The Plague of Oblivion

by Perry Rhodan

  There was one other lesson also to be learned, and perhaps this was the most important one: the robots had not taken any notice of what had gone on in front of them. They had stood unmoving at their posts, insuring that no one attacked the servants of their masters.

  It was hours later when the last bale was removed from the ship's hold.

  "Just what exactly did we have aboard?" inquired Tama, who as a telekineticist could of course read no minds.

  Before John Marshall could reply, Pucky, who in the meantime had again crawled out of his hiding place, piped up: "Hemp, or something on that order. The Springers pay good prices for it because they can manufacture a notorious drug out of it. A lot of planets have already fallen under the drug's influence."

  "How do you know all that?" Kitai wondered, amazed.

  Pucky aimed his pointed ears forward and chirped: "Pucky knows all!"

  John Marshall looked up at the sky. "It's getting dark already. I'm still wondering if we really ought to stay on board or if we should instead go on shore. The Springers confine themselves pretty much to this continent: they hardly bother about the rest of the planet. If we want to attack them, we'll have to do it here."

  "If only Rhodan would at least give us some instructions!" Tako complained.

  John threw a quick glance at the slender Oriental. "If I'm not mistaken, Rhodan sent Pucky to tell us what he wanted. Up to now, Pucky has been silent. Perhaps it isn't the right time yet..."

  The mouse-beaver understood John's gentle hint. Since he had met up with the four mutants to help carry out Rhodan's mission, he had not said anything about his plans—chiefly because the pressure of events had not left him the time. He cocked his head and chirped: "It's almost time now, my fellow telepath. You know that as well as I do. Only consider this man Geragk, who is just now leaving the ship with his robots. He is only one out of many."

  "What are you trying to say about him?" John demanded. The direct question was necessary because Pucky could successfully block his own mind from unwanted intrusion by other telepaths.

  "There are in fact some Goszuls with the idea of shaking off the Springer rule and driving the galactic traders back into the cosmos. They could be our allies."

  "Great!" John murmured, his expression not especially enthusiastic. "And how do we get in touch with these resistance fighters? It isn't all that easy, is it?"

  "But it is!" Pucky responded with a cheerful chirping, while watching the seamen go below. Their work was gone, apparently, and their intention now was a bit of rest. "It's really very simple," the mouse-beaver continued. "Remember that mental voice you picked up recently? Someone was mixing himself in our telepathic conversation in just the same way one ham radio operator will break in on the exchange between two other hams. So there must be at least one other telepath on this planet."

  John nodded slowly. "I had the same idea myself," he admitted. "But what makes you think he'll help us?"

  With a tone of self-confidence that nearly bowled John and the three Japanese over, Pucky answered: "Because he's one of the most important men in the underground. When you hear from him again, try to make contact. It's that simple."

  John recovered from his surprise. "How do you know all that?"

  "I know even more than that," Pucky added, side-stepping an answer to John's question. "The name of this Goszul telepath is Enzally."

  Tako closed his mouth and said nothing when John looked at him sharply and Kitai only shook his head and muttered something about "insidious secretiveness". Meanwhile, Tama watched the darkening sky with no particular interest in the discussion. The heavens were already dark enough that the unfamiliar constellations could be sketched out. Tama was an astronomer and this world was 1012 light-years removed from the Earth—reason enough, then, to be interested in the skies.

  "And you're only now telling us this?" John asked the mouse-beaver reproachfully.

  Pucky nodded self-assurance. "You never asked me before." Then, changing the subject, he added: "When are we going to retrieve the equipment I brought with me from Rhodan?"

  John had almost forgotten about that. Of course! The equipment! Pucky had brought a number of boxes along with him on his adventuresome trip, all of which he had dumped along the way as a result of the unforeseen events that ensued. Everything lay well-packed at the bottom of a river away from human settlement.

  "We'll have to do it during the day," John told the mouse-beaver. "We'd have to have lights at night and those would give us away to the sentry-robots posted all around the spaceport. Our chances will be better when it's light. Tomorrow, then, I'd suggest. By the way, Pucky, I have a question: what did you bring along?"

  Pucky showed his large front tooth. Always, when Pucky grinned, this tooth came into view. It could be said that he grinned with his tooth, as paradoxical as that might sound. And when Pucky grinned, his speech was not as easy to understand as otherwise—that could not be helped. "Bombs," he whispered in his unbelievably high voice. "A whole load of bombs—fine little bombs!"

  "Bombs?" moaned John, eyes wide and staring at Pucky. "What can we do with them? We don't even have an airplane to drop them out of. Besides, the minute we start throwing bombs we'll have the Springers on top of us."

  Pucky shook his head in pity. "People are such thickheaded creatures," he mused sorrowfully. "When they hear the word 'bomb', they automatically think of an explosion. No, colleague John, we aren't dealing with bombs of the exploding sort this time. What we have here are bombs that devour themselves before they become effective. What could be simpler than that?"

  Without understanding, John nodded. "Sure... what could be simpler?" he murmured, looking at the mouse-beaver as though he wanted to pull the fur over his ears. "I have a suggestion to make, Pucky. Why don't you finally tell us what's going to happen—before something happens to..."

  Pucky's front tooth suddenly disappeared. "Okay, friends, now listen to me carefully..."

  • • •

  Seven planets circled the star Tatlira 221, which followed its path through the Milky Way 1012 light-years from Earth. Only its second planet supported intelligent life: the manlike race of Goszuls, now divided into two parts by the Springers. It was a member of that folk of galactic traders, a patriarch by the name of Goszul, who had discovered the planet and named it after himself. From then on, Goszul's Planet had belonged to the Springer Empire.

  For the Springers—also known as 'The Traders'—there was no place they really called home. They crossed the galaxy in their enormous ships—and traded. Split as they were into numerous clans, they were not a unified people unless their interests were at stake. Then the Springers demonstrated an astounding unanimity, forgetting the disputes that often embroiled the various clans.

  Now was a time when the interests of all Springers demanded their common action. The traders had discovered the Earth and were attempting to make it into another of their commercial outposts, rather like what had been done with Goszul's Planet. That they had not yet succeeded was due entirely to the efforts of Perry Rhodan, who had energetically repulsed every one of the Springers' attacks. Now the most powerful of the Springer clan leaders were gathered together for a summit conference on Goszul's Planet. The main topic on the agenda was, as could well be expected, the question of how to take care of this enigmatic, troublesome and stubbornly resisting Perry Rhodan once and for all.

  The first attacks by Rhodan's mutants had considerably reduced the number of patriarchs present for the conference but the Springers were not yet ready to give up. Besides, everyone believed Rhodan was on Earth, some 1012 light-years away. No one yet suspected he was the mastermind behind the recent attacks.

  Moreover, Rhodan was by no means a safe 1012 light-years distant. Rhodan's fleet stood waiting just eight light-days out of the Tatliran system. With the fleet was the gigantic battleship Stardust, a space-flying globe 2400 feet in diameter, personally commanded and piloted by Perry Rhodan himself. The ship was not only outfitted with th
e most modern weapons available, mostly of Arkonide origin, but also with two tele-transmitters. The latter were teleportation devices which did not require any equipment on the receiving end—in other words, with these it was possible to transmit an atomic bomb into the hold of an enemy spaceship, even though the enemy might be otherwise well-protected by force-fields. There was no defense possible against a space-fleet armed with a teletrans.

  Accompanying the Stardust were three smaller, globe-shaped cruisers, each about 600 feet in diameter. Their commanders were Capt. McClears and Majs. Nyssen and Deringhouse.

  The four huge spacecraft orbited the distant solar system in a vast sweeping arc, unperceived by the Springers' structure-sensors and thus unnoticed by the Traders themselves. Rhodan had no intention of officially involving himself in the current run of events, not even to the extent of appearing indirectly responsible. He had plenty of time to play a waiting game, for on Earth business was as usual. The unification of all nations into a world government had at last been achieved and he had been named to the post of Planetary Administrator for a term of six years. During his absences, his personal representative, Col. Freyt, carried out the duties of the position.

  Not everyone shared Rhodan's calm. Certainly not Reginald Bell, his closest friend and collaborator. Bell's bristles of red hair were again an unruly mess, contributing little to the beautification of his broad face. In his eyes, blue as water, Bashed repressed anger. Outside of a few on-duty officers and radio operators, the wide control-central of the star-borne giant was deserted, but Bell had never been one to worry about the presence of subordinate officers when he felt the need to let his feelings fly. "Perhaps you'll be so kind," he growled hoarsely, "as to tell me what all this waiting around is supposed to prove."

  Perry Rhodan continued his observation of the faintly shimmering viewscreen, on which Tatlira showed merely as a small and unimportant star. The weak light in the control room blurred the outlines of Rhodan's lean figure a little but the features of his face were clearly chiseled in the reflection from the screen. The taut lips, tightly pressed together, drew a straight line. A quiet flame of anticipation burned in the eyes. The dark hair was neatly and smoothly combed back, contrasting favorably with Bell's wild rust-colored mane.

  "Did you hear what I said?" Bell demanded impatiently when he received no answer.

  Rhodan threw a quick look at him, then turned back to the observation screen. "Should I have?" he asked.

  Bell's complexion grew somewhat darker and the ends of his hair trembled imperceptibly. Although his voice became somewhat softer, that hardly meant his agitation was any less. Quite the contrary. "If nobody's supposed to listen, why would I be talking? Look, I just asked why we're hanging around here in the middle of nowhere and what we're waiting for. That's all!"

  Rhodan did not take his eyes from the screen. "We're waiting until we can land over there, eight light-days from here. Naturally, no one can predict how long that'll be. It all depends on John Marshall and his mutants. And on Pucky."

  "It's always that overfed rodent!" Bell groaned, rubbing his chin. "You'd think everything depends on the New Power's answer to Mighty Mouse!"

  "And it does," Rhodan replied, trying to keep a straight face. "You know, I'm curious as to what Pucky will say when I tell him what the fellow who's supposed to be his best friend really thinks of him..."

  "Good Lord—don't!" Bell cried, reacting as though someone had stuck a needle in his ample backside. "Anything but that! Don't irritate the rodent if you don't have to! I can't get back at him! Do you think I want to be flattened up against the ceiling again for three hours or for however long it takes that monster to decide to be nice and let me down again? Remember—I'm a man, not a mutant. I can't defend myself!"

  Rhodan's gaze left the screen and he glanced thoughtfully around. A slight smile played on his austere lips. In spite of his relative immortality, he appeared to have aged somewhat in the past weeks. "So?" he said. Nothing more.

  In the background, two communications officers nudged each other and chuckled. A little friendly amusement at Bell's expense would certainly be allowed.

  "Or do you even care about my problems?" Bell said, putting forth a counter-question. He apparently expected no reply for he went on, "By the way, have you gotten any word as to whether or not Pucky finally did find the mutants?"

  "He found them alright," Rhodan told him, "although he did run into difficulties along the way. Just now our mutant commandos are sitting aboard a sailing ship in the harbor there on the coast of the Land of the Gods. The name of the ship escapes me at the moment. I'll have to admit, though, that Marshall hasn't reported since yesterday."

  "Maybe the Springers got them," Bell suggested darkly.

  "Let's hope not, Reg," Rhodan said. "That would throw a monkey wrench in my whole plan."

  "What plan, for Pete's sake?"

  "The plan to conquer Goszul's Planet peacefully."

  Bell stared at Rhodan in disbelief. He took a deep breath and exhaled with a distinct whistling. "A peaceful conquest? Quite an optimist, aren't you, Perry? I wish I could see things as rosily as you do. A peaceful conquest! These Traders have murdered our people as fast as they could get their hands on them."

  "Traders aren't the only ones living on Goszul's Planet," Rhodan reminded him. "The primitive natives are completely harmless and those natives conditioned by the Springers, the Servants, will be relatively easy for us to deal with once they understand this operation involves their freedom. So why should any Goszuls have to die? The Land of the Gods is the Springer province and the planet is ruled from there. Furthermore, the usual number of Springers present at one time in the Land of the Gods is barely two dozen. The current gathering is an exception which we'll have to take into account. So you can see that we really aren't facing very many human enemies. The thousands of worker and battle-robots on hand will be the opponents we'll have to take seriously. Otherwise, my hope is for a peaceful conquest."

  "Well, I hope you enjoy yourself," Bell grumbled, still not sure just what Rhodan was driving at. "How do you propose to do it, if I may ask? Are we just going to wait out here until we rot?"

  Rhodan pointed to a narrow rectangular box lying atop the control panel in front of him. On the container's side were several knobs and an array of lights shone along the top. "This is my contact with Marshall and Pucky," Rhodan explained. "I'm waiting for them to report. Till they do, we can't do a thing."

  "If we used the teletrans we could teleport enough bombs to blast—"

  "I've rejected that idea once before," Rhodan told him. "I don't want our position known. If we leave the job to Marshall and his group, the Springers won't suspect that we're behind it—even assuming the Springers ever even suspect that they're actually being attacked. They're more likely to believe their defeat on Goszul's Planet was a result of a quite natural disease."

  Bell's face bore a puzzled expression. Then his eyes flashed. "I have the same high IQ you do but I've never been able to get anywhere with crossword puzzles. So would you finally tell me what's going on?"

  Rhodan did. "Pucky took a number of useful items along with him but the most useful of all will probably be the Oblivion Bombs."

  "The... what?"

  "The Oblivion Bombs. They were developed along with their antidote on Earth. In short, the Oblivion Bombs are a form of biological warfare. After a certain time, the virus inside eats its way through the bomb's plastic hull and spreads in the open air. Every person infected by it will soon show symptoms of an unknown disease: red spots on the face, pains in the neck, tiredness, and so forth. Then comes the worst part of it—the brain will no longer function properly. The victim won't be able to remember anything. He will have forgotten everything he ever knew. He'll go mad, you might say."

  "You call that peaceful?" Bell protested, shocked. "You want to make the Goszuls go crazy? What does this have to do with being humane?"

  Rhodan smiled disarmingly. "You're forgetting
the antidote, which works in the other direction. The afflicted will immediately recover without lasting ill effects, as if they were never sick at all."

  Bell looked more perplexed than ever. "I don't understand this at all. Why the act?"

  "The Goszuls and the Springers are descended from the same race—the Arkonides. They aren't at all immune to our diseases."

  Dawn seemed to break over Bell's face. "Hmmm... and then they'll have to come to us if they want the antidote?"

  Rhodan shook his head. "That isn't my intention. For me, the important thing is that the Springers avoid Goszul's Planet... like the plague, if you will, from now on. If they think it hopelessly disease-ridden, they'll never come back. Do you have any better ideas?"

  Bell had to admit that he did not. Now that his uncertainty and doubt had been eased, he seemed more relaxed: even his hair presented a less unruly appearance than earlier. He now knew what Rhodan was waiting for.

  • • •

  John Marshall nudged his companions awake as dawn was breaking. The Japanese mutants opened their eyes and blinked in the sun's first rays streaming through the small porthole into the cabin.

  "It isn't morning already, is it?" Tako complained tiredly, climbing out of his narrow bunk. "What's Pucky doing?"

  The mouse-beaver materialized in the middle of the cabin as if he had heard Tako's question, which he may well have. "Here I am!" he announced in his chirping voice while he smoothed his fur. "I was taking a look around. The sailors are all still asleep. They must be resting up from all that hard work yesterday. Everything's quiet—perfect for what we have to do."

  "I'm glad I'm not a teleporter," Kitai murmured, not moving from his bed. "Do you two plan on doing all the work by yourselves?"

  "We'll probably have to, Pucky and I," Tako answered, buttoning his jacket. "The two of us ought to be able to do it if one can't. Now, there's a sandbank right by where Pucky had to drop the stuff. It'll be a good place to put the equipment when we bring it up."