The Ethical Engineer (5 page)

"How do you feel," Jason asked. "Those are two of the finest
blood-shot eyeballs I have ever seen."

"Where am I?"

"Now that is a bright and original question—I didn't pick you for the
type who watched historical spaceopera on the TV. I have no idea where
we are—but I can give you a brief synopsis of how we arrived here, if
you are up to it."

"I remember we swam ashore, then something evil came from the
darkness, like a demon from hell. We fought...."

"And he bashed in your head, one quick blow and that was about all the
fight there was. I had a better look at your demon, though I was in no
better condition to fight him than you were. He's a man dressed in a
weird outfit out of an addict's nightmare and appears to be the boss
of this crew of rugged campers. Other than that I have little idea of
what is going on—except that he stole my boots and I'm going to get
then back if I have to kill him for them."

"Do not lust after material things," Mikah intoned seriously. "And do
not talk of killing a man for material gain. You are evil, Jason,
and.... My boots are gone—and my clothes, too!"

Mikah had thrown back his covering skins and made this startling
discovery. "Belial!" he roared. "Asmodeus, Abaddon, Apollyon and
Baal-zebub!"

"Very nice," Jason said admiringly, "you really have been studying up
on your demonology. Were you just listing them—or calling on them for
aid?"

"Silence, blasphemer! I have been robbed!" He rose to his feet and the
wind whistling around his almost-bare body quickly gave his skin a
light touch of blue. "I am going to find the evil creature that did
this and force him to return what is mine."

Mikah turned to leave but Jason reached out and grabbed his ankle with
a wrestling grip, twisted it and brought the man thudding to the
ground. The fall dazed him and Jason pulled the skins back over the
raw-boned form.

"We're even," Jason said. "You saved my life last night, just now I
saved yours. You're bare-handed and wounded—while the old man of the
mountain up there is a walking armory, and anyone with the personality
to wear that kind of an outfit will kill you as easily as he picks his
teeth. So take it easy and try to avoid trouble. There's a way out of
this mess—there's a way out of
every
mess if you look for it—and
I'm going to find it. In fact I'm going to take a walk right now and
start my research. Agreed?"

A groan was his only answer since Mikah was unconscious again, fresh
blood seeping from his injured scalp. Jason stood and wrapped his
hides about his body as some protection from the wind, tying the loose
ends together. Then he kicked through the sand until he found a smooth
rock that would fit inside his fist with just the end protruding, and
thus armed made his way out through the stirring forms of the
sleepers.

Mikah was conscious again when Jason returned, and the sun was well
above the horizon. The people were all awake now, a shuffling,
scratching herd of about thirty men, women and children. They were
identical in their filth and crude skin wrappings, milling about with
a random motion or sitting blankly on the ground. They showed no
interest at all in the two strangers. Jason handed a tarred leather
cup to Mikah and squatted next to him.

"Drink that. It's water, the only thing that anyone here had to drink.
I didn't find any food." He still had the stone in his hand and while
he talked he rubbed it on the sand: the end was moist and red and some
long hairs were stuck in it.

"I took a good look around this camp, and there's very little more
than you can see from here. Just this crowd of broken down types, a
few bundles rolled in hide, and some of them are carrying skin water
bottles. They have a simple me-stronger pecking order so I pecked a
bit and we can drink. Food comes next."

"Who are they? What are we doing?" Mikah asked, mumbling a little,
obviously still suffering the after-effects of the blow. Jason looked
at the contused skull, and decided not to touch it. The wound had bled
freely and clotted. Washing it off with the highly dubious water would
accomplish little and might add infection to their other troubles.

"I'm only sure of one thing," Jason said. "They're slaves. I don't
know why they are here, what they are doing or where they are going,
but their status is painfully clear—ours, too. Old Nasty up there on
the hill is the boss. The rest of us are slaves."

"Slaves!" Mikah snorted, the word penetrating through the pain in his
head. "It is abominable. The slaves must be freed."

"No lectures please, and try to be realistic—even if it hurts. There
are only two slaves that need freeing here, you and I. These people
seem nicely adjusted to the
status quo
and I see no reason to change
it. I'm not starting any abolitionist campaigns until I can see my way
clearly out of this mess, and I probably won't start any then either.
This planet has been going on a long time without me, and will
probably keep rolling along once I'm gone."

"Coward! You must fight for the Truth and the Truth will make you
free."

"I can hear those capital letters again," Jason groaned. "The only
thing right now that is going to make me free is me. Which may be bad
poetry, but is still the truth. The situation here is rough but not
unbeatable—so listen and learn. The boss, his name is Ch'aka in case
you care, seems to have gone off on a hunt of some kind. He's not far
away and will be back soon, so I'll try and give you the entire setup
quickly.

"I thought I recognized the language, and I was right. It's a corrupt
form of Esperanto, the language all the Terido worlds speak. This
altered language plus the fact that these people live about one step
above the stone-age culture is pretty sure evidence that they are cut
off from any contact with the rest of the galaxy, though I hope not.
There may be a trading base somewhere on the planet, and if there is
we'll find it later. We have enough other things to worry about right
now, but at least we can speak the language. These people have
contracted and lost a lot of sounds and even introduced a glottal
stop, something that
no
language needs, but with a little effort the
meaning can still be made out."

"I do not speak Esperanto."

"Then learn it. It's easy enough even in this jumbled form. And shut
up and listen. These locals are born and bred slaves and it is all
they know. There is a little squabbling in the ranks with the bigger
ones pushing the work on the weak ones when Ch'aka isn't looking, but
I have that situation well in hand. Ch'aka is our big problem, and we
have to find out a lot more things before we can tackle him. He is
boss, fighter, father, provider and destiny for this mob, and he seems
to know his job. So try to be a good slave for a while...."

"Slave! I?" Mikah arched his back and tried to rise. Jason pushed him
back to the ground—harder than was necessary.

"Yes, you—and me, too. That is the only way we are going to survive
in this arrangement. Do what everyone else does, obey orders, and you
stand a good chance of staying alive until we can find a way out of
this tangle."

Mikah's answer was drowned out in a roar from the dunes as Ch'aka
returned. The slaves climbed quickly to their feet, grabbing up their
bundles, and began to form a single widespaced line. Jason helped
Mikah to stand and wrap strips of skin around his feet then supported
most of his weight as they stumbled to a place in the open formation.
Once they were all in position Ch'aka kicked the nearest one and they
began walking slowly forward looking carefully at the ground as they
went. Jason had no idea of the significance of the action, but as long
as he and Mikah weren't bothered it didn't matter: he had enough work
cut out for him just to keep the wounded man on his feet. Somehow
Mikah managed to dredge up enough strength to keep going.

One of the slaves pointed down and shouted and the line stopped. He
was too far away for Jason to make out the cause of the excitement,
but the man bent over and scratched a hole with a short length of
pointed wood. In a few seconds he dug up something round and not quite
the size of his hand. He raised it over his head and brought the thing
to Ch'aka at a shambling run. The slavemaster took it and bit off a
chunk, and when the man who had found it turned away he gave him a
lusty kick. The line moved forward again.

Two more of the mysterious objects were found, both of which Ch'aka
ate as well. Only when his immediate hunger was satisfied did he make
any attempt to be the good provider. When the next one was found he
called over a slave and threw the object into a crudely woven basket
he was carrying on his back. After this the basket-toting slave walked
directly in front of Ch'aka who was carefully watchful that every one
of the things that was dug up went into the basket. Jason wondered
what they were—and they were edible, too, an angry rumbling in his
stomach reminded him.

The slave next in line to Jason shouted and pointed to the sand. Jason
let Mikah sink to a sitting position when they stopped and watched
with interest as the slave attacked the ground with his piece of wood,
scratching around a tiny sprig of green that projected from the desert
sand. His burrowings uncovered a wrinkled gray object from which the
green leaves were growing, a root or tuber of some kind. It appeared
as edible as a piece of stone to Jason, but obviously not to the slave
who drooled heavily and actually had the temerity to sniff the root.
Ch'aka howled with anger at this and when the slave had dropped the
root into the basket with the others he received a kick so strong that
he had to limp back painfully to his position in the line.

Soon after this Ch'aka called a halt and the tattered slaves huddled
around while he poked through the basket. He called them over one at a
time and gave them one or more of the roots according to some merit
system of his own. The basket was almost empty when he poked his club
at Jason.

"
K'e nam h'vas vi?
" he asked.

"
Mia namo estas Jason, mia amiko estas Mikah.
"

Jason answered in correct Esperanto that Ch'aka seemed to understand
well enough, because he grunted and dug through the contents of the
basket. His masked face stared at them and Jason could feel the impact
of the unseen watching eyes. The club pointed again.

"Where you come from? That you ship that burn, sink?"

"That was our ship. We come from far away."

"From other side of ocean?" This was apparently the largest distance
the slaver could imagine.

"From the other side of the ocean, correct." Jason was in no mood to
deliver a lecture on astronomy. "When do we eat?"

"You a rich man in your country, got a ship, got shoes. Now I got your
shoes. You a slave here. My slave. You both my slaves."

"I'm your slave, I'm your slave," Jason said resignedly. "But even
slaves have to eat. Where's the food?"

Ch'aka grubbed around in the basket until he found a tiny and withered
root which he broke in half and threw onto the sand in front of Jason.

"Work hard you get more."

Jason picked up the pieces and brushed away as much of the dirt as he
could. He handed one to Mikah and took a tentative bite out of the
other one: it was gritty with sand and tasted like slightly rancid
wax. It took a distinct effort to eat the repulsive thing but he did.
Without a doubt it was food, no matter how unwholesome, and would do
until something better came along.

"What did you talk about?" Mikah asked, grinding his own portion
between his teeth.

"Just swapping lies. He thinks we're his slaves and I agreed. But it's
just temporary—" Jason added as anger colored Mikah's face and he
started to climb to his feet. Jason pulled him back down. "This is a
strange planet, you're injured, we have no food or water, and no idea
at all how to survive in this place. The only thing we can do to stay
alive is to go along with what Old Ugly there says. If he wants to
call us slaves, fine—we're slaves."

"Better to die free than to live in chains!"

"Will you stop the nonsense. Better to live in chains and learn how to
get rid of them. That way you end up alive-free rather than dead-free,
a much more attractive state. Now shut up and eat. We can't do
anything until you are out of the walking wounded class."

For the rest of the day the line of walkers plodded across the sand
and in addition to helping Mikah, Jason found two of the
krenoj
, the
edible roots. They stopped before dusk and dropped gratefully to the
sand. When the food was divided they received a slightly larger
portion, as evidence perhaps of Jason's attention to the work. Both
men were exhausted and fell asleep as soon as it was dark.

During the following morning they had their first break from the
walking routine. Their foodsearching always paralleled the unseen sea,
and one slave walked the crest of the dunes that hid the water from
sight. He must have seen something of interest because he leaped down
from the mound and waved both arms wildly. Ch'aka ran heavily to the
dunes and talked with the scout, then booted the man from his
presence.

Jason watched with growing interest as he unwrapped the bulky package
slung from his back and disclosed an efficient looking crossbow,
cocking it by winding on a built-in crank. This complicated and deadly
piece of machinery seemed very much out of place with the primitive
slave-holding society, and Jason wished that he could get a better
look at the device. Ch'aka fumbled a quarrel from another pouch and
fitted it to the bow. The slaves sat silently on the sand while their
master stalked along the base of the dunes, then wormed his way over
them and out of sight, creeping silently on his stomach. A few minutes
later there was a scream of pain from behind the dunes and all the
slaves jumped to their feet and raced to see. Jason left Mikah where
he lay and was in the first rank of observers that broke over the
hillocks and onto the shore.