by Perry Rhodan
Leaning against the railing, Kitai stood watch. Meanwhile, John Marshall and the other two mutants sorted through the equipment Pucky had brought. There was enough room in the cabin to lay the various items out in a line.
Pucky helped Kitai with the task of watching for the arrival of the three Goszuls. The mouse-beaver stood erect and extended his telepathic senses. It was not long before he could discover and isolate the correct mental impulses out of the thousands streaming towards him. He listened freely to the conversation between Enzally, Ralv and Geragk while they headed for the bay, dodging the checks by sentry-robots all along the route. Since even a telepath like Enzally could not intercept the thoughts of robots, staying out of their way was not always an easy task.
The three Goszuls were unquestionably honest in their intentions. The conversations to which Pucky was a witness proved the fact beyond all doubt.
The mouse-beaver teleported to Kitai's side. The Oriental gave a start when Pucky appeared next to him.
"They're coming," announced the mouse-beaver.
Kitai sighed. "My nerves are already shot and here you go popping around like a jack-in-the-box. Couldn't you just walk a few steps like any reasonable man?"
"But I'm not a man!" Pucky retorted triumphantly. His pride in the fact was obvious. "Why should I go to the trouble of walking when there's an easier way to get from one place to another?"
Kitai grinned. "As soon as I get the chance, I'm going to make you think you're a chicken. Maybe then we can have some fresh eggs for breakfast."
Pucky made a face, muttered something that Kitai could not understand and pointed to the shore. "Here come the three now—see them? The oldest one must be Enzally the telepath. John's 'talked' to him several times. The one on the right has to be Ralv, the leader of the rebels. So, logically, the one on the
left must be our old friend Geragk, whom you've already given the treatment."
Kitai watched as the three men skilfully went around a sentry-robot, conducting themselves as though they had important business at the docks. They walked past the warehouses and neared the quay where the ship lay at anchor. In passing, the men greeted several Goszuls, who looked curiously after them.
Pucky's incisor tooth disappeared in his joyful excitement. "I'll tell the others," he chirped. "It isn't necessary that these three negotiators see our entire arsenal the very first thing. In this lovely weather we can do business out on the deck. What do you think, Kitai?"
"You'd better ask John. He's the boss."
"My boss, too?" asked Pucky in surprise—and was gone. He had once again decided to conserve his physical strength.
Kitai now turned his whole attention to the rebels, who were standing somewhere undecided before primitive gangplank connecting the ship with the quay. He stood up straight and waved to them.
Enzally returned the greeting and walked up the gangplank.
John Marshall and his group awaited their guests on the upper deck at the stem. With the help of the cosmetics Pucky had also brought along with the bombs the Terrans could at last alter their appearance. Instead of Springers they now looked like Goszuls. After all, their job was not mixing unnoticed with the galactic traders. The important thing was looking like the natives—at least to the eyes of the Springers.
Pucky kept out of sight. He would make an appearance a little later—and the mouse-beaver planned to do it in his typically spectacular fashion.
Enzally and John exchanged glances, each trying to size up the other. Thoughts crossed invisibly from one mind to another, searching, asking and answering. Then Enzally extended both arms and went to John.
"Welcome, son of a distant world!" he greeted in the purest Pankosmo, the universal trade language of both the Springer and the Arkonide realms. "You have come to help us. I can see that you are not lying."
"We're happy that we aren't alone anymore," John assured him, and greeted the other telepath's two companions as well. Then he introduced the three Japanese. "Let's sit down. We won't be disturbed here and we can have a clear view of the bay at the same time. Enzally, I take it we have some things to tell each other."
They all sat down on mats and coils of rope. A warm sun shone in the sky. Activity in the harbor was only slight. The sudden appearance of so many sentry-robots was certainly nothing unusual but some mistrust had been aroused by the presence of battle-robots stationed in all important paces.
"You want to know something about our organization," Enzally said, matter-of-factly. Ralv is the one to tell you—he founded it and is the leader."
Ralv nodded proudly and said: "Ask me any questions, sir, and I'll answer them."
John waved the formality aside. "Allies and fellow-conspirators are usually on familiar terms—there's no need to be so stiff. My first question is this: how large is your resistance group? How many members does it have?"
Ralv's expression was perplexed. "Hmm—to be honest, I really don't know myself. Conditions being what they are, we couldn't form a normal organization and expect to have the security we needed. All I know is that we have supporters everywhere, people who would rather see the Gods disappear today instead of tomorrow. Not everyone is ready to fight and risk or give up his relatively comfortable and secure life. Do you understand what I mean, sir—er, comrade?" John signified that he did and Ralv went on: "We have a password. We say it when we want to be certain of a man. If we get the correct answer, we know we're dealing with a member of our organization."
"Isn't that still risky?"
"Not at all. There are no traitors in the Goszul race. Cowards at the worst."
"Would you please tell me what the difference is in this case?"
Enzally entered the discussion. "Do you mind if I tell him? No Goszul would go to the Springers on his own and betray the resistance group to them. He would have to face the vengeance of his own people and the Springers would not protect him. Nevertheless, we do have enough people who are quite comfortable with their lives: they will never be stirred up against the Springers but neither will. they betray the resistance fighters. Those are the ones we call cowards."
"Suppose someone forces them to betray their fellow Goszuls?"
Enzally smiled coldly. "We are accustomed to bearing pain—and, if we must, to dying with our lips sealed."
Now John smiled too but it was a smile of appreciation. "Then I wouldn't call them cowards, Enzally. They too are brave—they just can't decide, that's all. So let's not condemn them. Certainly they won't hinder us. That's what I wanted to know."
"Your next question?" Ralv asked.
"Are rebels to be found only in this town or are there rebels in other towns too?"
Ralv answered: "All the Land of the Gods is full of rebels, waiting only for the signal to strike at their so-called masters. The rebels even have tools and weapons they can use to attack robots and render them harmless."
"Battle-robots, too?"
Ralv's expression became troubled. "Not yet—unfortunately. But once we take over the factories and the machinery we'll..."
"The factories are guarded by battle-robots," John interrupted, his tone serious. "You see, the thing's impossible your way. We'll have to go about it differently if we want to take care of the Springers and their robots."
"We?" Ralv repeated in surprise. "Does that mean...?"
"Why do you think we're meeting here? Now the robots are your masters but they in turn are only the
servants of the Springers, whom you call 'gods'. If we drive the Springers off this world, their robots will be left behind. Because of their programming, those robots will remain our deadly and bitter enemies. However, this problem is not impossible to solve. Under certain circumstances, a robot's program can be altered. The main thing is that we get rid of the Springers."
Ralv smiled unbelievingly and Geragk did the same. Enzally merely meditated, his expression thoughtful.
John continued, looking at Ralv. "We have the means and the plan that can make the impossible a re
ality. I need your support and your complete trust to succeed, though."
"If Enzally trusts you, then we do too," Ralv stated simply. "He can read minds and knows that you're not lying."
"I'm a telepath myself and I can shield my thoughts," John warned. "I can even deceive him with misleading thoughts. My friend Kitai is a suggestor. He could force all of you to do whatever he wants and you would believe you were doing it entirely of your own free will. You see, your trust must be even more complete than you supposed. Are you still positive that you see genuine allies in us?"
Ralv nodded without hesitation. "Of course. Would you have told us all this if you had wanted to trick us? Tell us what we're supposed to do."
John Marshall had no need to search through Ralv's thoughts. It was clear the man was telling the truth. Even so, he had to be careful. Ralv would have his doubts when he learned what was going to be required of him and his countrymen.
"That's true—it isn't likely I would have told you all that if I had wanted to trick you," John said, at the same time transmitting Enzally some instructions via telepathy: You must remain silent now since I'm not going to shield my thoughts. You can read them easily. Don't be afraid when you learn the truth. We'll discuss it later. Aloud, he told Ralv that "It could happen that my plans will strike you as horrible and inhuman, especially since they affect your own friends. Many of them will have to be ready to voluntarily declare themselves willing to be taken ill,"
"Pardon?" Ralv demanded, not comprehending.
John expanded his ideas further: "You've already long realized that it's quite impossible to drive the Springers off the planet by force. My own race is in a state of war with the Springers and can't officially interfere with the traders' internal affairs. So we have to stay hidden. Then there are you and your people. You're too weak to openly come out against the Springers. So the only alternative left open to us is a stratagem of some sort."
"I can only agree so far," Ralv admitted, and Geragk seemed to agree, too. Enzally sat unmoving on a mat and meditated.
"A stratagem then," John continued, trying to find the words that would inform the Goszuls of his intentions as euphemistically as possible. "The Springers know only force when they want to reach a goal. If they must defend this planet against an attack, they will use force. But what will they do if they are attacked by something unknown to them—say a disease, a terrible epidemic, a plague."
"A plague?" Ralv indeed had his doubts. "You mean a plague could drive them away? And if so, what good is a disease-ridden planet? We'd all die."
"I'm speaking of a plague with no fatal consequences," John assured him. "What's more, we have an instantly effective antidote. One single injection is enough to make the subject healthy again."
The rebel-leader considered. "If I understand correctly, you want to wage a bacteriological war against the Springers?"
"Not just against the Springers—in a certain sense against the Goszuls too."
A shadow crossed Ralv's face. He shook his head. "This I don't understand. Why against us, too, if the only concern is getting rid of the Springers?"
"That's the stratagem! If the Springers even guess that the plague is artificially induced in an attempt to drive them away, they never will leave. They'll try to develop a cure. No—under all circumstances our operation must leave the impression that an incurable disease has broken out on this planet. Only by this method can we get the Springers to leave Goszul's Planet forever. We have to panic them so much that they'll leave behind all their technical installations and their robots lest the equipment carry the plague with it into space."
Ralv and Geragk looked at each other. Finally Ralv said: "But no one will die—and everybody can be cured later?"
"Precisely," John answered. "The plague is extremely contagious and if we can spread it enough we can figure on about half the population being stricken. No one will die. On the contrary. On my home world, tests have shown that quite positive effects result when one is cured. It's like an inoculation of a mild sickness to build up resistance and thus make a person healthier than before. It's like that with our man-made plague. As soon as the sick have received the injection of the antidote, they'll fall into a recuperative sleep and wake up healthier than before, not to mention that as a result of the cure their intelligence will be 20% higher. That ought to be an advantage your race can make good use of."
Enzally suddenly looked up. "John Marshall, do you not want to tell Geragk and Ralv what will happen when the plague is unleashed? I believe they have a right to know."
"Of course I want to tell them. Still, I think it would be a good idea if no one besides us knew how harmless the plague really is. Only the genuine fear of the natives is going to convince the Springers that the disease has a purely natural origin." He nodded to Enzally, then turned to the other Goszuls. He continued, but in a different tone. "First, colored spots show up on the face of the afflicted individual. Then they spread out all over the body. About a week later, the memory begins to deteriorate until it's finally gone. The disease has no other symptoms. Once the anti-toxin has been injected, the victim will return to normal in three days. The memory will come back, the spots will disappear and the reasoning faculty will work better than ever before."
Ralv looked at Geragk for some time before he spoke. "So it's only a temporary condition, something like a cold?"
"Yes, we could compare it with that, although the outer symptoms are considerably more frightening. But they have to be that way to accomplish our ends. So I ask you—are you ready to carry this plague to your people? The Goszul soldiers on their way here will help you with the job."
Ralv went numb. His face paled. "What...? You want me to infect my own people?"
"It's the only way to convince the Springers they have to get out before the plague gets them too."
For a few moments Ralv stared moodily down into the harbor's muddy waters. Finally he looked back at John. "Alright, then. Now tell me what I have to do."
4/ CURSE WITHOUT CURE
It took two weeks but Ralv's resistance group was built up to a well-hidden and excellently-organized unit. Its agents were everywhere, even in the administration and control centers of the Springers and their robots.
The Land of the Gods was a small continent with an area of about 45,000 square miles. It measured 300 miles in length while it was only 150 miles wide. The Springer Governors were situated in different locations and were in radio contact with each other. Contact with the planet's other continents was only slight; the Springers had no intention whatsoever of settling here and their only interest was the outpost. The natives not in service to the Gods were tolerated as long as they did not get in the way.
Each day John Marshall was given a progress report by Enzally, with whom he stayed in close telepathic touch. Part of the progress was with 'Operation Death Ship', which was to initiate the action against the Springers.
The success of 'Operation Death Ship' depended on whether the Springers would be so imprudent as to let themselves be infected—infected by panic, a panic that would drive them once and for all from a world that did not belong to them.
• • •
From the west a medium-sized sailing ship approached the Land of the Gods. The sails hung slackly and disorderly from both masts; only a weak westerly breeze moved the air, hardly even pushing the ship forward.
The ship was in the neighborhood of 120 miles from the Gods' coast and sailing slowly but steadily nearer the continent.
Several figures idled about on the deck. They were apparently doing nothing, although even a blind man could have seen that there was plenty of work to do. Dirt and disorder were everywhere on deck and in the stairways. Even some clothes were hanging out to dry on a line, blowing sluggishly in a light breeze that brought no coolness with it.
Things were not much different below deck.
In the cabins a number of sailors lay lazily on their primitive bunks, half asleep. No one bothered himself
about them and even the captain seemed to care nothing about the course his boat was taking. He stood behind the wheel on the upper deck, holding the spokes laxly in his hands. The helmsman lay below sleeping in his bed. Without even the captain's unconcerned steering, the ship would have been pushed by the winds farther to the east.
What did he want in the Land of the Gods anyway?
Letting loose the wheel, the captain rubbed his forehead. What was going on here?
Yes, what did he want in the Land of the Gods? He did not know anymore. Only vaguely could he remember the outbreak of the plague. It had been at least two weeks before, just as they had left the harbor on the Western Continent—and where was it that they had been headed?
The plague had struck the cook first—of course it had to be the cook! Red spots dotted his face and were even worse on his neck. The crew had isolated him at once but by then it was too late. Two days later the strange spots showed up without exception on everyone aboard. A light fever set in but otherwise no debilitating symptoms.
A week after that the cook had lost his memory.
No matter how much the others had tried to prod him he simply could no longer remember just who he was. He knew nothing more than that he was aboard a ship and had become ill. He could remember anything that had happened since that point of time but anything before that did not exist at all for him.
And then, two days later, everyone else had lost his memory.
It had been as though each man aboard had just been born. He had come to the world eight days ago with a functioning reasoning capacity and no memory. That was all.
Or was there more?
The captain shrugged. It was all the same to him whatever happened now. He had no idea why he was sailing east. The storerooms were empty, so perhaps he was supposed to pick something up in the Land of the Gods. But where? And what? He no longer even knew the name of the harbor he had sailed from.
No answer.