The Ethical Engineer (7 page)

"Hate you, M'shika!"

"Hate you, Ch'aka!"

The words were the same, but shouted with fierce meaning, with no
touch of formality this time.

"Kill you, M'shika! You coming again on my part of the ground with
your carrion-meat slaves!"

"You lie, Ch'aka—this ground mine from way back."

"I kill you way back!"

Ch'aka leaped in as he screamed the words and swung a roundhouse blow
with his club that would have broken the other man in two if it had
connected. But M'shika was expecting this and fell back, swinging a
counter-blow with his own club that Ch'aka easily avoided. There
followed a quick exchange of club-work that did little more than fan
the air, until suddenly both men were locked together and the fight
began in earnest. They rolled together on the ground grunting
savagely, tearing at each other. The heavy clubs were of no use this
close and were dropped in favor of knives and knees: Jason could
understand now why Ch'aka had the long tusks strapped to his kneecaps.
It was a no-holds-barred fight and each man was trying as hard as
possible to kill his opponent. The leather armor made this difficult
and the struggle continued, littering the sand with broken off animal
teeth, discarded weapons and other debris. It looked like it would be
called a draw when both men separated for a breather, but they dived
right back in again.

It was Ch'aka who broke the stalemate when he plunged his dagger into
the ground and on the next roll caught the handle in his mouth.
Holding his opponent's arms in both his hands he plunged his head down
and managed to find a weak spot in the other's armor: M'shika howled
and pulled free and when he climbed to his feet blood was running down
his arm and dripping from his fingertips. Ch'aka jumped after him but
the wounded man grabbed up his club in time to ward off the charge.
Stumbling backward he managed to pick up most of his discarded weapons
with his wounded arm and beat a hasty retreat. Ch'aka ran after him a
short way, shouting praise of his own strength and abilities and of
his opponent's cowardice. Jason saw a short, sharp horn from some sea
animal lying in the churned up sand and quickly picked it up before
Ch'aka turned back.

Once his enemy had been chased out of sight Ch'aka carefully searched
the battleground and scavenged anything of military value. Though
there was still some hours of daylight left he signaled a halt and
distributed the evening ration of
krenoj
. Jason sat and chewed his
portion reflectively while Ijale leaned against his side, her shoulder
moving rhythmically as she scratched some hidden mite. Lice were
inescapable, they hid in the crevices of the badly cured hides and
emerged with clicking jaws whenever the warmth of human flesh came
near. Jason had his quota of the pests and found his scratching
keeping time with hers. This syncopation of scratch triggered the
anger that had been building within him, slow and unnoticed.

"I'm serving notice," he said, jumping to his feet. "I'm through with
this slave business. Which way is the nearest spot in the desert where
I can find the D'zertanoj?"

"Over there, a two-day walk. How are you going to kill Ch'aka?"

"I'm not going to kill Ch'aka, I'm just leaving. I've enjoyed his
hospitality and his boot long enough and feel like striking out for
myself."

"You can't do that," she gasped. "You will be killed."

"Ch'aka can't very well kill me if I'm not here."

"Everybody will kill you. That is the law. Runaway slaves are always
killed."

Jason sat down again and cracked another chunk from his
krenoj
and
ruminated over it. "You've talked me into staying a while. But I have
no particular desire now to kill Ch'aka, even though he did steal my
boots. And I don't see how killing him will help me any."

"You are stupid. After you kill Ch'aka you'll be the new Ch'aka. Then
you can do what you want."

Of course. Now that he had been told, the social setup appeared
obvious. Because he had seen slaves and slave-holders, Jason had held
the mistaken notion that they were different classes of society, when
in reality there was only one class, what might be called the
dog-eat-dog class. He should have been aware of this when he had seen
how careful Ch'aka was to never allow anyone within striking distance
of him, and how he vanished each night to some hidden spot. This was
free enterprise with a vengeance, carried to its absolute extreme with
every man out for himself, every other man's hand turned against him,
and your station in life determined by the strength of your arm and
the speed of your reflexes. Anyone who stayed alone placed himself
outside this society and was therefore an enemy of it and sure to be
killed on sight. All of which added up to the fact that he had to kill
Ch'aka if he wanted to get ahead. He still had no desire to do it, but
he had to.

That night he watched Ch'aka when he slipped away from the others and
Jason made a careful note of the direction that he took. Of course the
slave master would circle about before he concealed himself, but with
a little luck Jason would find him. And kill him. He had no special
love of midnight assassination, and until landing on this planet had
always believed that killing a sleeping man was a cowardly way to
terminate another's existence. But special conditions demand special
solutions, and he was no match for the heavily armored man in open
combat, therefore the assassin's knife. Or rather sharpened horn. He
managed to doze fitfully until some time after midnight, then slipped
silently from under his skin coverings. Silently he skirted the
sleepers and crept into the darkness between the dunes.

Finding Ch'aka in the wilderness of the desert night was not easy, yet
Jason persisted. He made careful sweeps in wider and wider arcs,
working his way out from the sleeping slaves. There were gullies and
shadowed ravines and all of them had to be searched with utmost care.
The slave master was sleeping in one of them and would be alert for
any sound. The fact that he had also made special precautions to guard
against assassination was only apparent to Jason after he heard the
bell ring. It was a tiny sound, barely detectable, but he froze
instantly. There was a thin strand pressing against his arm, and when
he drew back carefully the bell sounded again. He cursed silently for
his stupidity, only remembering now about the bells he had heard from
Ch'aka's sleeping site. The slaver must surround himself every night
with a network of string that would sound alarm bells if anyone
attempted to approach in the dark. Slowly and soundlessly Jason drew
back deeper into the gully.

With a thud of rushing feet Ch'aka appeared, swinging his club around
his head, coming directly towards Jason. Jason rolled desperately
sideways and the club crashed into the ground, then he was up and
running at top speed down the gully. Rocks twisted under his feet and
he knew that if he tripped he was dead, yet he had no choice other
than flight. The heavily armored Ch'aka could not keep up with him and
Jason managed to stay on his feet until the other was left behind.
Ch'aka shouted with rage and hurled curses after him, but he could not
catch him. Jason, panting for breath, vanished into the darkness and
made a slow circle back to the sleeping camp. The noise would have
roused them and he stayed away for an estimated hour, shivering in the
icy predawn, before he slipped back to his waiting skins. The sky was
beginning to gray and he lay awake wondering if he had been
recognized: he didn't think he had.

As the red sun climbed over the horizon Ch'aka appeared on top of the
dunes, shaking with rage.

"Who did it?" he screamed. "Who came in night." He stalked among them,
glaring right and left, and no one stirred except to draw away from
his stamping feet. "Who did it?" he shouted again as he came near the
spot where Jason lay.

Five slaves pointed silently at Jason.

Cursing their betrayal Jason sprang up and ran from the whistling
club. He had the sharpened horn in his hand but knew better than to
try and stand up to Ch'aka in open combat; there had to be another
way. He looked back quickly to see his enemy still following and
narrowly missed tripping over the outstretched leg of a slave. They
were all against him! They were all against each other and no man was
safe from any other man's hand. He ran free of the slaves and
scrambled to the top of a shifting dune, pulling himself up the steep
slope by clutching at the coarse grass on the summit. He turned at the
top and kicked sand into Ch'aka's face, trying to blind him, but had
to run when the slaver swung down his crossbow and notched a steel
quarrel. Ch'aka chased him again, panting heavily.

Jason was tiring now and he knew this was the best time to launch a
counterattack. The slaves were out of sight and it would be a battle
only between the two of them. Scrambling up a slope of broken rock he
reversed himself suddenly and leaped back down. Ch'aka was taken by
surprise and had his club only half-raised when Jason was upon him,
and he swung wildly. Jason ducked under the blow and used Ch'aka's
momentum to help throw him as he grabbed the club arm and pulled. Face
down the armored man crashed against the stones and Jason was
straddling his back even as he fell, clutching for his chin. He
lacerated his fingers on a jagged tooth necklace then grasped the
man's thick beard and pulled back. For a single long instant, before
he could writhe free and roll over, Ch'aka's head was stretched back,
and in that instant Jason plunged the sharp horn deep into the soft
flesh of the throat. Hot blood burst over his hand and Ch'aka
shuddered horribly under him and died.

Jason climbed wearily to his feet, suddenly exhausted. He was alone
with his victim. The cold wind swept about them carrying the rustling
grains of sand, chilling the sweat on his body. Sighing once he wiped
his bloody hands on the sand and began to strip the corpse. Thick
straps held the shell helmet over the dead man's head and when he
unknotted them and pulled it away he saw that Ch'aka was well past
middle age. There was some gray in his beard, but his scraggly hair
was completely gray, his face and balding head pallid white from being
concealed under the helmet. It took a long time to get the wrappings
and armor off and retie them over himself, but it was finally done.
Under the skin and claw wrappings on Ch'aka's feet were Jason's boots,
filthy but undamaged, and Jason drew them on happily. When at last,
after scouring it out with sand, he had strapped on the helmet, Ch'aka
was reborn. The corpse on the sand was just another dead slave. Jason
scraped a shallow grave, interred and covered it. Then, slung about
with weapons, bags and crossbow, the club in his hand, he stalked back
to the waiting slaves. As soon as he appeared they scrambled to their
feet and formed a line. Jason saw Ijale looking at him worriedly,
trying to discover who had won the battle.

"Score one for the visiting team," he called out, and she gave him a
small, frightened smile and turned away. "About face all and head back
the way we came. There is a new day dawning for you slaves. I know you
don't believe this yet, but there are some big changes in store."

He whistled while he strolled after the line and chewed happily on the
first
krenoj
that was found.

That evening they built a fire on the beach and Jason sat with his
back to the safety of the sea. He took his helmet off, the thing was
giving him a headache, and called Ijale over to him.

"I hear Ch'aka. I obey."

She ran hurriedly over to him and flopped onto the sand.

"I want to talk to you," Jason said. "And my name is Jason, not
Ch'aka."

"Yes, Ch'aka," she said, darting a quick glance at his exposed face,
then turning away. He grumbled and pushed the basket of
krenoj
over
to her.

"I can see where it is not going to be an easy thing changing this
social setup. Tell me, do you or any of the others ever have any
desire to be free?"

"What is free?"

"Well ... I suppose that answers my question. Free is what you are
when you are not a slave, or a slave owner, free to go where you want
and do what you want."

"I wouldn't like that." She shivered. "Who would take care of me? How
could I find any
krenoj
? It takes many people together to find
krenoj
, one alone would starve."

"If you are free, you can combine with other free people and look for
krenoj
together."

"That is stupid. Whoever found would eat and not share unless a master
made him. I like to eat."

Jason rasped his sprouting beard. "We all like to eat, but that
doesn't mean we have to be slaves. But I can see that unless there are
some radical changes in this environment I am not going to have much
luck in freeing anyone, and I had better take all the precautions of a
Ch'aka to see that I can stay alive."

He picked up his club and stalked off into the darkness, silently
circling the camp until he found a good-sized knoll with smooth sides.
Working by touch he pulled the little pegs from their bag and planted
them in rows, carefully laying the leather strings in their forked
tops. The ends of the strings were fastened to delicately balanced
steel bells that tinkled at the slightest touch. Thus protected he lay
down in the center of his warning spiderweb and spent a restless
night, half awake, waiting tensely for the bells to ring.

In the morning the march continued and they came to the barrier cairn,
and when the slaves stopped Jason urged them past it. They did this
happily, looking forward to witnessing a good fight for possession of
the violated territory. Their hopes were justified when later in the
day the other row of slaves was seen far off to the right, and a
figure detached itself and ran towards them.