The Ethical Engineer (16 page)

They had a filling dinner and the others turned in at dusk and were
quickly asleep. Jason, tired from the labors of the trip and heavy
with food, forced himself to remain awake, trying to keep alert for
trouble both from within and from without. When he became too sleepy
he paced around the camp until the cold drove him back to the shelter
of the still-warm boiler. Above him the stars wheeled slowly and when
a prominent one reached the zenith he estimated it was midnight, or a
bit after. He shook Mikah awake.

"You're on now. Keep your eyes and ears open for anything stirring and
don't forget a careful watch there," he jerked his thumb at Snarbi's
silent form. "Wake me up at once if there's anything suspicious."

Sleep dropped like a heavy curtain and Jason barely stirred until the
first light of dawn touched the sky. Only the brighter stars were
visible on the eastern horizon and he could see a ground fog rising
from the grass around them. Near him were the huddled forms of the two
sleepers and the farthest one shifted in his sleep and he realized it
was Mikah.

Sleep fell away instantly and he bounded out of his skin covers and
grabbed the other man by the shoulders. "What are you doing asleep?"
he raged. "You were supposed to be on guard."

Mikah opened his eyes and blinked. "I was on guard, but towards
morning Snarbi awoke and offered to take his turn. I could not refuse
him...."

"You couldn't WHAT? After what I said—"

"That was why. I could not judge an innocent man guilty and be a party
to your unfair action. Therefore, I left him on guard."

"You did, did you?" Jason grated with rage and pulled an unfelt
handful of hair from his newgrown beard. "Then where is he? Do you see
anyone on guard?"

Mikah looked in a careful circle and saw only the two of them and the
wakening Ijale. "He seems to have gone. He has proven his
untrustworthiness and in the future we will not allow him to stand
guard."

Jason raged, drew his foot back for a kick in the local reflex then
realized he had no time for such indulgences and dived for the
steamobile. The firelighter worked at the first shot, for a rare
change, and he lit the boiler. It roared merrily but when he tapped
the indicator he saw the fuel was almost gone. There would be enough
left in the last jug to take them to safety before whatever trouble
Snarbi was planning arrived. But the jug was gone.

"That tears it," Jason said resignedly after a hectic search of the
caroj
and the surrounding plain. The water-of-power had vanished
with Snarbi who, afraid as he was of the steam engine, apparently knew
enough from observing Jason fueling the thing that it could not move
without the vital liquid. An empty feeling of resignation had replaced
Jason's first rage: he should have known better than to trust Mikah
with anything, particularly when it involved an ethical point. He
stared at the man, now calmly eating a bit of cold roast and marveled
at the unruffled calm. "This doesn't bother you, the fact that you
have condemned us all to slavery again?"

"I did what was right, I had no other choice. We must live as moral
creatures or sink to the level of the animals."

"But when you live with people who behave like animals—how do you
survive?

"You live as they do—as you do, Jason," he said with majestic
judgment, "twisting and turning with fear and unable to avoid your
fate no matter how you squirm. Or you live as I have done, as a man of
conviction, knowing what is right and not letting your head be turned
by the petty needs of the day. And if one lives this way one can die
happy."

"Then die happy!" Jason snarled and reached for his sword, but settled
back again glumly before he picked it up. "To think that I ever
thought I could teach you anything about the reality of existence here
when you have never experienced reality before nor ever will until the
day you die. You carry your own attitudes, which are your reality,
around with you all the time, and they are more solid to you than this
ground we are sitting upon."

"For once we are in agreement, Jason. I have tried to open your eyes
to the true light, but you turn away and will not see. You ignore the
Eternal Law for the exigencies of the moment and are, therefore,
damned."

The pressure indicator on the boiler hissed and popped out, but the
fuel level was at the absolute bottom.

"Grab some food for breakfast, Ijale," Jason said, "and get away from
this machine. The fuel is gone and it's finished."

"I shall make a bundle to carry, we will escape on foot."

"No, that's out of the question. Snarbi knows this country and he knew
we would find out that he was missing at dawn. Whatever kind of
trouble he is bringing is already on the way and we wouldn't be able
to escape on foot. So we might as well save our energy. But they
aren't getting my handmade, super-charged steamobile!" he added with
sudden vehemence, grabbing up the crossbow. "Back both of you, far
back. They'll make a slave of me for my talents, but no free samples
go with it. If they want one of these hot-rod steam wagons, they are
going to have to pay for it!"

Jason lay down flat at the maximum range of the crossbow and his third
quarrel hit the boiler. It went up with a most satisfactory bang and
small pieces of metal and wood rained down all around. In the distance
he heard shouting and the barking of dogs.

When he stood he could see a distant line of men advancing through the
tall grass and when they were closer large dogs were also visible,
tugging at their leashes. Though they must have come far in a few
hours they approached at a steady trot, experienced runners, in thin
leather garments each carrying a short, laminated bow and a full
quiver of arrows. They swooped up in a semicircle, their great hounds
slavering to be loosed, and stopped when the three strangers were
within bow range. They notched their arrows and waited with alert
patience, staying well clear of the smoking ruins of the caroj, until
Snarbi finally staggered up half supported by two other runners.

"You now belong to ... the Hertug Persson ... and are his slaves....
What happened to the
caroj
?" He screamed this last when he spotted
the smoking wreck and would have collapsed except for the sustaining
arms. Evidently the new slaves decreased in value with the loss of the
machine. He stumbled over to it and, when none of the soldiers would
help him, gathered up what he could find of Jason's artifacts and
tools. When he had bundled them up, and the foot cavalry had seen that
he suffered no injury from the contact, they reluctantly agreed to
carry them. One of the soldiers, identical in dress with the others,
seemed to be in charge, and when he signaled a return they closed in
on the three prisoners and nudged them to their feet with drawn bows.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Jason said, gnawing on a bone, "but I'm
going to finish my breakfast first. I see an endless vista of
krenoj
stretching out before me and intend to enjoy this last meal before
entering servitude."

The lead soldiers looked confused and turned to their officer for
orders. "Who is this?" he asked Snarbi, pointing at the still seated
Jason. "Is there any reason why I should not kill him."

"You can't!" Snarbi choked, and turned a dirty shade of white. "He is
the one who built the devil-wagon and knows all of its secrets. Hertug
Persson will torture him to build another."

Jason wiped his fingers on the grass and reluctantly stood. "All right
gentlemen, let's go. And on the way perhaps someone can tell me just
who Hertug Persson is and what is going to happen next."

"I'll tell you," Snarbi bragged as they started the march. "He is
Hertug of the Perssonoj. I have fought for the Perssonoj and they knew
me and I saw the Hertug himself and he believed me. The Perssonoj are
very powerful in Appsala and have many powerful secrets, but not as
powerful as the Trozelligoj who have the secret of the
caroj
and the
jetilo
. I knew I could ask any price of the Perssonoj if I brought
them the secret of the
caroj
. And I will." He trust his face close
to Jason's with a fierce grimace. "You will tell them the secret. I
will help them torture you until you tell."

Jason put out his toe as they walked and Snarbi tripped over it and
when the traitor fell he walked the length of his body. None of the
soldiers paid any attention to this exchange and when they had passed
Snarbi staggered to his feet and tottered after them shouting curses.
Jason did not hear them, he had troubles enough as it was.

Seen from the surrounding hills, Appsala looked like a burning city
that was being slowly washed into the sea. Only when they had come
closer was it clear that the smoke was from the multifold chimneys,
both large and small, that studded the buildings, and that the city
began at the shore and covered a number of islands in what must be a
shallow lagoon. Large sea-going ships were tied up at the seaward side
of the city and closer to the mainland smaller craft were being poled
through the canals. Jason searched anxiously for a spaceport or any
signs of interstellar culture but saw nothing. Then the hills
intervened as the trail cut off to one side and approached the sea
some distance from the city.

A fair-sized sailing vessel was tied up at the end of a stone wharf,
obviously awaiting them, and the captives were tied hand and foot and
tossed into the hold. Jason managed to wriggle around until he could
get his eye to a crack between two badly fitting planks and recited a
running travelogue of the cruise, apparently for the edification of
his companions, but really for his own benefit since the sound of his
own voice always cheered and encouraged him.

"Our voyage is nearing its close and before us opens up the romantic
and ancient city of Appsala, famed for its loathsome customs,
murderous natives and archaic sanitation facilities, of which this
watery channel this ship is now entering seems to be the major cloaca.
There are islands on both sides, the smaller ones covered with hovels
so decrepit that in comparison the holes in the ground of the humblest
animals appear to be palaces, while the larger islands appear to be
forts, each one walled and barbicaned and presenting a warlike face to
the world. There couldn't be that many forts in a town this size so I
am led to believe that each one is undoubtedly the guarded stronghold
of one of the tribes, groups or clans that our friend Judas told us
about. Look on these monuments to ultimate selfishness and beware:
this is the end product of the system that begins with slave-holders
like the former Ch'aka with their tribes of
krenoj
crackers, and
builds up through familiar hierarchies like the D'zertanoj and reaches
its zenith of depravity behind those strong walls. It is still
absolute power that rules absolutely, each man out for all that he can
get and the only way to climb being over the bodies of others, and all
physical discoveries and inventions being treated as private and
personal secrets to be hidden and used only for personal gain. Never
have I seen human greed and selfishness carried to such extremes and I
admire Homo sapiens' capacity to follow through on an idea, no matter
how it hurts."

The ship lost way as it backed its sails and Jason fell from his
precarious perch into the stinking bilge. "The descent of man," he
muttered and inched his way out.

Piles grated along the sides and with much shouting and cursed orders
the ship came to a halt. The hatch above was slid back and the three
captives were rushed to the deck. The ship was tied up to a dock in a
pool of water surrounded by buildings and high walls. Behind them a
large sea gate was just swinging shut, through which the ship had
entered from the canal. They could see no more because they were
pushed into a doorway and through halls and past guards until they
ended up in a large central room. It was unfurnished except for the
dais at the far end on which stood a large and rusty iron throne. The
man on the throne, undoubtedly the Hertug Persson, sported a
magnificent white beard and shoulder length hair, his nose was round
and red, his eyes blue and watery. He nibbled at a
krenoj
impaled
delicately on a two-tined iron fork.

"Tell me," the Hertug shouted suddenly, "why you should not be killed
at once?"

"We are your slaves, Hertug, we are your slaves," everyone in the room
shouted in unison, waving their hands in the air at the same time.
Jason missed the first chorus, but came in on the second. Only Mikah
did not join in the chant-and-wave, speaking instead in a solitary
voice after the pledge of allegiance was completed.

"I am no man's slave."

The commander of the soldiers swung his thick bow in a short arc that
terminated on the top of Mikah's head: he dropped stunned to the
floor.

"You have a new slave, oh Hertug," the commander said.

"Which is the one who knows the secrets of the
caroj
?" the Hertug
asked and Snarbi pointed at Jason.

"Him there, oh mightiness. He can make
caroj
and he can make the
monster that burns and moves them, I know because I watched him do it.
He also made balls of fire that burned the D'zertanoj and many other
things. I brought him to be your slave so that he could make
caroj
for the Perssonoj. Here are the pieces of the
caroj
we traveled in,
after it was consumed by its own fire." Snarbi shook the tools and
burnt fragments out onto the floor and the Hertug curled his lip at
them.

"What proof is this?" he asked, and turned to Jason. "These things
mean nothing. How can you prove to me, slave, that you can do the
things he says?"

Jason entertained briefly the idea to deny all knowledge of the
matter, which would be a neat revenge against Snarbi who would
certainly meet a sticky end for causing all this trouble for nothing,
but he discarded the thought as fast as it came. Partly for
humanitarian reasons, Snarbi could not help being what he was, but
mostly because he had no particular desire to be put to the question.
He knew nothing about the local torture methods, and he wanted to keep
it that way.