The Plague of Oblivion - Clark Darlton, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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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–
THE PLAGUE OF OBLIVION
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 neighbourhood 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 intelligent, 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 harboured a definite suspicion of us,"
John replied, "but he wouldn’t have done it just to do the Springers a favour. 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."
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