The Ethical Engineer (8 page)

"Hate you, Ch'aka!" Fasimba shouted as he ran up, only this time he
meant what he said. "Coming on my ground, I kill you!"

"Not yet," Jason called out. "And hate you, Fasimba, sorry I forgot
the formalities. I don't want any of your land and the old treaty or
whatever it is still holds. I just want to talk to you."

Fasimba stopped, but kept his stone hammer ready, very suspicious.
"You got new voice, Ch'aka."

"I got new Ch'aka, old Ch'aka now pushing up the daisies. I want to
trade back a slave from you and then we'll go."

"Ch'aka fight hard. You must be good fighter Ch'aka." He shook his
hammer angrily. "Not as good as me, Ch'aka!"

"You're the tops, Fasimba, nine slaves out of ten want you for a
master. Look, can't we get to the point, then I'll get my mob out of
here." He looked at the row of approaching slaves, trying to pick out
Mikah. "I want back the slave who had the hole in his head. I'll give
you two slaves in trade, your choice. What do you say to that?"

"Good trade, Ch'aka. You pick one of mine, take the best, I'll take
two of yours. But hole-in-head gone. Too much trouble. Talk all the
time. I got sore foot from kicking him. Got rid of him."

"Did you kill him?"

"Don't waste slave. Traded him to the D'zertanoj. Got arrows. You want
arrows?"

"Not this time, Fasimba, but thanks for the information." He rooted
around in a pouch and pulled out a
krenoj
. "Here, have something to
eat."

"Where you get poisoned
krenoj
?" Fasimba asked with interest. "I
could use a poisoned
krenoj
."

"This isn't poisoned, it's perfectly edible, or at least as edible as
these things ever are."

Fasimba laughed. "You pretty funny, Ch'aka. I give you one arrow for
poisoned
krenoj
."

"You're on," Jason said throwing the
krenoj
to the ground between
them. "But I tell you it is perfectly good."

"That's what I tell man I give it to. I got good use for a poisoned
krenoj
." He threw an arrow into the sand away from them and grabbed
up the vegetable as he left.

When Jason picked up the arrow it bent, and he saw that it was rusted
almost completely in two and that the break had been craftily covered
by clay. "That's all right," he called after the retreating slaver,
"just wait until your friend eats the
krenoj
."

The march continued, first back to the boundary cairn with the
suspicious Fasimba dogging their steps. Only after Jason and his band
had passed the border did the others return to their normal foraging.
Then began the long walk to the borders of the inland desert. Since
they had to search for
krenoj
as they went it took them the better
part of three days to reach their destination. Jason merely started
the line in the correct direction, but as soon as he was out of sight
of the sea he had only a rough idea of the correct course, however he
did not confide his ignorance to the slaves and they marched steadily
on, along what was obviously a well-known route to them. Along the way
they collected and consumed a good number of
krenoj
, found two wells
from which they refilled the skin bags, and pointed out a huddled
animal sitting by a hole that Jason, to their un-voiced disgust,
managed to miss completely with a bolt from the crossbow.

On the morning of the third day Jason saw a line of demarcation on the
flattened horizon and before the midday meal they came to a sea of
billowing, bluish-gray sand. The ending of what he had been accustomed
to thinking of as the desert was startling. Beneath their feet were
yellow sand and gravel, while occasional shrubs managed a sickly
existence as did some grass and the life-giving
krenoj
. Animals as
well as men lived here and, ruthless though survival was, they were at
least alive. In the wastes ahead no life was possible or visible,
though there seemed to be no doubt that the D'zertanoj lived there.
This must mean that though it looked unlimited—as Ijale believed it
to be—there were probably arable lands on the other side. Mountains
as well, if they weren't just clouds, since a line of gray peaks could
just be made out on the distant horizon.

"Where do we find the D'zertanoj?" he asked the nearest slave who
merely scowled and looked away. Jason was having a problem with
discipline. The slaves would not do a thing he asked unless he kicked
them. Their conditioning had been so thorough that an order
unaccompanied by a kick just wasn't an order and his continued
reluctance to impose the physical coercion with the spoken command was
just being taken as a sign of weakness. Already some of the burlier
slaves were licking their lips and sizing him up. His efforts to
improve the life of the slaves were being blocked completely by the
slaves themselves. With a mumbled curse at the continued obduracy of
the human race Jason sank the toe of his boot into the man.

"Find them there by big rock," was the immediate response.

There was a dark spot at the desert's edge in the indicated direction
and when they approached Jason saw that it was an outcropping of rock
that had been built up with a wall of bricks or boulders to a uniform
height. A good number of men could be concealed behind that wall and
he was not going to risk his precious slaves or even more precious
skin anywhere near it. At his shout the line halted and settled to the
sand while he stalked a few meters in front, settling his club in his
hand and suspiciously examined the structure.

That there were unseen watchers was proven when a man appeared from
around the corner and walked slowly towards Jason. He was dressed in
loose-fitting robes and carried a basket on one arm, and when he had
reached a point roughly halfway between Jason and the rock he had just
quitted he halted and sat crosslegged in the sand, the basket at his
side. Jason looked carefully in all directions and decided the
position was safe enough. There were no places of concealment where
armed men might have hidden and he had no fear of the single man. Club
ready he walked out and stopped a full three paces from the other.

"Welcome, Ch'aka," the man said. "I was afraid we wouldn't be seeing
you again after that little ... difficulty we had."

He remained seated while he talked, stroking the few strands of his
scraggly beard. His head was shaven smooth and as sunburned and
leathery brown as the rest of his face, the most prominent feature of
which was the magnificent prow of a nose that terminated in flaring
nostrils and was used as sturdy support for a pair of handmade
sunglasses. They appeared to be carved completely of bone and fit
tightly to the face, their flat, solid fronts were cut with thin
transverse slashes. This eye protection, the things could only have
been for weak eyes, and the network of wrinkles indicated the man was
quite old and would present no danger to Jason.

"I want something," Jason said, in straightforward, Ch'akaish manner.

"A new voice and a new Ch'aka—I bid you welcome. The old one was a
dog and I hope he died in great pain when you killed him. Now sit
friend Ch'aka and drink with me." He carefully opened the basket and
removed a stone crock and two crockery mugs.

"Where you get poison drink?" Jason asked, remembering his local
manners. This
D'zertano
was a smart one and had been able to tell
instantly from Jason's voice that there had been a change in slaves.
"And what your name?"

"Edipon," the ancient said as, uninsulted, he put the drinking
apparatus back into the basket. "What is it that you want—within
reason that is? We always need slaves and we are always willing to
trade."

"I want slave you got. I trade you two for one."

The seated man smiled coldly from behind the shelter of his nose. "It
is not necessary to talk as ungrammatically as the coastal barbarians,
since I can tell by your accent that you are a man of education. What
slave is it that you want?"

"The one that you just received from Fasimba. He belongs to me." Jason
abandoned his linguistic ruse and put himself even more on guard,
taking a quick look around at the empty sands. This dried up old bird
was a lot brighter than he looked and he would have to stay on guard.

"Is that all you want?" Edipon asked.

"All I can think of at this moment. You produce this slave and perhaps
we can talk more business."

"I have an even better idea than that."

Edipon's laugh had very dirty overtones and Jason sprang back when the
oldster put two fingers into his mouth and whistled shrilly between
them. There was the rustle of shifting sand and Jason wheeled to see
men apparently climbing out of the empty desert, pushing back wooden
covers over which the sand had been smoothed. There were six of them,
with shields and clubs, and Jason cursed his stupidity at meeting
Edipon on a spot of the other's choosing. He swung his club behind him
but the oldster was already scampering for the safety of the rock.
Jason howled in anger and ran at the nearest man who was still only
halfway out of his hiding place. The man took Jason's blow on his
upraised shield and was toppled back into the pit by the force of it.
Jason ran on but another was ahead of him, swinging his own war club
in readiness. There was no way around so Jason ran into him at full
speed with all of his pendant teeth and horns gnashing and clattering.
The man fell back under the attack and Jason split his shield with his
club, and would have done further damage except that the other men
arrived at that moment and he had to face them.

It was a brief and wicked battle, with Jason giving just a little more
than he received. Two of the attackers were down and a third holding
his cracked head when the weight of numbers carried Jason to the
ground. He called to his slaves for aid, then cursed them when they
only remained seated, while his arms were pinioned with rope and his
weapons stripped from his body. One of the victors waved to the slaves
who now stood and docilely marched into the desert. Jason was dragged,
snarling with rage, in the same direction.

There was a wide opening in the desert-facing side of the wall and
once through it Jason's anger instantly vanished. Here was one of the
caroj
that Ijale had told him about: there could be no doubt of it.
He could now understand how, to her uneducated eye, there could exist
an uncertainty as to whether the thing was an animal or not. The
vehicle was a good ten meters long, shaped roughly like a boat, and
bore on the front a large and obviously false animal head covered with
fur and resplendent with rows of carved teeth and glistening crystal
eyes. There were hide coverings and not-too realistic legs hanging
about the thing, surely not enough camouflage to fool a sophisticated
six-year old.

This sort of disguise might be good enough to take in the ignorant
savages, but the same civilized child would recognize this as a
vehicle as soon as he saw the six large wheels below. They were cut
with deep treads and made from some resilient looking substance. No
motive power was visible, but Jason almost hooted with joy at the
prominent stink of burnt fuel. This crude looking contrivance had some
artificial source of power, which might be the product of a local
industrial revolution or have been purchased from off-world traders.
Either possibility offered the chance of eventual escape from this
nameless planet.

The slaves, some of them cringing with terror of the unknown, were
kicked up the gangplank and into the
caroj
. Four of the huskies who
had subdued and bound Jason carried him up and dumped him onto the
deck where he lay quietly and examined what could be seen of the
desert-vehicle's mechanism. A post projected from the front of the
deck and one of the men fitted what could only have been a tiller
handle over the squared top of it. If this monolithic apparatus
steered with the front pair of wheels it must be driven with the rear,
so Jason flopped around on the deck until he could look towards the
stern. A cabin, the width of the deck, was situated here, windowless
and with a single inset door fitted with a grand selection of locks
and bolts. Any doubt that this was the engine room was displaced by
the black metal smokestack that rose up through the cabin roof.

"We are leaving," Edipon screeched and waved his thin arms in the air.
"Bring in the entranceway. Narsisi stand forward to indicate the way
to the
caroj
. Now—all pray as I go into the shrine to induce the
sacred powers to move us towards Putl'ko." He started towards the
cabin, then stopped to point to one of the club bearers. "Erebo you
lazy sod, did you remember to fill the watercup of the gods this time,
because they grow thirsty?"

"I filled it, I filled it," Erebo muttered, chewing on a looted
krenoj
.

Preparations made, Edipon went into the recessed doorway and pulled a
concealing curtain over it. There was much clanking and rattling as
the locks and bolts were opened and he let himself inside. Within a
few minutes a black cloud of greasy smoke rolled out of the smokestack
and was whipped away by the wind. Almost an hour passed before the
sacred powers were ready to move, and they announced their willingness
to proceed by screaming and blowing their white breath up in the air.
Four of the slaves screamed counterpoint and fainted, while the rest
looked as if they would be happier off dead. Jason had had some
experience with primitive machines before so the safety valve on the
boiler came as no great surprise. He was also prepared when the
vehicle shuddered and began to move slowly out into the desert. From
the amount of smoke and the quantity of steam escaping from under the
stern he didn't think the engine was very efficient, but primitive as
it was it moved the
caroj
and its load of passengers across the sand
at a creeping yet steady pace.