Perry Rhodan - Sgt Robot Part 2

"We have no idea who it is, Frank," said the officer. "The rocket came from the northeast and more are on the way."

"How many?"

"From here to the horizon the count is 26, Frank. Others may follow at any moment. You heard the robot report-what are you going to do?"

Frank did not have to cogitate long. A single explosion had loaded his screen by 5%: 26 missiles were under way. And they were guided. The enemy could re-group them so that they would strike the Victory simultaneously. 26 5 was 130%. The screen would collapse and that would be the end of the Victory.

"We need instructions from Ron Landry," he answered, and he cut off.

He was about to contact Ron but he had not yet switched on the micro-transmitter before the 2nd warhead exploded. Just one. The defence screen held with ease, absorbing the greater part of the impact energy. The residual force thundered through the s.h.i.+p in a shockwave. The Victory rocked like a small boat in high seas. The bulkheads groaned and shrieked under the strain. In split-second intervals between the tumult Frank could make out the emotionless voice of the warning robot, which went on uninterruptedly with its technical announcements.

Frank had to wait it out in a helpless rage while the s.h.i.+p rocked wildly back and forth. He was trying to figure out what was happening. Who was the enemy and what reason could he have to make such a heavy attack? He was still lying on the heaving deck when he suddenly heard the voice of his tracking officer through the bedlam. He raised up enough to be able to see the pilot's console. He could see the other's frightened face on the little screen. He couldn't hear everything that he was shouting but a few words came through-and they were enough.

"...a full group of 26-in close formation..."

Frank rolled to one side as a missile exploded outside. The deck heaved under him and slammed him against a row of positronic cabinets. For a moment he was knocked senseless but then he discovered that the jolt had thrown him in the right direction. There was a niche under one of the command consoles. The men who operated the other equipment were still at their stations. Frank crawled into the niche and balled up enough to be supported on every side against the heavy shaking of the s.h.i.+p.

It finally gave him a chance to turn on his micro-transmitter. "Victory to the Chief! Victory to Chief! We're under heavy fire!"

Ron saw them coming. He had peeked out a bit too far over the stair railing and before he could duck back there was a brilliant coloured flash of light. In the same instant a glowing hot burst of bundled energy shot close past him. Far above in the roof of the stairwell something broke loose. A huge chunk of masonry came cras.h.i.+ng down and went thundering to the ground floor.

Ron had gotten a clear look at one of the strangers. He was tall and very thickset, practically as bulky as the Azgon they had found in the street. When seen he had been in the process of climbing the stairs, which was apparently difficult for him. However he was still a hundred times more agile, by comparison, than the man they had carried from the street.

Ron did not believe that these newcomers were Azgons. If the whole planet was infected by this plague of fatness, why should just these men below have escaped it? No, they were aliens.

But from where?

Ron forgot about the man upstairs who had called to him. The ones down below were more important now. He instructed Lofty to wait at the stair landing of the 11th level. The bal.u.s.trade would afford him excellent cover there. With his weapon he could command the stairs down to the 10th level until the curve blocked his view.

Ron himself turned to go down the stairs again. He wasn't worried about Meech Hannigan. The robot had the most logical brain that could be built. He would be able to decide on his own what he should do. He looked upward searchingly but there was no sign of Meech.

The lone enemy he had seen below had been between the 3rd and 4th stories. Judging from his heaviness and slowness he would not come much farther before Ron would be able to block his way. Depending on this conclusion, Ron hastened down the stairs. He took 3 or 4 steps at a time and while it was still safe he stuck to the outer curve of the stairwell.

The towering shaft of the stairwell was ghostly still except for the m.u.f.fled thumping of his footsteps on the carpeted runner. He stopped at the 7th level. He hid behind one of the stone newel-posts that were placed at intervals along the stair railing, listening to a jumble of new sounds from below. He could hear heavy panting and muttered conversation. It seemed as if the enemy troops were not quite sure of what they should do next. Their uncertainty might be his chance. If he jumped them fast enough he might be able to knock some of them out of action before they could recover from their surprise.

They must have heard him thumping down the stairs. He would have to proceed soundlessly from this point onward. It might make them think that he was still lying in ambush for them several floors above. This time he kept to the centre of the stairs since the outer curve was no longer safe territory. There he might be seen from several stories below. With careful steps he moved downward, weapon in hand. The mumbling and panting sounds became louder. They couldn't be farther away now than 1 levels. He wished he might be able to recognize the language they were using because that might tell him where they were from or who they were.

He had descended halfway between the 7th and the 6th levels when he heard a noise close by which startled him. Jumping to one side he struck his shoulder against the wall. When he looked below at the 6th-floor landing he saw the alien. He had just raised up from behind the railing and now aimed his heavy weapon at Ron.

Ron let out a yell and tumbled headfirst down the stairs.

Within several milliseconds Meech grasped the new situation and all of its possible ramifications. He had heard the conversation between Larry and Ron over his transceiver. He had also witnessed the shot that almost grazed Ron's head and had made certain conclusions regarding the weapon used. It had to be a heavy thermo-beamer, the automatic type which a normally-built Terran would hardly be able to carry around as a portable weapon.

He had also observed the alien and noted his unwieldy bulk and slowness of movement. Even in view of a superiority of numbers such strangers would not have an advantage over the much more agile Terrans. He was also convinced that the enemy was aware of this shortcoming, so if the strangers knew they couldn't get the better of the Terrans and yet still made their attack they must be relying on some kind of trick. He had no way of determining what this trick might consist of because first he would have to know the intention or objective of the enemy. However he himself might be able to do something to prevent them from carrying out their strategy, whatever it was.

He got underway at once. Turning from the stair landing he went along the right-hand pa.s.sage and opened up one door after another to have a look inside. It did not come as a surprise that some of the rooms were not as empty as the deathly stillness of the tower would lead one to believe. The misshapen and bloated bodies of a number of Azgons lay on the floor or on sofa-like beds and paid no attention to him. Before they could turn their heads to look at him he had already closed the door again.

With the efficiency of a mechanical thinker he avoided spending any time on wondering about the presence of the Azgons here. He was not concerned with why they were here and why they did not attempt to attract someone's attention or why they hadn't gone home and so forth. He was concentrating solely upon the alien enemy.

Behind the 25th door he finally found what he was looking for. This room was empty, meaning that the dust on the floor was undisturbed, but it also gave access to a narrow staircase that led into both the upper and lower levels. Without hesitation Meech descended the stairs. They led him to another small empty room below. When he crossed it and opened the outer door he discovered a pa.s.sage that he had not seen before. He knew at once that he was on one of the mezzanine floors that were connected to the ground floor by means of one of the other 2 main staircases. Going to his left he soon discovered the landing of the main stairway. Swiftly and soundlessly he descended.

Ron had no time to think as walls, stairs and railings whirled past him. For a fraction of a second during his plunging descent he caught a glimpse of the huge fat alien and managed to fire a shot at him. A cry of rage followed the report. Ron's fall ended at the foot of the stairway. He was about to get up but froze where he was when he stared at a pair of tremendous boots directly in front of his face.

He stared at them as if hypnotized. He could not see the rest of the alien who towered above these pillar-like obstacles because he was still lying on his stomach. But he knew that the latter no doubt had his weapon in hand and would shoot him in the next second or so. Ron tensed his muscles as if to screen himself from the blast to come.

Then he saw the boots move. There was a heavy sigh as the leg shanks angled slowly back and the boot soles turned up. There was a thunderous crash and Ron rolled swiftly out of the way. For just a second he thought the alien had meant to jump him but when nothing happened he straightened up and saw the c.u.mbersome stranger lying on the floor with his eyes closed. He realized that his wild shot must have struck home.

With a sigh of relief he stood up. And it was then that his micro-transceiver came to life. In response to its signal he turned it on and recognized Frank Bell's shouts which were accompanied by a bedlam of banging and thundering.

"...under heavy fire! We can't hold out much longer, sir! A group formation of missiles is heading for us. If they hit all at once we're done for!"

The situation was graphic enough to not require much time for a decision. "Take off at once, Frank!" he shouted. "Do you hear me?"

"I read you!" Frank called back. "Over and out!"

Ron turned off the device and looked about him, realizing that his attention had been taken from his surroundings for a few seconds. He took a few steps to where he could look downward toward the 5th level. Even before he heard the m.u.f.fled panting he saw the shadow on the steps which came from behind the railing. He went for cover as the shadow began to move slowly to the right. In a few seconds the ma.s.sive figure appeared. The alien was on hands and knees, supporting himself on his thick arms while he peered up the stairs. Ron raised his weapon. He didn't want to kill the stranger but preferred rather to let him come up and then capture him alive. But the alien braced his ray weapon on one of the steps, took aim at the upper landing and fired. The shot missed Ron by a considerable margin but it blasted a hole in the wall behind him where the masonry began to boil and steam. White-hot molten concrete splattered from it and struck the floor with a hissing sound. Acrid smoke rose up from the carpeting and obscured the view. Ron had to cough.

This gave the opponent a more certain target. Through the rising vapours Ron could see the enemy's weapon move more accurately in his direction. He had no choice but to spring forward for better vision and to press the trigger of his much smaller weapon. A needle-fine ray of brilliant energy hissed straight at the opponent below. The impact lifted him up and knocked him backwards.

For just one second Ron thought he was the victor-but only for a second. Then he saw that he had fallen into a trap. Four ray-beams as thick as an arm caught him in a crossfire. He was almost singed by the pressing waves of heat. They didn't hit him but molten masonry dripped from the ceiling. Instinctively he raised his arms to protect his head while he staggered back, seeking shelter behind the bal.u.s.trade. They couldn't see him from below, what with the rising smoke and steam that their destruction had caused.

They tried another tactic, however. Two of the heat beams shot close above the railing of the bal.u.s.trade while the 2 others concentrated on the stair landings above and below him, causing them to start burning and melting down. Ron could see that he was hemmed in. The strangers only had to wait until he fell unconscious from breathing in the thick vapours. Meanwhile the unbearable heat was making the sweat run from every pore. The perspiration burned his eyes and when he tried to draw a breath he felt searing pains in his lungs.

He would not be able to hold out much longer. If Meech or Lofty did not come to help him...

Meech had not counted on meeting one of the enemy on this particular staircase but when he did see him he reacted much more swiftly than the stranger was capable of doing. He raised his hand and out of his finger shot a high-frequency shock field. The hefty stranger yelled and then collapsed. He made no further movement. He would lie there incapacitated for at least 2 hours.

So apparently the enemy had the same idea. They had wanted to set up a pincers pattern and surround them. Their only disadvantage was their slow and ponderous rate of progress. Probably there was another member of the opposition on the 3rd set of stairs. Meech noted this in his memory bank and resolved to follow this clue as soon as he had brought help to Ron and Lofty.

He heard the hissing and thundering of the shots in the other stairwell. With a nimbleness that no one would have thought his heavy metallic body to be capable of, he leapt down the stairs from level to level and reached the ground floor just as Ron Landry was caught in the 4-way crossfire. Meech perceived the situation at once but his firing position was a bit unfavourable. He had to get up closer if he was to make an effective counterattack.

With the dispa.s.sionate calm of the robot that he was, he hurried up the stairs. On his way to the 5th level he saw that the stair landing above could not hold out much longer under the concentrated fire. Within a few more steps he found the enemy troops close ahead of him. Unaware of his presence they aimed their heavy fire at a sharp angle above them and worked over the stair landing.

Meech fired immediately. He hit the first opponent with a paralysis beam. This attracted the attention of the remaining 3 men and they began to turn around. However they were no match for the robot because of their heavy and c.u.mbersome movements. They were unconscious before they could swing their weapons halfway around. There was a grotesque moment in which the ma.s.sive figures stood poised there as though in pensive meditation-and then they all collapsed. A heavy automatic fell at Meech's feet and he picked it up as though it were a toy.

"Ron!" he shouted up the stairwell.

Ron answered but what he croaked out to him he couldn't understand.

"Head for upstairs, sir!" Meech yelled to him. "The landing is going to collapse-hurry! I'll use another stairway."

He had to jump out of the way as one of the pillars of the landing tipped forward and came cras.h.i.+ng down, ripping up a great block of masonry from the floor of the landing. Other parts of the supporting structure began to crackle and burst asunder. A few more seconds...

"Run for it, sir!" Meech shouted.

Ron heard the warning cry of the robot as though through a long and narrow tube. He lay in the middle of the stair landing, propped up on one elbow and he was suddenly aware that there were no more shots. What was happening? He staggered to his feet but his joints pained him and every breath came close to making him faint. He answered the call but all he could manage was a short, croaking bleat. Meech was shouting to him to run up the stairs-to go higher. Why?

He felt the floor under his feet begin to tremble. He drew back when he saw the falling support pillar, and simultaneously a crack appeared in the floor. He finally understood what was going on. The steady firing had leeched the masonry of its strength. Any second now the floor under him could shatter into powder and drop into the depths below.

He started to run. With every step he took it seemed as though a needle were shooting up through the soles of his feet clear to his ankles. He made a weak jump across the molten path that cut across the floor at the left end of the landing, and finally reached the steps above. Without looking back he climbed the undamaged staircase. As he looked up ahead it seemed impossible that he would get any farther than 1 or 2 more levels.

But far above him he could see Lofty Patterson leaning over a railing and waving at him. He couldn't make out what he said but near him he saw the pale oval of the strange face he had observed before all the confusion started.

It was at that moment that the stair landing behind him collapsed. Ron froze for a moment in breathless suspense as the ma.s.ses of wood and masonry went cras.h.i.+ng down through the levels below. The supporting walls failed to withstand the strain of the impact. Cracks appeared and soon the next landing down began to yield. And so it went like a chain reaction. For several minutes the towering stairwell was filled with deafening thunder. Down in the main hall a mountain of smoking rubbish piled up, burying the strangers who had caused the disaster. Below Ron's position the stairwell yawned emptily-an empty shaft.

Where was Meech?

Suddenly Ron feared for the robot. He had been down there somewhere when he had shouted his warning to him. It seemed impossible to Ron that he could have reached the ground floor in time and come up one of the other staircases. He must be buried down there along with the enemy. Those tons of debris could even crush as st.u.r.dy an object as Meech the robot.

He was about to use his micro-transceiver to contact Meech when the stair under him began to tremble. A single stone pulled loose from the dangling step immediately below and plummeted down toward the heap of rubbish. Ron realized that the rest of the stairs had become unstable. If he stood around here much longer he would take the plunge like the strangers-and perhaps like Meech.

He clambered up farther, grabbing the stair rail and pulling himself along. As he looked up above he saw that Lofty was still up there with his unknown companion and was beckoning to him. He didn't know what they wanted. Behind him another part of the staircase fell into the depths. If he didn't hurry the whole disintegration would overtake him. Dredging up the last reserves of energy from his overtaxed body he struggled upward and just when he reached the stairs leading to the 8th floor the remains of the stairway between the 6th and 7th levels crashed down the shaft.

As he hurried up the steps and around the stair-landings he saw the additional cracks appearing in the walls around him and knew that the entire building was in danger of breaking asunder. Now he understood what Lofty and his companion were trying to signal to him. There was no way now of eluding the catastrophe. The way below them was cut off. Who could know what it looked like in the other stairwells? They only had one small chance left.

Ron stopped again, realizing that too much delay could be fatal, but his life would be forfeited anyway if he couldn't contact Larry. He pressed the release of his wrist transceiver and sent Larry the code signal. He was indescribably relieved when he heard him answer at once.

"Use the aircar, Larry!" he gasped into the wrist mike. "Come up the street side of the tower and you'll see us looking out one of the windows somewhere between the 10th and 20th floors. Come close in so you can pick us up-do you read me?"

"I read you!" came the answer.

As Ron moved onward he placed one foot in front of the other with a mechanical motion born of sheer desperation.

Larry had started into the tower when he heard the hissing and thundering of the thermo-guns but he got no farther than the first flight of stairs before he realized that it would be careless to leave his station outside in the street. He had seen the Victory fade to a glistening point in the sky and he knew that for an indefinite period they would be left here to their own resources.

In spite of his burning impatience he had to go outside again. Out on the street everything was quiet so all he could do was take cover and wait. To the north he heard the din of heavy missile fire suddenly stop. The enemy had realized that the Victory had gotten away.

Then he picked up Ron Landry's emergency call. Although Larry had no idea of what was at stake, he dove into the aircar. Guiding it out of the niche he rose up the street side of the tower as instructed and kept peering through the winds.h.i.+eld in search of Ron and Lofty and the robot. A few minutes pa.s.sed without results. Larry hovered between the 10th and 20th levels, drifting back and forth, up and down, until finally he thought he saw an irregularity in the smooth wall. The irregularity turned out to be somebody's head. He saw an arm waving at him frantically.

He shot ahead and came to a stop a few seconds later next to the window. The starboard edge of the craft was against the wall and aligned with the ledge. The hatch swung open but somebody had forgotten to raise the window far enough and it shattered the pane. Larry saw 3 men waiting inside. He recognized Ron and Lofty but the third was a stranger-baldheaded and suffering from obvious overweight. No doubt an Azgon. Meech was missing.

Ron helped the Azgon onto the windowsill, after which he simply gave him a push. The unwieldy native cried out in terror as he tumbled into the aircar. Lofty followed him and Ron brought up the rear. He was breathing hard when he got in and closed the hatch behind him. "Get going!" he gasped.

Larry pulled the craft away from the wall of the building. "Where is Meech?" he asked.

"Lost!" came the curt answer.

It came as a shock to Larry. If they had lost Meech then their situation on Azgola was a bit worse than he had thought. Also, he had taken a liking to the robot. But he asked no further questions. Since Ron had given him no indication of what course to follow, he flew along northward over the broad plaza.

"There it goes!" shouted Ron.

When Larry turned around he saw him looking out the rear window while pointing toward the tower. A great crack appeared in the face of the building. Larry could see it lengthen and widen even as he looked. A huge section of masonry came loose from the wall and even before it fell to the street the entire structure began toppling. Moments later it crashed with a thunderous impact into the street. A cloud of dust towered upward and obscured the scene of the destruction.

Ron turned around slowly and wiped the sweat from his brow. "That was a little too close!" he muttered.

4/ THE PLAGUE OF "PLENTY".

Meanwhile the bald-headed fat man had managed to work himself into the seat next to Larry.

"Do you know of a safe place in the city or anywhere around here?" Ron asked him in Arkonide.

The man turned toward him wearily. "What kind of safety do you mean?" he inquired.

"You have seen that there are many men who are after us," Ron answered. "I'd like to get some information from you before I run into them again."

"I don't know those people," said the fat man. "I've never seen them before. They certainly are not Azgons and I don't know what they want here."

Larry took the time to have a closer look at the man beside him since controlling the flight of the aircar wasn't as difficult now. The first thing that was obvious about him was that he had evidently not washed in a number of weeks. Yet he had the mannerism of a man who was conscious of his importance. There was a certain richness in the appearance of his clothing which consisted of an unusual combination of trousers, s.h.i.+rt and a cloak-like mantle or shawl. At any rate it seemed that he hadn't taken his clothes off for at least a month.

"Alright then," said Ron, continuing after a moment. "Whoever the strangers may be-we're looking for someplace where we can talk for at least an hour."

The Azgon thought for half a minute or so. "Let's fly to the Central Plaza," he suggested finally. "When we're in the centre of the square we'll have a clear field of vision in all directions."

Ron nodded appreciatively. "You're very shrewd. The pilot is sitting next to you. Just tell him where you want to go."

The Central Plaza was the masterpiece of an architect who must have envisioned a higher level of advancement for his race. At present it appeared to be somewhat ostentatious with its imposing huge columns in the centre, which were in gross contrast to the narrow-faced old houses encircling the area. But one day there would be modern business buildings and palatial department stores in the place of the little houses and then the grandeur and beauty of the Plaza would come into a proper focus.

Once the aircar had landed, Ron immediately opened the door and got out.

The Azgon turned imploringly to Larry. "I'd appreciate it," he said, still breathing heavily, "if you would just let me sit here. Believe me-every movement I make requires a terrible effort."

Larry nodded amiably. "I don't think anybody's going to object to that. It's just as easy to talk to you through the open hatch." He opened the door on his side and also got out.

Meanwhile, Ron had taken a walk around the centre column in order to make a survey of the Plaza. When he came back he looked thoughtful and scratched his head.

"One thing's for sure," he said in a low tone to Larry. "As soon as we see the first hostile aircraft we'll have to shoot out of here. This big monument here is such a perfect landmark that they could even close us in with an old-fas.h.i.+oned howitzer in a matter of seconds."

Larry nodded in agreement. "Let's hope our portly friend can make it brief. He should be able to tell us in a few words what's happened here."