly at his mortally wounded victim.
"Arkonide!" The voice was filled with the fanatic hate of a man who knew no mercy. The rain beat rhythmically against the hull of the spacejet. The banished Unither watched Khrest's attempt to raise his weapon again. His trunk jutted out from a face distorted in fury.
He detests me, Khrest thought in sorrow, not as an individual but because I am an Arkonide.
Khrest drew a bead on his assailant. The move surprised the Unither and his shot went wild. But Khrest's aim was accurate. This time there could be no doubt: his persecutor was dead.
"The Arkonides have plundered your planet and enslaved your race," Khrest murmured. "And you, too, were doomed to die by the hand of an Arkonide."
Gazing silently at the body of his antagonist, Khrest remained motionless for a while. The first thing he did when he was able to move again was to throw his weapon away.
It was imperative to get in touch with Terrania. He had to let Perry Rhodan know to secure the spacejet before it attracted the attention of other intruders. The hypercom was only 10 meters away but in Khrest's hopeless condition it seemed more like 10 kilometers. But nothing could deter the mortally wounded man from dragging himself along the floor.
The moment one thinks the worst is over, the minor difficulties loom larger, Khrest philosophized as he made heroic efforts for every inch of progress. He advanced more by sliding than crawling. By the time he had covered half the distance his eyesight faded and everything became a shadowy blur except for a bright square—the hyper-transmitter.
With a sense of astonishment he suddenly realized that for the past few moments the pain had completely subsided in his mortally injured body. And he felt as though he were inside a great and comforting cocoon that shut out all the sound and light of the outside world. In a long life filled with Arkonide, human and cosmic emotions, he had never before experienced such a feeling. It was strange but not frightening.
The realization that rose from his subconscious expressed itself as a whisper barely emanating from his withered lips. Three simple words, inevitable for most sentient beings: "I am dying."
It came to him then that, after pausing to let the realization sink in, he had not continued moving. Summoning every ounce of his last strength, he resumed his death crawl. Slowly. Laboriously.
It occurred to him that he had neglected to close the airlock.
The bright spot came closer but it grew dimmer as it gained in size.
The wind came in through the open airlock. He felt the breeze on his face and it gave him more strength to persevere in his final endeavor.
• • •
Lt. Bowler lazily twirled his mechanical pencil between his manicured fingers. He was on duty at the Radio Communication Center of the Solar Defense at Terrania. A panel of various hypercom screens was at his eye level above the corresponding transceivers in front of him.
Bowler was a young officer who was as yet rather inexperienced and he knew he had been put in charge of the Communication Center only because it happened to be a quiet time. He kept an eye on the radio technicians who were in contact with several of the distant planets.
When he heard the familiar buzz of the hypercom his relaxed attitude changed and he leaned forward to listen with utmost concentration to the message coming in on the channel reserved for urgent communications. There were only a few men who knew the secret code to use that channel.
Bowler switched on the picture screen whose signal lamp had begun to flicker. When the screen became clear Bowler saw the interior of a ship and recognized it as one of the newest and most advanced models. There was no one in sight.
Then he noticed a hand, moving in a jerky manner into the corner of the screen. Bowler was unable to suppress a sensation of terror. The hand kept moving as if trying to reach something.
Finally he heard the voice whose agonized sound touched Bowler so deeply that he would never be able to forget it.
"Khrest... speaking..." the amplifier rasped.
Bowler jumped up from his seat. His excitement was shared by the other men in the room, who left their places to join him wordlessly.
"Sir!" Bowler shouted anxiously. "For heaven's sake, sir! What happened?"
The hand slowly slipped down. Bowler clamped his hands so tightly around the hypercom set that his knuckles went white.
"Tell... Rhodan... to get... the spaceship!"
The voice trailed away in a whisper. Bowler was white as a sheet and perspiring profusely. "Sir!" he called softly.
But Khrest failed to answer.
Bowler took the message from the recording machine with trembling hands and knocked over his chair as he turned around. The men stepped aside. Lt. Bowler, a man who always concealed bis emotions by impeccable manners, was visibly shaken. "I must inform Rhodan at once," he gasped.
He took a last look at the picture screen and, biting his lip, ordered tersely: "Shut it off!"
One of the technicians silently carried out the order.
All was quiet in the large room except for a slight hum of a transceiver and the soft ticking of an instrument.
• • •
Now nothing remained to be done. It was peaceful to lie quiescent and quietly succumb to that ineffable lassitude, that moribund matrix of body and mind and emotion as the life force burned lower and lower toward total extinction of the human spirit. Khrest lay supine, his embering eyes barely aware of the alien skies above him.
Danata kyor khaval dra kha. Vahlk. The words drifted through his clouding mind in the tongue to which he was born. This is not a bad way to die: older than most, a life fuller than most.
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br /> And a montage of friendly ghosts melded mistily together on the darkling screen of his dying mind... foremost Thora... then Perry... here Pucky... there Atlan... again Thora... now Perry... his revered Mother and Father... the beloved grandparents, both maternal and paternal, who tutored and spoiled him in his youth.
And then, at the penultimate moment of life's parting, as though seen through the enamored eyes of an 18-year-old youth in the thrall of first love, a young maid of Arkon appeared to Khrest, a sylph with skin so fair and hair so lustrous and lips so luscious and eyes so luminous that one might wonder were she but a poet or a painter's idyll of perfection, a bright illusion, or had she truly ever lived...
Khrest bad kept his promise. The spacejet remained in the hands of the Earthlings. In the capable strong hands of men of a young and daring race.
Thank you, my friend! a familiar voice seemed to say inside Khrest's head, momentarily disturbing the vision of supernal feminine loveliness as a stone cast in a pool might vibrate a beautiful girl's reflection.
"Goodbye, Perry," Khrest said almost inaudibly. Only the Universe heard his dying breath.
Still one last sound silently echoed in his soul, the beautiful name that named the fair lost vision of his youth, the secret sorrow which even his most intimate friends had never suspicioned in the later years of his life. His image: ever the solitary, dedicated savant. But once there had been...Lurvanii.
And the Universe was diminished as Khrest, the wise old Arkonide scientist, expired; dying as he had lived—serenely and with a gentle smile upon his lips—as the dearest desire of his ardent manhood reappeared, released with his final heartbeat from the recesses of irreality, to welcome her eternal love home to infinite peace.