by Perry Rhodan
Perry Rhodan
The Third Power #28
The Plague of Oblivion
To forget... to lose all memory, all knowledge of your past... The alien Springers fear such a fate more than loss of life–and so Perry Rhodan and the mutant corps have a devastating weapon when they unleash the Plague of Lethe in the battle to force the Springers and Mounders to set free the enslaved planet Goszul. But can it be done--without infecting the entire galaxy? This is the stirring story of–
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THE PLAGUE OF OBLIVION
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1/ THE OBLIVION BOMBS
This heat is driving me crazy!" the man grumbled, fingering his shaggy beard with displeasure. "I'll be glad when I can finally scrub all this mattress stuffing off. I'd still like to know what the point of this masquerade is supposed to be."
The hot, disgruntled, puzzled man was John Marshall, esper, one of the valuable members of Perry Rhodan's mutant corps, now sweltering beneath a radiant sun that might have shone over Tripoli or Buenos Aires—except that it warmed a planet billions and trillions of miles from Earth.
"There isn't any point at the moment," responded the small slender man opposite the telepath. Above his beard peered the narrow eyes of a young Japanese: Tako Kakuta, teleporter. "But if a Springer should show up on board, things would suddenly be quite different."
"Pah!" Marshall accompanied his grunt of disgust with a disparaging gesture. "Tako, my friend, any real Springer would see right off that we're nothing more than well made-up imitations—if you allowed him the opportunity to get a good look at us."
"Then we won't let him have that much time, John," said the Japanese mutant with a fleeting smile. "Besides, it isn't likely the Springers will come aboard: they have the Goszuls for that."
The Goszuls were the natives of this distant world, which had been made a colony of that intelligent, space-faring race known as the Springers. The planet was occupied by the Springers/Traders as a military outpost and, at the same time, as a launching point for attacks against any enemies who appeared on the scene.
One of these enemies was Perry Rhodan, Administrator of the planet Earth.
It was against the Peacelord that the Springers' plans were now drawn. Rhodan, of course, was well aware of the danger-fraught situation, which accounted for four disguised Terrans on the stern of a Goszul ship resting peacefully at anchor, seemingly innocuous, in the bay of a small continent the natives called the Land of the Gods.
The Terrans' secret mission was to drive the Springers off Goszul's Planet without Rhodan's involvement becoming evident. While Rhodan's fleet lay in wait eight light-days distant in space, the quartet had been left to its own resources.
John Marshall, able telepath, thoughtfully considered his three comrades. His gaze was held especially long by Tako Kakuta the teleporter.
"Right," Marshall said at length, "but the Goszuls have me worried. True, Kitai Ishibashi slapped a suggestion-block on them but we don't know how long the treatment will last. Once they've begun to think for themselves again, they'll become suspicious and betray us to those creatures of the Springers, the so-called 'Intelligent Goszuls'. Don't forget that the primitive natives here believe the Springers are gods."
Kitai stroked his false beard. "How long a suggestion-treatment will last depends on the subject's strength for mental resistance, so I can't really say when these hearty seamen will begin thinking independently again."
The fourth man smiled at the suggestor. He was Tama Yokida, another Japanese member of Rhodan's Mutant Corps. His talent was telekinesis: he could move objects through space by means of nothing more than sheer will. "We can defend ourselves against them if we have to, Kitai," he said, "but I hope it doesn't come to that. The longer we can stay unnoticed, the better for our mission. Once we have the equipment we need, nothing more can go wrong."
John Marshall cleared his throat. "The equipment is at the bottom of a river some miles from here, right in the neighborhood of the Springer spaceport. Pucky had to sink everything he had with him or it would have fallen into the enemy's hands. I'm glad he was at least able to save himself." He looked around as though searching for someone. "Where is he, anyway?"
A high, chirping voice piped up from close behind John. "Here I am, dear friend!"
The telepath turned and stared in surprise at a high coil of rope lying near the railing. The coil was moving slightly. Two furry, pointed ears appeared at the upper end, then two gleaming eyes, and finally a long, sharp muzzle spiked with a few quivering whiskers. "Those beards look pretty good on you," the creature added, while its quick and cunning eyes glanced warily in all directions. "All people should wear beards. Then they would look kindlier and more grownup."
After making this suggestion Pucky crawled out of his hiding place and laid down on the deck between the four men. Here he seemed to feel safe from being seen.
Pucky was indeed an astonishing sight. He resembled a mixture of mouse and beaver, about three feet long not counting the tail, and covered with reddish-brown fur. His tail was broad and flat-sided like a beaver's and supported him while he walked. At some distance Pucky made one think a certain Walt Disney character had stepped down from the movie screen but a closer look revealed the error in that thought. Besides, Pucky had talents Micky Mouse would never have dreamed of. This native of the distant, lonely world of Vagabond was at once a telekineticist, a telepath and a teleporter. Moreover, he was not only a member of Perry Rhodan's Mutant Corps but also an officer in that elite troop. In its service he ranged the cosmos, helping defend the Earth against attacks by alien intelligences.
"Thanks for the advice," Kitai said seriously, beginning to scratch the mouse-beaver behind the right ear. Pucky showed his appreciation by a mild purring. "Of course," Kitai went on, "when I imagine you with a beard..."
The very idea of Pucky with a beard was too awful for him to finish the sentence (besides, he was too busy struggling to keep from grinning).
For his part, John smiled. "Pucky with a beard? A wonderful sight! This whole planet would jump out of the space-time continuum in sheer delight. For that matter, so would I."
Pucky hissed warningly. John felt as though an invisible hand were lifting him into the air. If the situation at hand hadn't been so serious, and had a prank been allowable, Pucky would probably have floated John telekinetically through the air, over the railing, and then let him drop into the water below. As things were, Pucky had to be content with giving no more than a gentle warning. "I'd like to know," the mouse-beaver whispered, "why a beard would look funnier on me than it does on you."
John Marshall was about to reply when his trained mind picked up some odd thought-impulses. He motioned abruptly to his three companions and pushed Pucky against the deck where no one could see him without coming on the upper deck. For almost two minutes John listened with half-closed eyes. Then he nodded slowly and looked at Kitai. While the others followed breathlessly, the telepath reported his findings in what was not far from a whisper.
"It's our Goszuls—or at least some of them. They've shaken off your hypno-block, Kitai, and they're wondering who we are. They see us on board their ship and they don't know how we got here. They've figured out that we aren't 'Intelligent Goszuls', those natives the Springers have hypno-trained. Our resemblance to the Springers doesn't mean very much because these fellows have never seen any. They think we're aliens, which is exactly what we are. They want to overpower us and hand us over to the 'Gods'."
Tako, the teleporter, looked down on the main deck where the Servants of the Gods, as the natives called those members of their race who had become suddenly intel
ligent, were coming on board to supervise the unloading operation for their masters. Several Springer battle-robots came with them as guards. "How can we do anything?" the Japanese asked in a whisper. "If the smart Goszuls notice us, they'll set the robots at our throats. We don't want to expose ourselves, do we?"
"That's the last thing we want," John agreed and pondered the matter feverishly. "Kitai, what do you think? Can you do anything from here?"
The suggestor shook his head. "It doesn't look likely. The most effective way of getting the mutineers back under control would mean I would have to confront them face to face. Even if there isn't any confusion to distract me and I can concentrate my will to the limit, I could affect them only partially from here."
"In other words," Tama Yokida, the telekin, concluded, "There isn't much of a chance you could isolate a single individual from the crowd at this distance and control his mind—isn't that what you wanted to say, Kitai?"
The suggestor nodded sadly and was quiet.
John Marshall suddenly pulled himself up straight. "We've got to do something, even if we have to slap a suggestive-block on the lot of them down there. The thought waves are getting stronger. It won't be too long now before those boys drop their work and come after us. One of them is already feeling for his knife."
Since the Goszuls lived in a civilization roughly comparable with that of the Earth during the 18th Century, knives were extremely effective weapons in their hands.
"That damned robot!" Kitai grumbled angrily. "Never in my life have I tried to force my hypnotic influence on a robot."
John managed a weak smile. "I don't think we'd get very far with that idea. Anyway, the robots would notice if anything started influencing their immediate subordinates. We're stuck on the horns of a first-class dilemma."
"Let's ask Rhodan—maybe he can give us some advice," Pucky suggested, still crouching between the men and trying at all costs not to be seen from below.
"Maybe," John answered. "Only the question is whether he would want to. All of you know that the Springers must under no circumstances learn who's meddling in their private affairs. It's true that our miniature communicator has a range of three light-months and it's also true that Rhodan is only eight light-days away—but I'm afraid we don't have the time to contact him. Look down there!"
On the deck below, one of the stevedores had put down his tightly packed bundle and now, gesticulating wildly, stood in heated discussion with one of the 'Servants of the Gods'. Standing guard nearby were two of the five battle-robots which had come on board. Robots like these were built to be fully positronic: they possessed normally functioning brains and not only could they formulate independent decisions but could act on them as well, as long as they stayed in contact with the central control. Their built-in energy-beamers made them well-nigh invincible fighting machines. Since the Goszuls knew nothing whatsoever of space travel, the robots probably seemed godlike to them. In the eyes of the natives, 'the Gods descended from Heaven and then ascended again.'
The somewhat more intelligent servant of the Springers listened attentively to what the other Goszul had to say while his eyes settled on the steps leading to the upper deck. Then he nodded, pushed his informant aside, and strode to the staircase. He seemed to have in mind paying a call on the four suspicious individuals on the upper deck. It was fortunate the thought of taking a robot along as a guard did not occur to him.
John Marshall probed the Goszul's brain. Aha—the native had been told that on board the ship four strange-looking aliens were to be found in whom the Gods might take an interest. In addition, John was able to pick up the Goszul's name: Geragk.
Marshall motioned to Kitai. The two mutants worked well together; in any event, Geragk would later leave the ship without being able to remember anything.
The 'Servant of the Gods' climbed the wooden stairs to the upper deck and then suddenly stopped, standing at the railing as though his feet were nailed down. Wide-eyed, he stared at the four men. At first glance he had thought them some of the dreaded 'Gods' but his mind was still functioning normally. Gods? Here on the deck of a primitive native sailing ship? What could that mean?
He bowed deeply but doubt flickered in his eyes. John sensed that Geragk was searching feverishly for an explanation. The Springers ruled this world, of course, but they were much too lofty to even concern themselves with the affairs of the natives, much less get involved with them in such a manner as this.
"I beg your pardon, O High Masters," Geragk began hesitantly. He stared at the wooden planks under his feet as though he could find the text of his intended apology carved there. "But the captain is very much confused to learn of such illustrious guests on board his little boat. May I ask if I may be of service?"
Well, that was a relatively appropriate thing to say. John smiled. "It is good that you have come, Geragk," he said. "We have undertaken a tour of inspection but, as you know, the primitive natives do not know who we are. We do not want to make use of force, so the robots will make sure that we can leave the ship unhindered."
John realized that his words did not calm the Goszul in the slightest. Geragk was still firmly determined to report this inexplicable incident. There was only one thing to do, then: remove Geragk's memory and in its place insert a false set of perceptions. Kitai took over for that.
The Oriental did not change his position. He remained sitting, finally allowing his gaze to settle on Geragk, who was clearly showing his discomfort during this unpleasant interview. But not for very long.
Geragk's face suddenly brightened. He smiled in a friendly manner and bowed down so far his forehead almost touched the deck. Then, without a word, he turned and descended to the main deck where he headed in the direction of the Goszul who had pointed the aliens out to him.
John Marshall's eyes narrowed. "This is only a breathing spell, Kitai. You can't go down the line and influence them all one after the other. If we don't want to be conspicuous, I'm afraid the only solution is a mass treatment—but I'd rather not risk it because of those battle-robots down there. They'd turn into fire-breathing monsters as soon as they became the slightest bit suspicious."
"I'll make them all fly into the water!" Pucky declared squeakily.
John pressed his finger to his lips. "Shhh! Not so loud, Pucky. There'll be the devil to pay if anybody sees you. Nobody's going to mistake you for a Springer patriarch, that's for sure. Kitai, did you notice anything about this fellow Geragk? No, of course not. You're not a telepath. But before you gave him the new memory and ordered him to forget what had gone before, I picked up some scattered fragments of thoughts. Nothing very clear, and unfortunately nothing really connected, but still some interesting odds and ends."
"Like what?" whispered Kitai, keeping his eyes on the deck where the captain of the ship was talking with some of his men.
"It's true Geragk wanted to report us to his superiors because he harbored a definite suspicion of us," John replied, "but he wouldn't have done it just to do the Springers a favor. He had other reasons."
"What were they?"
"He wanted to prove to them a loyalty he didn't really feel. I'm not completely certain of this but it seems to me he thought briefly about a secret organization that wants to fight against the Springers. This group would like to see Goszul free and independent again, I believe."
"An underground?" exclaimed Kitai, astonished. "You mean there's a genuine underground movement on Goszul? That I can't believe. Who would dare challenge the Gods?"
"Those who know them best—that's how it usually works."
"They're attacking now!" Pucky cried, interrupting the conversation. In a flash he teleported himself back into the rope coil.
The men sat indecisively in their places for a moment. Then Kitai said: "I'll take them all on at the same time. We've got to stay on this ship because it's our only hiding place. In any event, we can't go ashore—too many unpleasant consequences." With a fast look he assured himself that the robots were remain
ing stolidly in their places. So long as the events on board a native ship did not affect the interests of their masters, the robots were not concerned. "Sit here quietly until it's all over," Kitai added. "These boys will be back unloading their boat in no time, like nothing ever happened."
Although John, Tako and Tama were well aware of their companion's startling abilities, they always felt not a little dread when they witnessed him in action.
The ship captain seemed to have persuaded his crew—or at least a part of it—that something on board was amiss. Possibly he had been wondering why he did not know how the strangers had boarded the ship. In any event, he had not paid any attention to Geragk's pacifying words. Instead, he had called something out to his crew. Not all of the men—but certainly a number of them—simply let their burdens drop and reached for their knives. Threateningly, they pushed in the direction of the upper deck.
The robots continued to remain passive.
Kitai concentrated and beamed his thought waves at the oncoming mob. The captain suddenly stopped and held his hands to his head as though something had struck him. Then he slid his knife back in his belt. Hesitantly, the other men followed his example. One of them turned and went back to where he had been working. As though today were a day quite like any other, he picked up his bundle again and resumed work.
Next, Kitai's attention turned to the servants of the Springers. In spite of their relative intelligence, those artificially advanced Goszuls had not yet begun to comprehend what was happening aboard the ship. Before they could grow suspicious, Kitai's influence enveloped them as well. There was little outwardly visible of their transformation: they simply forgot and that was all.
The day had been saved, or at least for the time being, anyway. There was even a lesson to be learned from the experience: Kitai's ability had its limits. After a certain length of time, the consciousness of the influenced person overcame and neutralized the barrier placed on it.