VII

"Drink some more of this," the voice said, and cold water splashed on

Jason's face and some of it trickled down his throat making him cough.

Something hard was pressing into his back and his wrists hurt. Memory

seeped back slowly, the fight, the capture and the potion that had

been forced upon him. When he opened his eyes he saw a flickering

yellow lamp overhead, hung from a chain. He blinked at it and tried to

gather enough energy to sit up. A familiar face swam in front of the

light and Jason squinted his eyes at it and groaned.

"Is that you Mikah--or are you just part of a nightmare?"

"There is no escape from justice, Jason. It is I, and I have some

grave questions to put to you."

Jason groaned again. "You're real all right. Even in a nightmare I

wouldn't dare dream up any lines like that. But before the questions,

how about telling me a thing or two about the local setup, you should

know something since you have been a slave of the D'zertanoj longer

than I have." Jason realized that the pain in his wrists came from

heavy iron shackles. A chain passed through them and was stapled to a

thick wooden bar on which his head had been resting. "Why the

chains--and what is the local hospitality like?"

Mikah resisted the invitation to impart any vital information and

returned irresistibly to his own topic.

"When I saw you last you were a slave of Ch'aka, and tonight you were

brought in with the other slaves of Ch'aka and chained to the bar

while you were unconscious. There was an empty place next to mine and

I told them I would tend you if they placed you there, and they did.

Now there is something I must know. Before they stripped you I saw

that you were wearing the armor and helmet of Ch'aka. Where is the

man--what happened to him?"

"Me Ch'aka," Jason rasped, and burst out coughing from the dryness in his

throat. He took a long drink of water from the bowl. "You sound very

vindictive, Mikah you old fraud. Where is all the turn-the-other-cheek

stuff now? Don't tell me you could possibly hate the man just because he

hit you on the head, fractured your skull and sold you down the river as a

slave reject? In case you have been brooding over this injustice you can

now be cheered because the evil Ch'aka is no more. He is buried in the

trackless wastes and after all the applicants were sifted out I got the

job."

"You killed him?"

"In a word--yes. And don't think that it was easy since he had all the

advantages and I possessed only my native ingenuity, which luckily

proved to be enough. It was touch and go for a while because when I

tried to assassinate him in his sleep--"

"You _what_?" Mikah Samon hissed.

"Got to him at night. You don't think anyone in his right mind would

tackle a monster like that face-to-face do you? Though it ended up

that way, since he had some neat gadgets for keeping track of people

in the dark. Briefly, we fought, I won, I became Ch'aka, though my

reign was neither long nor noble. I followed you as far as the desert

where I was neatly trapped by a shrewd old bird name of Edipon who

demoted me back to the ranks and took away all my slaves as well. Now

that's my story. So tell me yours, where we are, what goes on here?"

"Assassin! Slave holder!" Mikah reared back, as far as he could under

the restraint of the chain, and pointed the finger of judgment at

Jason. "Two more charges must be added to your role of infamy. I

sicken myself, Jason, that I could ever have felt sympathy for you and

tried to help you. I will still help you, but only to stay alive so

that you may be taken back to Cassylia for trial and execution."

[Illustration]

"I like that example of fair and impartial justice--trial _and_

execution." Jason coughed again and drained the bowl of water. "Didn't

you ever hear of presumed innocence until proven guilty? It only

happens to be the mainstay of all jurisprudence. And how could you

possibly justify trying me on Cassylia for actions that occurred on

this planet--that aren't crimes here? That's like taking a cannibal

away from his tribe and executing him for anthropophagy."

"What would be wrong with that? The eating of human flesh is a crime

so loathsome I shudder to think of it. Of course a man who does that

must be executed."

"If he slips in the back door and eats one of your relatives, you

certainly have grounds for action. But not if he joins the rest of his

jolly tribe for a good roast of enemy. Don't you see the obvious point

here--that human conduct can only be judged in relation to its

environment? Conduct is relative. The cannibal in his society is just

as moral as the churchgoer in yours."

"Blasphemer! A crime is a crime! There are moral laws that stand above

all human society."

"Oh no there are not, that's just the point where your medieval

morality breaks down. All laws and ideas are historical and relative,

not absolute. They are relevant to their particular time and place and

taken out of context they lose their importance. Within the context of

this grubby society I acted in a most straightforward and honest

manner. I attempted to assassinate my master--which is the only way an

ambitious boy can get ahead in this hard world, and which was

undoubtedly the way Ch'aka himself got the job in the first place.

Assassination didn't work but combat did, and the results were the

same. Once in power I took good care of my slaves, though of course

they didn't appreciate it since they didn't want good care, they only

wanted my job, that being the law of the land. The only thing I really

did wrong was to not live up to my obligations as a slave holder and

keep them marching up and down the beaches forever. Instead I came

looking for you and was trapped and broken back to slavery where I

belong for pulling such a stupid trick."

The door crashed open and harsh sunlight streamed into the windowless

building. "On your feet slaves!" a D'zertano shouted in through the

opening.

A chorus of shufflings and groans broke out as the men stirred to

life. Jason could see now that he was one of twenty slaves shackled to

the long bar, apparently the entire trunk of a good-sized tree. The

man chained at the far end seemed to be a leader of sorts because he

cursed and goaded the others to life. When they were all standing he

snapped his commands in a hectoring tone of voice.

"Come on, come on, first come best food. And don't forget your bowls,

put them away so they can't drop out, remember nothing to eat or drink

all day unless you have a bowl. And let's work together today,

everyone pull his weight, that's the only way to do it. That goes for

all you men, specially you new men. Give them a day's work here and

they give you a day's food...."

"Oh shut up!" someone shouted.

"... And you can't complain about that," the strawboss whined on,

unperturbed. "Now altogether ... _one_ ... bend down and get your

hands around the bar, get a good grip and ... _two_ ... lift it clear

of the ground, that's the way. And ... _three_ ... stand up and out

the door we go."

They shuffled out into the sunlight and the cold wind of dawn bit

through his Pyrran coverall and the remnants of Ch'aka's leather

trappings that Jason had been allowed to keep. His captors had torn

off the claw-studded feet but not bothered the wrappings underneath,

so they hadn't found his boots. This was the only bright spot on an

otherwise unlimited vista of blackest gloom. Jason tried to be

thankful for small blessings, but only shivered some more. As soon as

possible this situation had to be changed since he had already served

his term as slave on this backwoods planet and was cut out for better

things.

On order the slaves lined up against the walls of the yard. Presenting

their bowls like scruffy penitents they accepted dippers of lukewarm

soup from another slave who pushed along a wheeled tub of the stuff:

he was chained to the tub. Jason's appetite vanished when he tasted

the sludge. It was _krenoj_ soup, and the desert tubers tasted even

worse--he hadn't thought it was possible--when served up in a broth.

But survival was more important than fastidiousness, so he gulped the

evil stuff down.

* * * * *

Breakfast over they marched out the gate into another compound and

fascinated interest displaced all of Jason's concerns. In the center

of the yard was a large capstan into which the first group of slaves

were already fitting the end of their bar. Jason's group, and the two

others, shuffled into position and seated their bars, making a four

spoked wheel out of the capstan. An overseer shouted and the slaves

groaned and threw their weight against the bars until they shuddered

and began to turn, then trudging slowly they kept the wheel moving.

Once this slogging labor was under way Jason turned his attention to

the crude mechanism that they were powering.

A vertical shaft from the capstan turned a creaking wooden wheel that

set a series of leather belts into motion. Some of them vanished

through openings into a large stone building, while the strongest

strap of all turned the rocker arm of what could only be a

counterbalanced pump. This all seemed like a highly inefficient way to

go about pumping water since there certainly must be natural springs

and lakes somewhere around. The pungent smell that filled the yard was

hauntingly familiar, and Jason had just reached the conclusion that

water couldn't be the object of their labors when a throaty gurgling

came from the standpipe of the pump and a thick black stream bubbled

out.

"Petroleum--of course!" Jason enthused out loud, then bent his

attentions to pushing when the overseer gave him an ugly look and

cracked his whip menacingly.

This was the secret of the D'zertanoj, and the source of their power.

Mountains were visible nearby, and hills, towering above the

surrounding walls. The captured slaves had been drugged so they would

not even know in which direction they had been brought to this hidden

site, or how long the trip was. Here in this guarded valley they

labored to pump the crude oil that their masters used to power their

big desert wagons. Or did they use crude oil for this? The petroleum

was gurgling out in a solid stream now, and running down an open

trough that vanished through the wall into the same building as the

turning belts. And what barbaric devilishness went on in there? A

thick chimney crowned the building and produced clouds of black smoke,

while from the various openings in the wall came a tremendous stench

that threatened to lift the top off his head.

At the same moment that he realized what was going on in the building

a guarded door was opened and Edipon came out, blowing his sizable

nose in a scrap of rag. The creaking wheel turned and when its

rotation brought Jason around again he called out to him.

"Hey, Edipon, come over here. I want to talk to you. I'm the former

Ch'aka, in case you don't recognize me out of uniform."

Edipon gave him one look, then turned away dabbing at his nose. It was

obvious that slaves held no interest for him, no matter what their

position had been before their fall. The slave-driver ran over with a

roar, raising his whip, while the slow rotation of the wheel carried

Jason away. He shouted back over his shoulder.

"Listen to me--I know a lot and can help you." Only a turned back for

an answer and the whip was already whistling down. It was time for the

hard sell. "You had better hear me--because I know that _what comes

out first is best_. Yeow!" This last was involuntary as the whip

landed.

Jason's words were without meaning to the slaves as well as the

overseer who was raising his whip for another blow, but their impact

on Edipon was as dramatic as if he had stepped on a hot coal. He

shuddered to a halt and wheeled about, and even at this distance Jason

could see that a sickly gray tone had replaced his normal browned

color of his skin.

"_Stop the wheel!_" he shouted.

* * * * *

This unexpected command drew the startled attention of everyone. The

gape-mouthed overseer lowered his whip while the slaves stumbled and

halted and the wheel groaned to a stop. In the sudden silence Edipon's

steps echoed loudly as he ran to Jason, halting a hand's breadth away,

his lips drawn back from his teeth with tension as if he were prepared

to bite.

"What was that you said?" He hurled the words at Jason while his

fingers half-plucked a knife from his belt.

Jason smiled, looking and acting calmer than he felt. His barb had

gone home, but unless he proceeded carefully so would Edipon's

knife--into his stomach. This was obviously a very sensitive topic.

"You heard what I said--and I don't think you want me to repeat it in

front of all these strangers. I know what happens here because I come

from a place far away where we do this kind of thing all the time. I

can help you. I can show you how to get more of the best, and how to

make your _caroj_ work better. Just try me. Only unchain me from this

bar first and let's get to some place private where we can have a nice

chat."

Edipon's thoughts were obvious. He chewed his lip and looked hotly at

Jason, fingering the edge of his knife. Jason only returned a smile of

pure innocence and tapped his fingers happily on the bar, just marking

time while he waited to be released. Yet in spite of the cold there

was a rivulet of sweat trickling down his spine. He was gambling

everything on Edipon's intelligence, that the man's curiosity would

overcome the immediate desire to silence the slave who knew so much

about things so secret, hoping that he would remember that slaves

could always be killed, and that it wouldn't hurt to ask a few

questions first. Curiosity won and the knife dropped back into the

sheath while Jason let his breath out in a relieved sigh. It had been

entirely too close, even for a professional gambler; his own life on

the board was a little higher stakes than he enjoyed playing for.

"Release him from the bar and bring him to me," Edipon ordered, then

strode agitatedly away. The other slaves watched wide-eyed as the

blacksmith was rushed out, and with much confusion and shouted orders

Jason's chain was cut from the bar where it joined the heavy staple.

"What are you doing?" Mikah asked, and one of the guards backhanded

him to the ground. Jason just smiled and touched his finger to his

lips as his chain was released and they led him away. He was free from

bondage and he would stay that way if he could convince Edipon that he

would be better off in some capacity other than dumb labor.

* * * * *

The room they led him to contained the first touches of decoration or

self-indulgence that he had seen on this planet. The furniture was

carefully constructed, with an occasional bit of carving to brighten

it, and there was a woven cover on the bed. Edipon stood by a table,

tapping his fingers nervously on the dark polished surface. "Lock him

up," he ordered the guards, and Jason was secured to a sturdy ringbolt

that projected from the wall. As soon as the guards were gone he stood

before Jason and drew his knife. "Tell me what you know or I will kill

you at once."

"My past is an open book to you, Edipon. I come from a land where we

know all the secrets of nature--"

"What is the name of this land? Are you a spy from Appsala?"

"I couldn't very well be one since I have never heard of the place."

Jason pulled at his lower lip, wondering just how intelligent Edipon

was, and just how frank he could be with him. This was no time to get

tangled up in lies about planetary geography: it might be best to try

him on a small dose of the truth. "If I told you I came from another

planet, another world in the sky up among the stars, would you believe

me?"

"Perhaps. There are many old legends that our forefathers came from a

world beyond the sky, but I have always dismissed this as religious

drivel, fit only for women."

"In this case the girls happen to be right. Your planet was settled by

men whose ships crossed the emptiness of space as your _caroj_ pass

over the desert. Your people have forgotten about that and lost the

science and knowledge you once had, but in other worlds the knowledge

is still held."

"Madness!"

"Not at all, it is science, though many times confused as being the

same thing. I'll prove my point. You know that I could never have been

inside your mysterious building out there, and I imagine you can be

sure no one has told me its secrets. Yet I'll bet you that I can

describe fairly accurately what is in there--not from seeing the

machinery, but from knowing what must be done to oil in order to get

the products you need. Do you want to hear?"

"Proceed," Edipon said, sitting on a corner of the table and balancing

the knife loosely in his palm.

"I don't know what you call it, the device, but in the trade it is a

pot still used for fractional distillation. Your crude oil runs into a

tank of some kind, and you pipe it from there to a retort, some big

vessel that you can seal airtight. Once it is closed you light a fire

under the thing and try to get all the oil to an even temperature. A

gas rises from the oil and you take it off through a pipe and run it

through a condenser, probably more pipe with water running over it.

Then you put a bucket under the open end of the pipe and out of it

drips the juice that you burn in your _caroj_ to make them move."

Edipon's eyes opened wider and wider while Jason talked until they

stuck out of his head like boiled eggs. "Demon!" he screeched and

tottered towards Jason with the knife extended. "You couldn't have

seen, not through stone walls, yet only my family have seen, no

others--I'll swear to that!"

"Keep cool, Edipon, I told you that we have been doing this stuff for

years in my country." He balanced on one foot, ready for a kick at the

knife in case the old man's nerves did not settle down. "I'm not out

to steal your secrets, in fact they are pretty small potatoes where I

come from since every farmer has a still for cooking up his own mash

and saving on taxes. I'll bet I can even put in some improvements for

you, sight unseen. How do you monitor the temperature on your cooking

brew? Do you have thermometers?"

"What are thermometers?" Edipon asked, forgetting the knife for the

moment, drawn on by the joys of a technical discussion.

"That's what I thought. I can see where your bootleg joyjuice is going

to take a big jump in quality, if you have anyone here who can do some

simple glassblowing. Though it might be easier to rig up a coiled

bi-metallic strip. You're trying to boil off your various fractions,

and unless you keep an even and controlled temperature you are going

to have a mixed brew. The thing you want for your engines are the most

volatile fractions, the liquids that boil off first like gasoline and

benzene. After that you raise the temperature and collect kerosene for

your lamps and so forth right on down the line until you have a nice

mass of tar left to pave your roads with. How does that sound to you?"

* * * * *

Edipon had forced himself into calmness, though a jumping muscle in

his cheek betrayed his inner tension. "What you have described is the

truth, though you were wrong on some small things. But I am not

interested in your thermometer nor in improving our water-of-power, it

has been good enough for my family for generations and it is good

enough for me...."

"I bet you think that line is original?"

"... There is something that you might be able to do that would bring

you rich rewards. We can be generous when needs be. You have seen our

_caroj_ and ridden on one, and seen me go into the shrine to intercede

with the sacred powers to make us move. Can you tell me what power

moves the _caroj_?"

"I hope this is the final exam, Edipon, because you are stretching my

powers of extrapolation. Stripping away all the _shrines_ and _sacred

powers_ I would say that you go into the engine room to do a piece of

work with very little praying involved. There could be a number of

ways of moving those barns, but let's think of the simplest. This is

top of the head now, so no penalties if I miss any of the fine points.

"Internal combustion is out, I doubt if you have the technology to

handle it, plus the fact there was a lot to do about the water tank

and it took you almost an hour to get under way. That sounds like you

were getting up a head of steam--the safety valve! I forgot about

that. So it is steam. You go in, lock the door of course, then open a

couple of valves until the fuel drips into the firebox, then you light

it. Maybe you have a pressure gauge, or maybe you just wait until the

safety valve pops to tell you if you have a head of steam. Which can

be dangerous since a sticking valve could blow the whole works right

over the mountain.

"Once you have the steam you crack a valve to let it into the

cylinders and get the thing moving. After that you just enjoy the

trip, of course making sure the water is feeding to your boiler all

right, that your pressure stays up, your fire is hot enough, all your

bearings are lubricated and the rest...."

Jason looked on astounded as Edipon did a little jig around the room,

holding his robe up above his bony knees. Bouncing with excitement he

jabbed his knife into the table top and rushed over to Jason and

grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him until his chain rattled.

"Do you know what you have done?" he asked. "Do you know what you have

said?"

"I know well enough. Does this mean that I have passed the exam? Was I

right?"

"I don't know if you are right or not. I have never seen the inside of

one of the Appsalan devil-boxes." He danced around the room again.

"You know more about their ... what do you call it, _engine_ ... than

I do. I have only spent my life tending them and cursing the people

of Appsala who keep the secret from us. But you will reveal it to us!

We will build our own engines and if they want water-of-power they

will have to pay dearly for it."

"Would you mind being a little bit clearer," Jason pleaded. "I have

never heard anything so confused in my entire life."

"I will show you, man from a far world, and you will reveal the

Appsalan secrets to us. I see the dawn of a new day for Putl'ko

arriving." He opened the door and shouted for the guards, and for his

son, Narsisi, who arrived as they were unlocking Jason who recognized

him as the same droop-eyed and sleepy looking D'zertano who had been

helping Edipon to drive their ungainly vehicle.

"Seize this chain my son and keep your club ready to kill this slave

if he makes any attempt to escape. Otherwise do not harm him, for he

is very valuable. Come."

He tugged on the chain, but Jason only dug his heels in and did not

move. They looked at him, astonished.

"Just a few things before we go. The man who is to bring the new day

to Putl'ko is not a slave, let us get that straight before this

operation goes any further. We'll work out something with chains or

guards so I can't escape, but the slavery thing is out."

"But--you are not one of us, therefore you must be a slave."

"I've just added a third category to your social order. Employee.

Though reluctant, I am still an employee, skilled labor, and I intend

to be treated that way. Figure it out for yourself. Kill a slave and

what do you lose? Very little if there is another slave in the pens

that can push in the same place. But kill me and what do you get?

Brains on your club--and they do you no good at all there."

"Say, Dad, does he mean I can't kill him?" Narsisi looked puzzled as

well as sleepy.

"No, he doesn't mean that. He means if we kill him there is no one else

that can do the work he is to do for us. I can understand him and I do not

like it. There are only slaves and slavers, anything else is against the

natural order. But he has us trapped between _satano_ and the sand-storm

so we must allow him some freedoms. Bring the slave now ... I mean the

employee ... and we will see if he can do the things he has promised. If

he does not, _I_ will have the pleasure of killing him because I do not

like his revolutionary ideas."

* * * * *

They marched single file to a locked and guarded building with immense

doors, which were pulled open to reveal the massive forms of seven

_caroj_.

"Look at them," Edipon hissed and tugged at his nose. "The finest and

most beautiful of constructions, striking fear into our enemies'

hearts, carrying us fleetly across the sands, bearing on their backs

immense loads and only three of the things are able to move."

"Engine trouble?" Jason asked lightly.

[Illustration]

Edipon grumbled, cursed and fumed under his breath and led the way to

an inner courtyard where stood four immense black boxes painted with

death-heads, splintered bones, fountains of blood and cabalistic

symbols all of a sinister appearance.

"Those swine in Appsala take our water-of-power and give nothing in

return. Oh yes, they let us use their engines, but after running for a

few months the cursed things stop and will not go again, then we must

bring them back to the city to exchange for a new one, and pay again

and again."

"A nice racket," Jason said, looking at the sealed covering on the

engines. "Why don't you just crack into them and fix them yourself,

they can't be very complex."

"That is death!" Edipon gasped, and both D'zertanoj recoiled from the

boxes at the thought. "We have tried that, in my father's father's

day, since we are not superstitious like the slaves and know that

these are man-made not god-made. However the tricky serpents of

Appsala hide their secrets with immense cunning. If any attempt is

made to break the covering horrible death leaks out and fills the air.

Men who breathe the air die, and even those who are solely touched by

it develop immense blisters and die in pain. The man of Appsala

laughed when this happened to our people and after that raised the

price even higher."

Jason circled one of the boxes, examining it with interest, trailing

Narsisi behind him at the end of the chain. The thing was higher than

his head and almost twice as long. A heavy shaft emerged through

openings on opposite sides, probably the power takeoff for the wheels.

Through an opening in the side he could see inset handles and two

small colored disks, and above this were three funnel-shaped openings

shaped and painted like mouths. By standing on tiptoe Jason looked on

top but there was only a flanged, sooty opening that must be for

attachment of a smokestack. There was only one more opening, a

smallish one in the rear, and no other controls on the garish

container.

"I'm beginning to get the picture, but you will have to tell me how

you work the controls."

"Death before that," Narsisi shouted. "Only my family--"

"Will you shut up!" Jason shouted right back. "Remember? You're not

allowed to browbeat the help anymore. There are no secrets here. Not

only that, but I probably know more about this thing than you do just

by looking at it. Oil, water and fuel go in these three openings, you

poke a light in somewhere, probably in that smoky hole under the

controls, open one of those valves for fuel supply, another one is to

make the engine go slower and faster, and the third is for your water

feed. The disks are indicators of some kind." Narsisi paled and

stepped back. "So keep the trap shut while I talk to your dad."

"It is as you say," Edipon pointed. "The mouths must always be filled

and woebetide if they shall go empty for the powers will halt or

worse. Fire goes in here as you guessed, and when the green finger

comes forward this lever may be turned for motion. The next is for

great speed or going slow. The very last is under the sign of the red

finger, which when it points indicates need, and the handle must be

turned and held until the finger retires. White breath comes from the

opening in back. That is all there is."

"About what I expected," Jason muttered and examined the container

wall, rapping it with his knuckles until it boomed. "They give you the

minimum of controls to run the thing, so you won't learn anything

about the basic principles involved. Without the theory you would

never know what the handles control, or that the green indicator comes

out when you have operating pressure or the red one when the water

level is low in the boiler. Very neat. And the whole thing sealed up

in a can and booby-trapped in case you have any ideas of going into

business for yourself.

"The cover sounds like it is double walled, and from your description

I would say that it has one of the vesicant war gases, like mustard

gas, sealed inside there in liquid form. Anyone who tries to cut their

way in will quickly forget their ambitions after a dose of that. Yet

there must be a way to get inside the case and service the engine,

they aren't just going to throw them away after a few months' use. And

considering the level of technology displayed by this monstrosity I

should be able to find the tricks and get around any other built-in

traps. I think I'll take the job."

"Very well, begin."

"Wait a minute, boss, you still have a few things to learn about hired

labor. There are always certain working conditions and agreements

involved, all of which I'll be happy to list for you."