IX

Edipon's good mood remained and Jason took advantage of it by

extracting as many concessions as possible. By hinting that there

might be more traps in the engine permission was easily gained to do

all the work on the original site instead of inside the sealed and

guarded buildings. A covered shed gave them protection from the

weather and a test stand was constructed to hold the engines when

Jason worked on them. This was of a unique design and built to Jason's

exacting specification, and since no one, including Mikah, had ever

heard of or seen a test stand before Jason had his way.

The first engine proved to have a burnt-out bearing and Jason rebuilt

it by melting down the original bearing metal and casting it in

position. When he unbolted the head of the massive single cylinder he

shuddered at the clearance around the piston; he could fit his fingers

into the opening between the piston and the cylinder wall; by

introducing cylinder rings he doubled the compression and power

output. When Edipon saw the turn of speed the rebuilt engine gave his

_caroj_ he hugged Jason to his bosom and promised him the highest

reward. This turned out to be a small piece of meat every day to

relieve the monotony of the _krenoj_ meals, and a doubled guard to

make sure that his valuable property did not escape.

Jason had his own plans and kept busy manufacturing a number of

pieces of equipment that had nothing at all to do with his

engine-overhauling business. While these were being assembled he went

about lining up a little aid.

"What would you do if I gave you a club?" he asked a burly slave whom

he was helping to haul a log towards his workshop. Narsisi and one of

his brothers lazed along out of earshot, bored by the routine of the

guard duty.

"What I do with club?" the slave grunted, forehead furrowing and mouth

gaping open with the effort of thought.

"That's what I asked. And keep pulling while you think, I don't want

the guards to notice anything."

"If I have club, I kill!" the slave announced excitedly, fingers

grasping eagerly for coveted weapon.

"Would you kill me?"

"I have club, I kill you, you not so big."

"But if I gave you the club wouldn't I be your friend? Then wouldn't

you want to kill someone else?"

The novelty of this alien thought stopped the slave dead and he

scratched his head perplexedly until Narsisi lashed him back to work.

Jason sighed and found another slave to try his sales program on.

It took a while, but the idea was eventually percolating through the

ranks of the slaves. All they had to look forward to from the

D'zertanoj was backbreaking labor and an early death. Jason offered

them something else, weapons, a chance to kill their masters, and even

more killing later when they marched on Appsala. It was difficult for

them to grasp the idea that they must work together to accomplish this

and not kill Jason and each other as soon as they received weapons.

It was a chancy plan at best, and would probably break down long

before any visit could be made to the city. But the revolt should be

enough to free them from bondage, even if the slaves fled afterwards.

There were less than fifty D'zertanoj at this well station, all men,

with their women and children at some other settlement further back in

the hills. It would not be too hard to kill them or chase them off and

long before they could bring reinforcements Jason and his runaway

slaves would be gone. There was just one factor missing from his plans

and a new draft of slaves solved even that problem for him.

"Happy days," he laughed, pushing open the door to his quarters and

rubbing his hands together with glee. The guard shoved Mikah in after

him and locked the door. Jason secured it with his own interior bolt

then waved the two others over to the corner farthest from the door

and tiny window opening.

* * * * *

"New slaves today," he told them, "and one of them is from Appsala, a

mercenary or a soldier of some kind that they captured on a skirmish.

He knows that they will never let him live long enough to leave here,

so he was grateful for any suggestions I had."

"This is man's talk I do not understand," Ijale said, turning away and

starting towards the cooking fire.

"You'll understand this," Jason said, taking her by the shoulder.

"The soldier knows where Appsala is and can lead us there. The time

has come to think about leaving this place."

He had all of her attention now, and Mikah's as well, "How is this?"

she gasped.

"I have been making my plans, I have enough files and lockpicks now to

crack into every room in this place, a few weapons, the key to the

armory and every able bodied slave on my side."

"What do you plan to do?" Mikah asked.

"Stage a servile revolt in the best style. The slaves fight the

D'zertanoj and we get away, perhaps with an army helping us, but at

least we get away."

"You are talking _revolution_!" Mikah bellowed and Jason jumped him

and knocked him to the floor. Ijale held his legs down while Jason

squatted on his chest and covered his mouth.

"What is the matter with you? Want to spend the rest of your life

rebuilding stolen engines? They are guarding us too well for there to

be much chance of our breaking out on our own, so we need allies. We

have them ready made, all the slaves."

"Brevilushun...." Mikah mumbled through the restraining fingers.

"Of course it's a revolution. It is also the only possible chance of

survival that these poor devils will ever have. Now they are human

cattle, beaten and killed on whim. You can't be feeling sorry for the

D'zertanoj--every one of them is a murderer ten times over. You've

seen them beat people to death. Do you feel that they are too nice to

suffer a revolution?"

Mikah relaxed and Jason removed his hand slightly, ready to clamp down

if the other's voice rose above a whisper.

"Of course they are not nice, beasts in human garb is more truthful. I

feel no mercy for them and they should be wiped out and blotted from

the face of the earth as was Sodom and Gomorrah. But it cannot be done

by revolution, revolution is evil, inherently evil."

Jason stifled a groan. "Try telling that to two-thirds of the

governments that now exist, since that's about how many were founded

by revolution. Nice, liberal democratic governments--that were started

by a bunch of lads with guns and the immense desire to run things in a

manner more beneficial to themselves. How else do you get rid of the

powers on your neck if there is no way to legally vote them away? If

you can't vote them--shoot them."

"Bloody revolution, it cannot be!"

"All right, no revolution," Jason said, getting up and wiping his

hands disgustedly. "We'll change the name. How about calling it a

prison break? No, you wouldn't like that either. I have

it--liberation! We are going to strike the chains off these poor

people and restore them to the lands from which they were stolen. The

tiny fact that the slave holders regard them as property and won't

think much of the idea, therefore might get hurt in the process,

shouldn't bother you. So--will you join me in this Liberation

Movement?"

"It is still revolution."

"It is whatever I decide to call it!" Jason raged. "You come along

with me on the plans or you will be left behind when we go. You have

my word on that." He stomped over and helped himself to some soup and

waited for his anger to simmer down.

"I cannot do it ... I cannot do it," Mikah brooded, staring into his

rapidly cooling soup as into an oracular crystal ball, seeking

guidance there. Jason turned his back in disgust.

* * * * *

"Don't end up like him," he warned Ijale, pointing his spoon back over

his shoulder. "Not that there is much chance that you ever will coming

as you do from a society with its feet firmly planted on the ground,

or on the grave to be more accurate. Your people see only concrete

facts, and only the most obvious ones, and as simple an abstraction as

'trust' seems beyond you. While this long-faced clown can only think

in abstractions of abstractions, and the more unreal they are the

better. I bet he even worries about how many angels can dance on the

head of a pin."

"I do not worry about it," Mikah broke in, overhearing the remark.

"But I do think about it once in a while, it is a problem that cannot

be lightly dismissed."

"You see?"

Ijale nodded. "If he is wrong, and I am wrong--then you must be the

only one who is right." She nodded in satisfaction at the thought.

"Very nice of you to say so," Jason smiled. "And true, too. I lay no

claims to infallibility but I am sure that I can see the difference

between abstractions and facts a lot better than either of you, and I

am certainly more adroit at handling them. The Jason dinAlt fan club

meeting is now adjourned." He reached his hand over his shoulder and

patted himself on the back.

"Monster of arrogance," Mikah bellowed.

"Oh, shut up."

"Pride goeth before a fall! You are a maledicent and idolatrous

antipietist...."

"Very good."

"... And I grieve that I could have considered aiding you for even a

second, or of standing by while you sin, and fear for the weakness of

my own soul that I have not been able to resist temptation as I

should. It grieves me, but I must do my duty." He banged loudly on the

door. "Guard! Guard!"

Jason dropped his bowl and started to scramble to his feet, but

slipped in the spilled soup and fell. As he stood again the locks

rattled on the door and it opened. If he could reach Mikah before the

idiot opened his mouth he would close it forever, or at least knock

him out before it was too late.

It was too late. Narsisi poked his head in and blinked sleepily; Mikah

struck his most dramatic pose and pointed to Jason. "Seize and arrest

that man, I denounce him for attempted revolution, for planning red

murder!"

Jason skidded to a halt and back-tracked, diving into a bag of his

personal belongings that lay against the wall. He scrabbled in it,

then kicked the contents about and finally came up with a

metal-forming hammer that had a weighty solid lead head.

"More traitor you," Jason shouted at Mikah as he ran at Narsisi who

had been dumbly watching the performance and mulling over Mikah's

words. Slow as he appeared, there was nothing wrong with his reflexes

and his shield snapped up and took Jason's blow while his club spun

over neatly and rapped Jason on the back of the hand: the numbed

fingers opened and the hammer dropped to the floor.

"I think you two better come with me, my father will know what to do,"

he said, pushing Jason and Mikah ahead of him out the door. He locked

it and called for one of his brothers to stand guard, then poked his

captives down the hall. They shuffled along in their leg-irons, Mikah

nobly as a martyr and Jason seething and grinding his teeth.

Edipon was not at all stupid when it came to slave rebellions, and

sized up the situation even faster than Narsisi could relate it.

"I have been expecting this, so it comes as no surprise." His eyes

held a mean little glitter when he leveled them at Jason. "I knew the

time would come when you would try to overthrow me, which was why I

permitted this other to assist you and to learn your skills. As I

expected he has betrayed you to gain your position, which I award him

now."

"Betray? I did this for no personal gain," Mikah protested.

"Only the purest of motives," Jason laughed coldly. "Don't believe a

word this pious crook tells you, Edipon. I'm not planning any

revolutions, he just said that to get my job."

"You caluminate me, Jason! I never lie--you are planning revolt. You

told me--"

"Silence both of you, or I'll have you beaten to death. This is my

judgment. The slave Mikah has betrayed the slave Jason, and whether

the slave Jason is planning rebellion or not is completely

unimportant. His assistant would have not denounced him unless he was

sure that he could do the work as well, which is the only fact that

has any importance to me. Your ideas about a worker-class have

troubled me Jason. I will be glad to kill them and you at the same

time. Chain him with the slaves. Mikah, I award you Jason's quarter

and woman, and as long as you do the work well I will not kill you. Do

it a long time and you will live a long time.

"Only the purest of motives, is that what you said, Mikah?" Jason

shouted back as he was kicked from the room.

* * * * *

The descent from the pinnacle of power was fast and smooth. Within

half an hour new shackles were on Jason's wrists and he was chained to

the wall in a dark room filled with other slaves. His leg-irons had

been left on as an additional reminder of his new status. He rattled

the chains and examined them in the dim light of a distant lamp as

soon as the door was closed.

"How comes the revolution?" the slave chained next to him leaned over

and asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Very funny, ha-ha," Jason grumbled, then moved closer for a better

look at the man who had a fine case of strabismus, his eyes pointing

in independent directions. "You look familiar ... are you the new

slave I talked to today?"

"That's me, Snarbi, fine soldier, pikeman, checked out on club and

dagger, seven kills and two possibles on my record, you can check it

yourself at the guild hall."

"I remember it all Snarbi, including the fact that you know your way

back to Appsala."

"I've been around."

"Then the revolution is still on, in fact it is starting right now but

I want to keep it small. Instead of freeing all these slaves what do

you say to the idea that we two escape by ourselves?"

"Best idea I heard since torture was invented, we don't need all these

stupid people. They just get in the way. Keep the operation small and

fast, that's what I always say."

"I always say that, too," Jason agreed, digging into his boot with his

fingertip. He had managed to shove his best file and a lockpick into

hiding there while Mikah was betraying him back in their room. The

attack on Narsisi with the hammer had just been a cover up.

Jason had made the file himself after many attempts at manufacturing

and hardening steel, and the experiments had been successful. He

picked out the clay that covered the cut he had made in his leg-cuffs

and tackled the soft iron with vigor; within three minutes they were

lying on the floor.

"You a magician?" Snarbi whispered, shuddering back.

"Mechanic. On this planet they're the same thing." He looked around

but the exhausted slaves were all asleep and had heard nothing.

Wrapping a piece of leather around it to muffle the sound he began to

file a link in the chain that secured the shackles on his wrists.

"Snarbi," he asked, "are we on the same chain?"

"Yeah, the chain goes through these iron cuff things and holds the

whole row of slaves together, the other end goes out through a hole in

the wall."

"Couldn't be better. I'm filing one of these links, and when it goes

we're both free. See if you can't slip the chain through the holes in

your shackles and lay it down without letting the next slave know what

is happening. We'll wear these iron cuffs for now, there is no time to

play around with them and they shouldn't bother us too much. Do the

guards come through here at all during the night to check on the

slaves?"

"Not since I've been here, just wake us up in the morning by pulling

on the chain."

"Then let's hope that's what happens again tonight, because we are

going to need plenty of time--_there!_" The file had cut through the

link. "See if you can get enough of a grip on the other end of this

link while I hold this end, we'll try and bend it open a bit." They

strained silently until the opening gaped wide and the next link

fitted through the cut.

They slipped the chain and laid it silently on the ground, then

drifted noiselessly to the door.

"Is there a guard outside?" Jason asked.

"Not that I know. I don't think they have enough men here to guard all

the slaves."

The door would not budge when they pushed against it, and there was

just light enough to make out the large keyhole of a massive inset

lock. Jason probed lightly with the pick and curled his lip in

contempt.

"These idiots have left the key in the lock." He pulled off the

stiffest of his leather wrappings and after flattening it out pushed

it under the badly fitting bottom edge of the door, leaving just a bit

to hold onto. Then he poked lightly at the key through the keyhole and

heard it thud to the ground outside. When he pulled the leather back

in the key was lying in the center of it. The door unlocked silently

and a moment later they were outside, staring tensely into the

darkness.

"Let's go! Run, get away from here," Snarbi said and Jason grabbed him

by the throat and pulled him back.

"Isn't there one drop of constructive intelligence on this planet? How

are you going to get to Appsala without food or water, and if you find

some--how can you carry enough? You want to stay alive follow my

instructions. I'm going to lock this door first so that no one

stumbles onto our escape by accident. Then we are going to get some

transport and leave here in style. Agreed?"

The answer was only a choked rattle until Jason opened his fingers a

bit and let some air into the man's lungs. A labored groan must have

meant assent because Snarbi tottered after him when he made his way

through the dark alleys between the buildings.

Getting clear of the walled refinery town presented no problem since

the few sentries were only looking for trouble from the outside. It

was equally easy to approach Jason's leather-walled worksite from the

rear and slip through it at the spot where Jason had cut the leather

and sewn up the opening with thin twine.

"Sit here and touch nothing or you will be cursed for life," he

commanded the shivering Snarbi, then slipped towards the front

entrance with a small sledge hammer clutched in his fist. He was

pleased to see one of Edipon's other sons on guard duty, leaning

against a pole and dozing. Jason gently lifted his leather helm with

his free hand and tapped once with the hammer: the guard slept even

more soundly.

"Now we can get to work," Jason said when he had returned inside, and

clicked a firelighter to the wick of a lantern.

"What are you doing? They'll see us, kill us--escaped slaves."

"Stick with me Snarbi and you'll be wearing shoes. Lights here can't

be seen by the sentries, I made sure of that when I sited the place.

And we have a piece of work to do before we leave--we have to build a

_caroj_."

They did not have to build it from scratch, but there was enough truth

in the statement to justify it. His most recently rebuilt and most

powerful engine was still bolted to the test stand, a fact that

justified all the night's risks. Three _caroj_ wheels lay among the

other debris of the camp and two of them were to be bolted to the

engine while it was still on the stand. The ends of the driving axle

cleared the edges of the stand, Jason threaded the securing wheel

bolts into place and utilized Snarbi to tighten them.

At the other end of the stand was a strong, swiveling post that had

been a support for his test instruments, and seemed strangely large

for this small task. It was. When the instruments were stripped away a

single bar remained projecting backwards like a tiller handle. When a

third wheel was fitted with a stub axle and slid into place in the

forked lower end of the post the test stand looked remarkably like a

three-wheeled, steerable, steam engine powered platform that was

mounted on legs. This is exactly what it was, what Jason had designed

it to be from the first, and the supporting legs came away with the

same ease that the other parts had been attached. Escape had always

taken first priority in his plans.

Snarbi dragged over the crockery jars of oil, water and fuel while

Jason filled the tanks. He started the fire under the boiler and

loaded aboard tools and the small supply of _krenoj_ he had managed to

set aside from their rations. All of this took time, but not time

enough. It would soon be dawn and they would have to leave before

then, and he could no longer avoid making up his mind. He could not

leave Ijale here, and if he went to get her he could not refuse to

take Mikah as well. The man had saved his life, no matter what

murderous idiocies he had managed to pull since that time. Jason

believed that you owed something to a man who prolonged your

existence, but he also wondered just how much he still owed. In

Mikah's case he felt the balance of the debt to be mighty small, if

not overdrawn. Perhaps this one last time.

"Keep an eye on the engine and I'll be back as soon as I can," he

said, jumping to the ground and loading on equipment.

"You want me to do _what_? Stay here with this devil machine? I

cannot! It will burn and consume me--"

"Act your age, Snarbi, your physical age if not your mental one. This

rolling junk pile was made by men and repaired and improved by me, no

demons involved. It burns oil to make heat that makes steam that goes

to this tube to push that rod to make those wheels go around so we can

move, and that is as much of the theory of the steam engine as you are

going to get from me. Maybe you can understand this better--only I can

get you safely away from here. Therefore, you will stay and do as I

say or I will beat your brains in. Clear?"

Snarbi nodded dumbly.

"Fine. All you have to do is sit here and look at this little green

disk, see it? If it should pop out before I come back turn _this_

handle in _this_ direction. Clear enough? That way the safety valve

won't blow and wake the whole country and we'll still have a head of

steam."

[Illustration]

Jason went out past the still-silent sentry and headed back towards

the refinery station. Instead of a club or a dagger he was armed with

a well tempered broadsword that he had managed to manufacture under

the noses of the guards. They had examined everything he brought from

the worksite, since he had been working in the evenings in his room,

but ignored everything he manufactured as being beyond their

comprehension. This primordial mental attitude had been of immense

value for in addition to the sword he carried a sack of molotails, a

simple weapon of assault whose origins were lost in pre-history. Small

crocks were filled with the most combustible of the refinery's

fractions and wrapped around outside with cloth that he had soaked in

the same liquid. The stench made him dizzy and he hoped that they

would repay his efforts when the time came, since they were completely

untried. In use one lit the outer covering and threw them. The

crockery burst on impact and the fuse ignited the contents.

Theoretically.

Getting back in proved to be as easy as getting out, and Jason felt an

unmistakable twinge of regret. His subconscious had obviously been

hoping that there would be a disturbance and he would have to retreat

to save himself, his subconscious obviously being very short on

interest in saving the slave girl and his nemesis, particularly at the

risk of his own skin. His subconscious was disappointed. He was in the

building where his quarters lay, trying to peek around the corner to

see if a guard was at the door. There was, and he seemed to be dozing,

but something jerked him awake. He had heard nothing but he sniffed

the air and wrinkled his nose; the powerful smell of water-of-power

from Jason's molotails had roused him and he spotted Jason before he

could pull back.

"Who is there?" he shouted and advanced at a lumbering run.

There was no quiet way out of this one so Jason leaped out with an

echoing shout and lunged. The blade went right under the man's

guard--he must never have seen a sword before--and the tip caught him

full in the throat. He expired with a bubbling wail that stirred

voices deeper in the building. Jason sprang over the corpse and tore

at the multifold bolts and locks that sealed the door. Footsteps were

running in the distance when he finally threw the door open and ran

in.

"Get out and quick we're escaping!" he shouted at them and pushed the

dazed Ijale towards the door and exacted a great deal of pleasure from

landing a tremendous kick that literally lifted Mikah through the

opening, where he collided with Edipon who had just run up waving a

club. Jason leaped over the tumbled forms, rapped Edipon behind the

ear with the hilt of his sword and dragged Mikah to his feet.

"Get out to the engine works," he ordered his still uncomprehending

companions. "I have a _caroj_ there that we can get away in." He

cursed them and they finally broke into clumsy motion. There were

shouts from behind him and an armed mob of D'zertanoj ran into view.

Jason pulled down the hall light, burning his hand on the hot base at

the same time, and applied its open flame to one of his molotails. The

wick caught with a roar of flame and he threw it at approaching

soldiers before it could burn his hand. It flew towards them, hit the

wall and broke, inflammable fuel spurted in every direction and the

flame went out.

Jason cursed and grappled for another molotail, because if they didn't

work he was dead. The D'zertanoj had hesitated a moment rather than

walk through the puddle of spilled water-of-power and in that instant

he hurled the second fire bomb. This one burst nicely too, and lived

up to its maker's expectations when it ignited the first molotail as

well and the passageway filled with a curtain of fire. Holding his

hand around the lamp flame so it wouldn't go out, Jason ran after the

others.

So far the alarm had not spread outside of the building and Jason

bolted the door from the outside. By the time this was broken open and

the confusion sorted out they would be clear of the buildings. There

was no need for the lamp now and would only give him away. He blew it

out and from the desert came a continuous and ear-piercing scream.

"He's done it," Jason groaned. "That's the safety valve on the steam

engine!"

He bumped into Ijale and Mikah who were milling about confusedly in

the dark, kicked Mikah again out of sheer malice and hatred of all

mankind, and led them towards the worksite at a dead run.

* * * * *

They escaped unharmed mainly because of the confusion on all sides of

them. The D'zertanoj seemed to never have experienced a night attack

before, which they apparently thought this was, and did an incredible

amount of rushing about and shouting. Matters were not helped by the

burning building nor the unconscious form of Edipon that was carried

from the blaze. All the D'zertanoj had been roused by the scream of

the safety valve, that was still bleeding irreplacable steam into the

night air, and there was much milling about.

In the confusion the fleeing slaves were not noticed, and Jason led

them around the guard post on the walls and directly towards the

worksite. They were spotted as they crossed the empty ground and after

some hesitation the guard ran in pursuit. Jason was leading the enemy

directly to his precious steam-wagon, but he had no choice. The thing

was certainly making its presence known in any case, and unless he

reached it at once the head of steam would be gone and they would be

trapped. He leaped the still recumbent guard at the entrance and ran

towards his machine. Snarbi was cowering behind one wheel but there

was no time to give him any attention. As Jason jumped onto the

platform the safety valve closed and the sudden stillness was

frightening. The steam was gone.

With frantic grabs he spun valves and shot one glance at the

indicator: there wasn't enough steam left to roll the meters. Water

gurgled and the boiler hissed and clacked at him while screams of

anger came from the D'zertanoj as they ran into the enclosure and saw

the bootleg _caroj_. Jason thrust the end of a molotail into the

firebox; it caught fire and he turned and hurled it at them. The angry

cries turned into screams of fear as the tongues of flame licked up at

the pursuers and they retreated in disorder. Jason ran after them and

hastened their departure with another molotail. They seemed to be

retreating as far as the refinery walls, but he could not be sure in

the darkness if some of them weren't creeping around to the sides.

He hurried back to the _caroj_, tapped on the still-unmoving pressure

indicator and opened the fuel feed wide. As an afterthought he wired

down the safety valve since his reinforced boiler should hold more

pressure than the valve had been originally adjusted for. Once this

was finished he chewed at his oily fingernails since there was nothing

else that could be done until the pressure built up again. The

D'zertanoj would rally, someone would take charge, and they would

attack the worksite. If they had enough steam before this happened,

they would escape. If not--

"Mikah, and you, too, you cowering slob Snarbi you, get behind this

thing and push," Jason said.

"What has happened," Mikah asked. "Have you started this revolution?

If so I will give no aid...."

"We're escaping, if that's all right with you. Just I, Ijale and a

guide to show us the way. You don't have to come--"

"I will join you. There is nothing criminal in escaping from these

barbarians."

"Very nice of you to say so. Now push. I want this steamobile in the

center, far from all the walls, and pointing towards the desert. Down

the valley I guess, is that right, Snarbi?"

"Down the valley, sure, that's the way." His voice was still rasping

from the earlier throttling, Jason was pleased to notice.

"Stop it here and everyone aboard. Grab onto those bars I've bolted

along the sides so you won't get bounced off, if we ever start moving

that is."

Jason took a quick look through his workshop to make sure everything

they might need was already loaded, then reluctantly climbed aboard

himself. He blew out the lantern and they sat there in the darkness,

their faces lit from below by the flickering glow from the firebox,

while the tension mounted. There was no way to measure time since each

second took an eternity to drag by.

The walls of the worksite cut off any view of the outside and within a

few moments imagination had peopled the night with silent hordes

creeping towards them, huddling about the thin barrier of leather,

ready to swoop down and crush them in an instant.

"Let's run for it," Snarbi gurgled and tried to jump from the

platform. "We're trapped here, we'll never get away...."

Jason tripped him and knocked him flat, then pounded his head against

the floor planks a few times until he quieted.

"I can sympathize with that poor man," Mikah said severely. "You are a

brute, Jason, to punish him for his natural feelings. Cease your

sadistic attack and join me in a prayer."

"If this poor man you are so sorry for had simply done his duty and

watched the boiler, we would all be safely away from here by now. And

if you have enough breath for a prayer, put it to better use by

blowing into the firebox. It's not going to be wishes or prayers that

gets us out of here, just a head of steam."

* * * * *

A howled battlecry was echoed by massed voices and a squad of

D'zertanoj burst in through the entrance, and at the same instant the

rear of the leather wall went down and more armed men swarmed over it.

The immobile _caroj_ was trapped between the two groups of attackers

who laughed happily as they charged. Jason cursed and lit four

molotails at the same time and hurled them two and two in opposite

directions. Before they hit he had jumped to the steam valve and wound

it open; with a hissing clank the _caroj_ shuddered and got underway.

For the moment the attackers were held back by the walls of flame and

screamed even louder as the machine moved away at right angles from

between their two groups. The air whistled with crossbow bolts, but

most were badly aimed and only a few thudded into the baggage. With

each revolution of the wheels their speed picked up and when they hit

the walls the hides parted with a creaking snap. Strips of leather

whipped at them, then they were through.

The shouts and the fires grew dimmer behind them as they streaked down

the valley at a suicidal pace, hissing, rattling and crashing over the

bumps. Jason clung to the tiller and shouted for Mikah to come relieve

him, since if he let go of the thing they would turn and crash in an

instant, and as long as he held it he couldn't cut down the steam.

Some of this finally penetrated to Mikah because he crawled forward

grasping desperately to every hand-hold until he crouched beside

Jason.

"Grab this tiller and hold it straight and steer around anything big

enough to see."

As soon as the steering was taken over Jason worked his way back to

the engine and throttled down; they slowed to a clanking walk then

stopped completely. Ijale moaned and Jason felt as if every inch of

his body had been beaten with hammers. There was no sign of pursuit

since it would be at least an hour before they could raise steam in

the _caroj_ and no one on foot could have possibly matched their

headlong pace. The lantern he had used earlier had vanished during the

wild ride so Jason dug out another one of his own construction.

"On your feet, Snarbi," he ordered. "I've cracked us all out of

slavery so now it is time for you to do some of the guiding that you

were telling me about. Walk ahead with this light and pick out a nice

smooth track going in the right direction. I never did have a chance

to build headlights for this machine so you will have to do instead."

Snarbi climbed down unsteadily and walked out in front. Jason opened

the valve a bit and they clattered forward on his trail as Mikah

turned the tiller to follow. Ijale crawled over and settled herself

against Jason's side, shivering with cold and fright. He patted her

shoulder.

"Relax," he said, "from now on this is just a pleasure trip."

X

They were six days out of Putl'ko and their supplies were almost

exhausted. The country, once they were away from the mountains, became

more fertile, an undulating pampas of grass with enough streams and

herds of beasts to assure that they did not starve. It was fuel that

mattered, and that afternoon Jason had opened their last jar. They

stopped a few hours before dark since their fresh meat was gone, and

Snarbi took the crossbow and went out to shoot something for the pot.

Since he was the only one who could handle the clumsy weapon with any

kind of skill in spite of his ocular deficiencies, and who knew about

the local game, this task had been assigned to him. With longer

contact his fear of the _caroj_ had lessened, and his self-esteem rose

at his recognized ability as a hunter. He strolled arrogantly out into

the knee-high grass, crossbow over his shoulder, whistling tunelessly

through his teeth. Jason stared after him and once again felt a

growing unease.

"I don't trust that wall-eyed mercenary, I don't trust him for one

second," he muttered.

"Were you talking to me?" Mikah asked.

"I wasn't but I might as well now. Have you noticed anything

interesting about the country we have been passing through, anything

different?"

"Nothing. It is a wilderness, untouched by the hand of man."

"Then you must be blind, because I have been seeing things the last

two days, and I know just as little about woodcraft as you do. Ijale,"

he called, and she looked up from the boiler over which she was

heating a thin stew of their last _krenoj_. "Leave that stuff, it

tastes just as bad whatever is done to it, and if Snarbi has any luck

we'll be having roast in any case. Tell me, have you seen anything

strange or different about the land we passed through today."

"Nothing strange, just signs of people. Twice we passed places where

the grass was flat and branches broken as if a _caroj_ passed two or

three days ago, maybe more. And once there was a place where someone

had built a cooking fire, but that was very old."

"Nothing to be seen, Mikah?" Jason asked with raised eyebrows. "See

what a lifetime of _krenoj_ hunting can do for the sense of

observation and terrain."

"I am no savage. You cannot expect me to look out for that sort of

thing."

"I don't. I have learned to expect very little from you beside

trouble. Only now I am going to need your help. This is Snarbi's last

night of freedom whether he knows it or not, and I don't want him

standing guard tonight, so you and I will split the shift."

Mikah was astonished. "I do not understand. What do you mean this is

his last night of freedom?"

"It should be obvious by now--even to you--after seeing how the social

ethic works on this planet. What did you think we were going to do

when we came to Appsala--follow Snarbi like sheep to the slaughter? I

have no idea what he is planning. I just know he must be planning

something. When I ask him about the city he only answers in

generalities. Of course he is a hired mercenary who wouldn't know too

much of the details, but he must know a lot more than he is telling

us. He says we are still four days away from the city. My guess is

that we are no more than one or two. In the morning I intend to grab

him and tie him up, then swing over to those hills there and find a

place to hole up. I'll fix some chains for Snarbi so he can't get

away, then I'll do a scout of the city...."

"You are going to chain this poor man, make a slave of him for no

reason!"

"I'm not going to make a slave of him, just chain him to make sure he

doesn't lead us into some trap that will benefit him. This souped-up

_caroj_ is valuable enough to tempt any of the locals, and if he can

sell me as an engine-mechanic slave his fortune is made."

* * * * *

"I will not hear this!" Mikah stormed. "You condemn the man on no

evidence at all, just because of your nasty minded suspicions. Judge

not lest ye be judged yourself! And you play the hypocrite as well,

because I well remember your telling me that a man is innocent until

proven guilty."

"Well this man is guilty, if you want to put it that way, guilty of

being a member of this broken down society, which means that he will

always act in certain ways at certain times. Haven't you learned

anything about these people yet? Ijale!" She looked up from contented

munching on a _krenoj_, obviously not listening to the argument. "Tell

me, what is your opinion? We are coming soon to a place where Snarbi

has friends, or people who will help him. What do you think he will

do?"

"Say hello to the people he knows? Maybe they will give him a

_krenoj_." She smiled in satisfaction at her answer and took another

bite.

"That's not quite what I had in mind," Jason said patiently. "What if

we three are with him when we come to the people, and the people see

us and the _caroj_...."

She sat up, alarmed. "We can't go with him! If he has people there

they will fight us, make us slaves, take the _caroj_. You must kill

Snarbi at once."

"Bloodthirsty heathen...." Mikah began in his best denunciatory voice,

but quit when he saw Jason pick up a heavy hammer.

"Do you understand yet?" Jason asked. "By tying up Snarbi I'm only

conforming to a local code of ethic, like saluting in the army or not

eating with your fingers in polite society. In fact I'm being a little

slipshod, since by local custom I should kill him before he can make

us trouble."

"It cannot be, I cannot believe it. You cannot judge and condemn a man

upon such flimsy evidence."

"I'm not condemning him," Jason said with growing irritation, "Just

making sure that he can't cause me any trouble. You don't have to

agree with me to help me, just don't get in my way. And split the

guard with me tonight. Whatever I do in the morning will be on my

shoulders and no concern of yours."

"He is returning," Ijale hissed, and a moment later Snarbi came up

through the high grass.

"Got a _cervo_," he announced proudly, and dropped the animal down

before them. "Cut him up, makes good chops and roast. We eat tonight."

He was completely innocent and without guile and the only thing guilty

about him was his shifty gaze which could be blamed completely on his

crossed eyes. Jason wondered for a second if his assessment of the

danger was correct, then remembered where he was and lost his doubts.

Snarbi would be committing no crime if he tried to kill or enslave

them, just doing what any ordinary, decent slave-holding barbarian

would do in his place. Jason searched through his tool box for some

rivets that could be used to fasten the leg irons on the man.

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.

* * * * *

[Illustration]

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.