Tomy and the Planet of Lies by Erich von Däniken Page A

wanted to get to know this area of humanity. Quite apart from the fix we were in at the time.
    Marc arrived punctually in St. Moritz on the Rhaetian Railway. He took a room next to mine and we wasted no time in wandering down to Mario’s bar for an aperitif.
    â€œI’ve already written 150 pages,” I proudly announced, and then asked him if he could read through what I had written and let me know if I left out or forgotten anything. His first priority, however, was to get out on the ski slopes, which I could well understand: the sky over St. Moritz was a wonderful deep blue and the powdery snow on the piste was perfect. He would proofread my material afterwards, he promised.
    â€œAnd do you remember how they wanted to kill us?” Marc blurted out after his third glass of white wine. Although he was now more than 22 years old, he was still the same spontaneous young man. His constantly hoarse voice and his cheerful expression remained unmistakable.
    â€œAs if I could forget!” I replied, “If it hadn’t for Tomy, we wouldn’t be sitting here now.”
    â€œAnd, God, that bitch Chantal!” Marc continued, “The most calculating, cold-blooded, lying she-devil that I have ever met…”
    â€œYou’re still young,” I said, with more than a touch of irony. He clenched his fists: “She misused me, made a fool of me…”
    â€œYou shouldn’t speak ill of the dead—if you can’t say something good, then it’s best not to say anything at all,” I said soothingly, although I, too, had often wished that I could have strangled her.
    â€œI can’t think of a single good thing to say about the woman,” Marc insisted.
    â€œApart from the sex…”
    â€œIt was only twice, Erich. Honestly! Back in the Sheraton in Ankara. God! I could really kick myself for that!”
    I had known the whole time. Chantal had tried to get Marc to come over to her side, the side of the service. And to throw Tomy to the lions. Marc may not have been able to resist his hormones, but he had remained stubbornly faithful when it came to betraying his new friend Tomy.
    Tomy, Tomy! Where was he now? Marc chuckled. For the first twenty-four hours of Tomy’s existence he had hated him, had even wanted to kill him. But after the first takeover, he had begun to love him. “Does it make you gay if you adore another man?” he wanted to know.
    â€œRubbish!” I said dismissively. “And certainly not when it comes to Tomy. He had special qualities. I admire him too.”
    â€œAnd anyway, it wasn’t Tomy’s body you adored, but the person inside,” I continued.
    â€œDo you remember that first takeover in our hotel room? On that big, broad bed in the Intercontinental?” Marc asked. “Remember the way we hugged each other afterwards and danced around the bed?”
    As if I could forget. Now Marc explained to me how Tomy had not just taken over his ego, but had also granted him a small insight into his own personal being.
    â€œIt was amazing! I could feel a kind of infinite benevolence and an intoxicating feeling of happiness. And on top of that, there was a kind of massive download of knowledge—as if I had understood ten thousand books at once. Erich, it was indescribable. Man, I’d just love to have that experience again!”
    Marc asked me if I had called out to Tomy again. Of course I had—many times in fact—but I hadn’t had any answer.
    The next evening, sitting next to an open fire, Marc read through the first 150 pages of this report. He had little to add to my recollections, so we talked about our experiences together until the early hours. There was no need to take notes: I left a small tape running the whole time.

Chapter 4

The Hunt Begins
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    We decided to take a midday break in a small town called Doğubeyazıt at the foot of Mount Ararat. Strictly speaking, the mountain is