The Ethical Engineer (2 page)

Jason was only talking to kill time, since he knew this situation
would not stay static for long, not on Pyrrus. He was completely right
because before he had finished the ground-control door burst open and
Meta ran out, circling to the left. At the same moment Kerk appeared
from behind the building, his Pyrran reflexes absorbing the situation
in an instant and with no perceptible delay he ran in the opposite
direction. Both Pyrrans had their guns ready and closed in with the
merciless precision of trained predators.

"Tell them to stop," the suit speaker grated at Jason. "I'll shoot you
if they try anything."

"Hold it!" Jason shouted, and the running Pyrrans stopped instantly.
"Don't come any closer and whatever you do don't shoot." He
half-turned his head and spoke in a quieter voice to the suited figure
behind him. "Now you see where you stand. Lower the gun and get back
into your ship, I guarantee you'll stay alive if you do that at once."

"Don't try and buff me, dinAlt," the maser barrel pushed harder
against his back. "You are my prisoner and your friends can't save
you. Start walking backwards now—I'll stay right behind you."

"Look," Jason said calmly, not permitting himself to get angry. "Those
are
Pyrrans
out there. Either of them could kill you so quickly that
you couldn't possibly have time to pull that trigger. I'm saving your
life—though I don't know why I'm bothering—so be a good boy and get
back into your ship and go home and we'll give you a T for trying."

"Could I have him, please Kerk?" Meta called out, the deadly
assumption of her remark punctuating Jason's logic. "After all, Jason
means more to me than you. Shall I kill him yet, Jason?"

"Just shoot his gun hand off, Meta," Kerk told her, in the same
emotionless tone. "I want to know who this is, why he came here,
before he dies."

"Get back into your ship, you fool," Jason hissed. "You've got only
seconds to live."

"Start walking backwards," his captor said. "You are under arrest.
I'll count to three, then shoot. One ... two...."

Jason shuffled a cautious step to the rear and the Pyrran guns snapped
up at the same instant, extended at arm's length. Jason was so close
to the man in the spacesuit that the guns could have been pointed at
him, the eyes sighting carefully over the dark muzzles.

"Don't shoot!" Jason shouted to his friends.

"Don't worry," Kerk called back. "We won't hit you."

"I know that—it's this idiot here that I'm worrying about. You just
can't shoot him for trying to do his job. In fact I'm surprised to
find out that there is one honest cop left on any of the places I've
been."

"Don't talk so crazy," Meta said with maddening sweetness. "We'll kill
him, Jason. We'll take care of you."

Anger hit him. "You will NOT take care of me because I can take care
of myself. Either of you kill him and so help me I'll kill you." Jason
shuffled backwards faster now until his legs hit the lower edge of the
hatch. He clambered into it and burst out laughing at the dumfounded
expressions of his friends' faces. The laugh died as something pricked
the back of his neck. The pressure of the gun was gone and he swung
around, surprised to see the floor rushing up towards him, but before
it struck him blackness descended.

Consciousness returned, accompanied by a thudding headache that made
Jason wince when he moved, and when he opened his eyes the pain of the
light made him screw them shut again. Whatever the drug was that had
knocked him out, it was fast working, and seemed to be oxidized just
as quickly. The headache faded away to a dull throb and he could open
his eyes without feeling that needles were being driven into them. He
was seated in a standard spacechair that had been equipped with wrist
and ankle locks, now well secured. A man sat in the chair next to him,
intent on the spaceship's controls; the ship was in flight and well
into space. The stranger was working the computer, cutting a tape to
control their flight in jump-space.

Jason took the opportunity to study the man. He seemed to be a little
old for a policeman, though on second thought it was really hard to
tell his age. His hair was gray and cropped as short as a skull cap,
but the wrinkles on his leathery skin seemed to have been caused more
by exposure than advanced years. Tall and firmly erect, he appeared
underweight at first glance, until Jason realized this effect was
caused by the total absence of any excess flesh. It was as though he
had been cooked by the sun and leeched by the rain until only bone,
tendon and muscle were left. When he turned his head the muscles stood
out like cables under the skin of his neck and his hands at the
controls were the browned talons of some bird. A hard finger pressed
the switch that actuated the jump control, and he turned away from the
board to face Jason.

"I see you are awake. It was a mild drug. I did not enjoy using it,
but it was the safest way."

When he talked his jaw opened and shut with the seriousness of a bank
vault. The deep-set and cold blue eyes stared fixedly from under dark
brows. Jason stared back just as steadily and chuckled.

"I suppose you didn't enjoy using the maser-projector either, nor
threatening to cook holes in me. For a cop you seem to be very tender
hearted."

"I did it only to save your friends. I did not want them to get hurt."

"Get hurt!" Jason roared with laughter. "Space-cop, don't you have any
idea what Pyrrans are like, or what kind of a setup you were walking
into? Don't you realize that I saved your life—though I really don't
know why. Call me a natural humanitarian. You may have a swollen head
and a ready trigger-finger, but you were so far out of your class that
you just weren't in the race. They could have blasted you into pieces,
then shot the pieces into smaller pieces, while you were still
thinking about pulling the trigger. You should just thank me for being
your savior."

"So you are a liar as well as a thief," Jason's captor answered with
no change of expression. "You attempt to play on my sympathies to gain
your freedom. Why should I believe this story? I came to arrest you,
threatening to kill you if you didn't submit, and your friends were
there ready to defend you. Why should you attempt to save my life? It
does not make sense." He turned back to the controls to make an
adjustment.

It didn't make sense, Jason agreed completely. Why had he saved this
oaf who meant nothing to him? It was not an easy question to answer,
though it had seemed so right at the time. If only Meta hadn't said
that they would take care of him; he knew they could and was tired of
it. He could take care of himself: he felt the anger rising again at
the remembered words. Was that the only reason he had let this cop
capture him? To show the Pyrrans that he was able to control his own
destiny? Was the human ego such a pitiable thing that it had to keep
reassuring itself of its own independence or lie down on its back and
curl up its toes?

Apparently it was. At least his was. The years had taught him a
certain insight into his own personality and he realized that his
greedy little subconscious had collected all the cues and signals from
the encounter at the spaceport and goaded him into a line of action
that looked uncomfortably like suicide. The arrival of the stranger,
the threat to himself, the automatic assumption by the Pyrrans that
they would take care of him. Apparently his ego and his subconscious
felt that he had been taken care of too long. They had managed to get
him into this spot from which he could only be extricated by his own
talents, far away from Pyrrus and the pressures that had been weighing
on him so long.

He took a deep breath and smiled. It wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Stupid in retrospect, but the stupidity could hopefully be kept in the
past. Now he had to prove that there was something other than a death
wish in his subconscious flight from Pyrrus, and he must find a way to
reverse positions with this cop, whoever he was. Which meant that he
had to find out a little more about the man before making any plans.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, officer. How about telling
me who you are and showing me a warrant or something under which you
are performing this deed of interstellar justice."

"I am Mikah Samon. I am returning you to Cassylia for trial and
sentencing."

"Ah, yes," Jason sighed. "I'm not surprised to hear that they are
still interested in finding me. But I should warn you that there is
very little remaining of the three-billion, seventeen-million credits
that I won from your casino."

"Cassylia doesn't want the money back," Mikah said as he locked the
controls and swung about in his chair. "They don't want you back
either. You are their planetary hero now. When you escaped with your
ill-gotten gains they realized that they would never see the money
again. So they put their propaganda mills to work and you are now
known throughout all the adjoining star systems as 'Jason 3-Billion',
the living proof of the honesty of their dishonest games, and a lure
for all the weak in spirit. You tempt them into gambling for money
instead of working honestly for it."

"Pardon me for being thick today," Jason said, shaking his head
rapidly to loosen up the stuck synapses. "I'm having a little
difficulty in following you. What kind of a policeman are you to
arrest me for trial after the charges have been dropped?"

"I'm not a policeman," Mikah said sternly, his long fingers woven
tightly together before him, his eyes wide and penetrating. "I'm a
believer in Truth—nothing more. The corrupt politicians who control
Cassylia have placed you on a pedestal of honor. Honoring you,
another—and if possible—a more corrupt man, and behind your image
they have waxed fat. But I am going to use the Truth to destroy that
image, and when I destroy the image I shall destroy the evil that
produced it."

"That's a tall order for one man," Jason said calmly—much calmer than
he really felt. "Do you have a cigarette?"

"There is, of course, no tobacco or spirits on this ship. And I am
more than one man. I have followers. The Truth Party is already a
power to be reckoned with. We have spent much time and energy in
tracking you down, but it was worth it. We have followed your
dishonest trail into the past, to Mahaut's Planet, to the Nebula
Casino on Galipto, through a series of sordid crimes that turns an
honest man's stomach. We have warrants for your arrest from each of
these places, in some cases even the results of trials and your death
sentence."

"I suppose it doesn't bother your sense of legality that those trials
were all held in my absence," Jason asked. "Or that I have only
fleeced casinos and gamblers—who make their living by fleecing
suckers?"

Mikah Samon wiped away this consideration with a wave of his hand.
"You have been proven guilty of a number of crimes. No amount of
wriggling on the hook can change that. You should be thankful that
your revolting record will have a good use in the end. It will be the
lever with which we shall topple the grafting government of Cassylia."

"I'm beginning to be sorry that I stopped Kerk and Meta from shooting
you," Jason said, shaking his head in wonder. "I have a very strong
suspicion that you are going to cause yourself—and a lot of other
people—a good deal of trouble before this thing is over. Look at me
for instance—" he rattled his wrists in their restraining bands. The
servo motors whined a bit as the detector unit came to life and
tightened the grasp of the cuffs, limiting his movement. "A little
while ago I was enjoying my health and freedom and I threw it all away
on the impulse to save your life. I'm going to have to learn to fight
those impulses."

"If that is supposed to be a plea for mercy, it is sickening," Mikah
said. "I have never taken favors nor do I owe anything to men of your
type. Nor will I ever."

"
Ever
like
never
is a long time," Jason said very quietly. "I wish
I had your serenity of mind about the sure order of things."

"Your remark shows that there might be hope for you yet. You might be
able to recognise the Truth before you die. I will help you, talk to
you and explain."

"Better the execution," Jason choked.

"Are you going to feed me by hand—or unlock my wrists while I eat?"
Jason asked. Mikah stood over him with the tray, undecided. Jason gave
a light verbal prod, very gently, because whatever else he was, Mikah
was not stupid. "I would prefer you to feed me of course, you'd make
an excellent body servant."

"You are capable of eating by yourself," Mikah responded instantly,
sliding the tray into the slots of Jason's chair. "But you will have
to do it with only one hand. If you were freed you would only cause
trouble." He touched the control on the back of the chair and the
right wrist lock snapped open. Jason stretched his cramped fingers and
picked up the fork.

While he ate Jason's eyes were busy. Not obviously, since a gambler's
attention is never obvious, but many things can be seen if you keep
your eyes open and your attention apparently elsewhere. A sudden
glimpse of someone's cards, the slight change of expression that
reveals a player's strength. Item by item his seemingly random gaze
touched the items in the cabin: control console, screens, computer,
chart screen, jump control chart case, bookshelf. Everything was
observed, remembered and considered. Some combination of them would
fit into the plan.

So far all he had was the beginning and the end of an idea. Beginning:
He was a prisoner in this ship, on his way back to Cassylia. End: He
was not going to remain a prisoner—nor return to Cassylia. Now all
that was missing was the vital middle. It looked impossible at the
moment, but Jason never considered that it couldn't be done. He
operated on the principle that you made your own luck. You kept your
eyes open as things evolved and at the right moment you acted. If you
acted fast enough, that was good luck. If you worried over the
possibilities until the moment had passed, that was bad luck.