The Ethical Engineer (4 page)

"Perhaps," Jason answered in his most noncommittal voice, since he did
not have the slightest intention of continuing the trip, no matter
what Mikah Samon thought.

His captor had reached the same conclusion. "Put your hand back on the
chair arm," he ordered, and locked the cuff into place again. He
stumbled as the drive started and the ship changed direction. "What
was that?" he asked.

"Emergency control. The ship's computer knows that something drastic
is wrong, so it has taken over. You can override it with the manuals,
but don't bother yet. The ship can do a better job than either of us
with its senses and stored data. It will find the planet we're looking
for, plot a course and get us there with the most economy of time and
fuel. When we get into the atmosphere you can take over and look for a
spot to set down."

"I don't believe a word you say now," Mikah said grimly. "I'm going to
take control and get a call out on the emergency band. Someone will
hear it." As he started forward the ship lurched again and all the
lights went out. In the darkness flames could be seen flickering
inside the controls. There was a hiss of foam and they vanished. With
a weak flicker the emergency lighting circuit came on.

"Shouldn't have thrown the Ramon Lull book," Jason said. "The ship
can't stomach it any more than I could."

"You are irreverent and profane," Mikah said through his clenched
teeth, as he went to the controls. "You attempt to kill us both. You
have no respect for your own life or mine. You're a man who deserves
the worst punishment the law allows."

"I'm a gambler," Jason laughed. "Not at all as bad as you say. I take
chances—but I only take them when the odds are right. You were
carrying me back to certain death. The worst my wrecking the controls
can do is administer the same end. So I took a chance. There is a
bigger risk factor for you of course, but I'm afraid I didn't take
that into consideration. After all, this entire affair is your idea.
You'll just have to take the consequences of your own actions and not
scold me for them."

"You're perfectly right," Mikah said quietly. "I should have been more
alert. Now will you tell me what to do to save
both
our lives. None
of the controls work."

"None! Did you try the emergency override? The big red switch under
the safety housing."

"I did. It is dead, too."

Jason slumped back into the seat. It was a moment before he could
speak. "Read one of your books, Mikah," he said at last. "Seek
consolation in your philosophy. There's nothing we can do. It's all up
to the computer now, and whatever is left of the circuits."

"Can't we help—repair anything?"

"Are you a ship technician? I'm not. We would probably do more harm
than good."

It took two ship-days of very erratic flight to reach the planet. A
haze of clouds obscured the atmosphere. They approached from the night
side and no details were visible. Or lights.

"If there were cities we should see their lights—shouldn't we?" Mikah
asked.

"Not necessarily. Could be storms. Could be enclosed cities. Could be
only ocean in this hemisphere."

"Or it could be that there are no people down there. Even if the ship
should get us down safely—what will it matter? We will be trapped for
the rest of our lives on this lost planet at the end of the universe."

"Don't be so cheerful," Jason interrupted. "How about taking off these
cuffs while we go down. It will probably be a rough landing and I'd
like to have some kind of a chance."

Mikah frowned at him. "Will you give me your word of honor that you
won't try to escape during the landing?"

"No. And if I gave it—would you believe it? If you let me go, you
take your chances. Let neither of us think it will be any different."

"I have my duty to do," Mikah said. Jason remained locked in the
chair.

They were in the atmosphere, the gentle sighing against the hull
quickly climbed the scale to a shrill scream. The drive cut out and
they were in free fall. Air friction heated the outer hull white-hot
and the interior temperature quickly rose in spite of the cooling
unit.

"What's happening?" Mikah asked. "You seem to know more about this.
Are we through—going to crash?"

"Maybe. Could be only one of two things. Either the whole works has
folded up—in which case we are going to be scattered in very small
pieces all over the landscape, or the computer is saving itself for
one last effort. I hope that's it. They build computers smart these
days, all sort of problem-solving circuits. The hull and engines are
in good shape—but the controls spotty and unreliable. In a case like
this a good human pilot would let the ship drop as far and fast as it
could before switching on the drive. Then turn it on full—thirteen
gees or more, whatever he figured the passengers could take on the
couches. The hull would take a beating, but who cares. The control
circuits would be used the shortest amount of time in the simplest
manner."

"Do you think that's what is happening?" Mikah asked, getting into his
acceleration chair.

"That's what I
hope
is happening. Going to unlock the cuffs before
you go to bed? It could be a bad landing and we might want to go
places in a hurry."

Mikah considered, then took out his gun. "I'll unlock you, but I
intend to shoot if you try anything. Once we are down you will be
locked in again."

"Thanks for small blessings," Jason said, rubbing his wrists.

Deceleration jumped on them, kicked the air from their lungs in
uncontrollable gasps, sank them deep into the yielding couches.
Mikah's gun was pressed into his chest, too heavy to lift. It made no
difference, Jason could not stand nor move. He hovered on the border
of consciousness, his vision flickering behind a black and red haze.

Just as suddenly the pressure was gone.

They were still falling.

The drive groaned in the stern of the ship and relays chattered. But
it didn't start again. The two men stared at each other, unmoving, for
the unmeasurable unit of time that the ship fell.

As the ship dropped it turned and hit at an angle. The end came for
Jason in an engulfing wave of thunder, shock and pain. Sudden impact
pushed him against the restraining straps, burst them with the inertia
of his body, hurled him across the control room. His last conscious
thought was to protect his head. He was lifting his arm when he struck
the wall.

There is a cold that is so chilling it is a pain not a temperature.
Cold that slices into the flesh before it numbs and kills.

Jason came to with the sound of his own voice crying hoarsely. The
cold was so great it filled the universe. Cold water he realized as he
coughed it from his mouth and nose. Something was around him and it
took an effort to recognize it as Mikah's arm; he was holding Jason's
face above the surface while he swam. A receding blackness in the
water could only have been the ship, giving off bubbles and groans as
it died. The cold water didn't hurt now and Jason was just relaxing
when he felt something solid under his feet.

"Stand up and walk, curse you," Mikah gasped hoarsely. "I can't ...
carry you ... can't carry myself...."

They floundered out of the water, side by side, four-legged crawling
beasts that could not stand erect. Everything had an unreality to it
and Jason found it hard to think. He should not stop, that he was sure
of, but what else could he do? There was a flickering in the darkness,
a wavering light coming towards them. Jason could say nothing, but he
heard Mikah cry out for help.

Nearer came the light, some kind of a flare or torch, held high. Mikah
pulled to his feet as the flame approached.

It was a nightmare. It wasn't a man but a thing that held the flare. A
thing of angles, sharp corners, fang-faced and horrible. It had a
clubbed extremity it used to strike down Mikah. The tall man fell
wordlessly and the creature turned towards Jason. He had no strength
to fight with, though he struggled to climb to his feet. His fingers
scratched at the frosted sand, but he could not rise, and exhausted
with this last effort he fell forward face down. Unconsciousness
pulled at his brain but he would not submit. The flickering torchlight
came closer and the scuffle of heavy feet in the sand; he could not
have this horror behind him. With the last of his strength he levered
himself over and lay on his back, staring up at the thing that stood
over him, with the darkness of exhaustion filming his eyes.

It did not kill him at once, but stood staring down at him, and as
the slow seconds ticked by and Jason was still alive he forced himself
to consider this menace that appeared from the blackness.

"
K'e vi stas el...?
" the creature said, and for the first time Jason
realized it was human. The meaning of the question picked at the edge
of his exhausted brain, he felt he could almost understand it, though
he had never heard the language before. He tried to answer but there
was only a hoarse gargle from his throat.

"
Ven k'n torcoy—r'pidu!
"

More lights sprang from the darkness inland and with them the sound of
running feet. As they came closer Jason had a clearer look at the man
above him and could understand why he had mistaken him for some
inhuman creature. His limbs were completely wrapped in lengths of
stained leather, his chest and body protected by thick and overlapping
leather plates covered with blood-red designs. Over his head was
fitted the cochlea shaped shell of some animal, spiraling to a point
in front: two small openings had been drilled in it for eye holes.
Great, finger-long teeth had been set in the lower edge of the shell
to heighten the already fearsome appearance. The only thing at all
human about the creature was the matted and filthy beard that trickled
out of the shell below the teeth. There were too many other details
for Jason to absorb so suddenly; something bulky slung behind one
shoulder, dark objects at the waist, a heavy club reached and prodded
Jason in the ribs, but he was too close to unconsciousness to resist.

A guttural command halted the torch-bearers a full five meters from
the spot where Jason lay. He wondered vaguely why the armored man had
not let them approach closer since the light from their torches barely
reached this far: everything on this planet seemed inexplicable. For a
few moments Jason must have lost consciousness because when he looked
again the torch was stuck in the sand at his side and the armored man
had one of Jason's boots off and was pulling at the other. Jason could
only writhe feebly but not prevent the theft, for some reason he could
not force his body to follow his will. His sense of time seemed to
have altered as well and though every second dragged heavily by events
occurred with startling rapidity.

The boots were gone now and the man fumbled at Jason's clothes,
stopping every few seconds to glance up at the row of torch-bearers.
The magnetic seals were alien to him, the sharp teeth sewn into the
leather over his knuckles dug into Jason's flesh as he struggled to
open the seals or to tear the resistant metalcloth. He was growling
with impatience when he accidentally touched the release button on the
medikit and it dropped into his hand. The shining gadget seemed to
please him, but when one of the sharp needles slipped through his
thick hand-coverings and stabbed him he howled with rage, throwing the
machine down, and grinding it into a splintered ruin in the sand. The
loss of this irreplaceable device goaded Jason into motion, he sat up
and was trying to reach the medikit when unconsciousness surged over
him.

Sometime before dawn the pain in his head drove him reluctantly back
to awareness. There were some foul-smelling hides draped over him that
retained a little of his body heat. He pulled away the stifling fold
that covered his face and stared up at the stars, cold points of light
that glittered in the frigid night. The air was a stimulant and he
sucked deep gasps of it that burned his throat but seemed to clear his
thoughts. For the first time he realized that his disorientation had
been caused by that crack on the head he had received when the ship
crashed; his exploring fingers found a swollen rawness on his skull.
He must have a brain concussion, that would explain his earlier
inability to move or think straight. The cold air was numbing his face
and he willingly pulled the hairy skin back over his head.

He wondered what had happened to Mikah Samon after the local thug in
the horror outfit had bashed him with the club. This was a messy and
unexpected end for the man after he had managed to survive the crash
of the ship. Jason had no special affection for the under-nourished
zealot, but he did owe him a life. Mikah had saved him after the
crash, only to be murdered himself by this local assassin. Jason made
a mental note to kill the man just as soon as he was physically up to
it, at the same time he was a little astonished at his reflexive
acceptance of the need for this blood-thirsty atonement of a life for
a life. Apparently his long stay on Pyrrus had trodden down his normal
dislike for killing except in self-defense and from what he had seen
so far of this world the Pyrran training would certainly be most
useful. The sky showed gray through a tear in the hide and he pushed
it back to look at the dawn.

Mikah Samon lay next to him his head projecting from a covering fur.
He hair was matted and caked with dark blood, but he was still
breathing.

"Harder to kill than I thought," Jason grunted as he levered himself
painfully up onto one elbow and took a good look at this world where
his spaceship sabotage had landed them.

It was a grim desert, lumped with huddled bodies like the aftermath of
a battle at world's-end. A few of them were stumbling to their feet,
holding their skins around them, the only signs of life in that
immense waste of gritty sand. On one side a ridge of dunes cut off
sight of the sea, but he could hear the dull boom of waves on the
shore. White frost rimed the ground and the chill wind made his eyes
blink and water. On the top of the dunes a remembered figure suddenly
appeared, the armored man, doing something with what appeared to be
lengths of rope; there was metallic tinkling, suddenly cut off. Mikah
Samon groaned and stirred.