Wheelworld

by Harry Harrison

  Before starting the program Jan sat in the seat before the console and activated the scanners one by one at the water station, over 1500 kilometers away in the mountains above the coast. The first was mounted in thick steel and concrete on top of the station, and when it turned it gave a panoramic view. Everything was as it should be, he knew that from the printout which would have informed him, long before this if there had been any kind of trouble. But he always felt he could not be sure until he looked for himself. Irrational of course, but all good mechanics have a touch of irrationality. You have to like machines to work well with them.

  Solid and powerful, a fortress of technology. A featureless blank exterior of weathered concrete, over three meters thick. Some flying lizardoids were on a ledge of the building; they flapped slowly away when the eye of the camera moved towards them. Far below was the sea where waves battered against the solid rock. As the point of view changed the bins came into view, half filled with wealth extracted from the sea, a by-product of the desalination process. There was at least a ton of gold in one of them. Worth a fortune on Earth, but valuable on Halvmörk only for its untarnishing qualities, for plating on the engines and field machines. The last thing in the slow circuit was the deep canal, stretching down the mountain to the black mouth of the first tunnel, two kilometres below.

  Internal cameras revealed the starkness and strength of this giant complex of machines, built for durability and work. So well had it been designed that Jan had gone there in person just once in all his years on the planet. Inspection and maintenance were continuous and automatic. It was an echoing cathedral of science, visited rarely, functioning continually. For four years it had idled, the fusion generator muttering just enough to provide standby electricity for maintenance. Now it would come to life again. The program of startup was long and complex, self-regulating at every step, designed by the builders now centuries dead. They had built well. Jan switched on the computer terminal, received recognition, and keyed in the order to initiate startup.

  There would be nothing visible for some time, since internal checks of all components were the first step in the series. When the machine was satisfied that all was in order it would slowly raise the output of the fusion generator. Then the force pumps, buried in the solid rock beneath sea level, would go into operation. Silent, with no moving parts, they would begin lifting the sea water up the large pipes to the station on the crest above. They used a variation of the same magnetic bottle that contained the fusion reaction, modified to seize the water and push it away. Higher and higher the water would be pumped until it spilled over into the flash distillation section. Here it was vaporized instantly, with most of the water vapor drawn off to the condenser. Gravity took over then.

  Jan had seen enough people, talked to enough people, and he relished the privacy now. He sat and watched the screens and readouts for hours, until the first splashes of water fell from the outlets, turning into a roaring river just seconds later. Down it rushed, carrying sand and airborne debris before it, until it vanished into the tunnel. It would be days before the first dirty trickle worked through the tunnels and canals to reach the city.

  A separate stream of thick brine splashed down a channel cut away in the side of the mountain to fall back into the sea below. He would wait at least a week before starting up the extractors that took all the elements and chemicals from the sea water. In the beginning all that was needed was volume flow to fill and scour clean the channels. All was as it should be and he was tired. The party, he had forgotten about it. It should be well under way by now. Good, perhaps he could avoid it. He was tired and needed sleep. He took a repeater from the shelf—it would monitor the water machinery at all times—and hooked it to his belt.

  Outside the night was warm, but a slight breeze kept it comfortable enough. From the sounds, the party was well under way, with the food finished and the drink flowing freely. Let them enjoy it. Even without the rigors of the trek their lives were monotonous enough. When the farming began again there would be no more festivities for years.

  “Jan, I was just coming to get you,” Otakar said, coming around the corner of the building. “Meeting of the Family Heads and they want you.”

  “Couldn’t they wait until we have all had some sleep?”

  “Apparently urgent. They pulled me away from a very cold pitcher of beer which I am going back to. They’ve put up the dome and are meeting there. See you in the morning.”

  “Good night.”

  Jan could not walk slowly enough, and the dome wasn’t far away. Now that they had finished this first journey they would be back at their complaints and bickering again. He had to talk to them, like it or not. Let them get it out of their systems so in the morning they could all get to work unloading the corn. A Proctor at the door, complete with sidearm, knocked when he came up, then let him in.

  They were all there, the Family Heads and the technical officers. Waiting in silence until he sat down. It was The Hradil who spoke. It would have to be her.

  “There have been grave charges, Jan Kulozik.”

  “Who’s in trouble now? And couldn’t it have waited for the morning?”

  “No. This is an emergency. There must be justice. You are accused of assaulting Proctor Captain Hein Ritterspach and of causing the deaths of three children. These are grave charges. You will be held in confinement until your trial.”

  He jumped to his feet, fatigue gone. “You can’t … .”

  Strong hands seized him, and pulled him about. Two Proctors held him and there was Hein grinning, gun pointed.

  “No tricks, Kulozik, or I shoot. You’re a dangerous criminal and you’ll be locked up.”

  “What are you fools trying to do? We have no time for this sort of petty nonsense. We have to turn the trains around and go back for the rest of the corn. After that we can play your games if you insist.”

  “No,” The Hradil said, and smiled, a cold smile of victory empty of any human warmth. “We have also decided that we have enough corn. Another trip would be too dangerous.

  “Things will go on here, as they always have. Without you to cause trouble.”

  Eleven

  The Hradil had planned it this way from the very beginning. The thought was bitter as bile and Jan could taste the hatred that welled up inside of him when he thought about it. Planned and carried through by the brain behind those serpent eyes. Had she been a man he might have killed her, there before the others, even if they killed him in return.

  Underneath him the stone floor was hot, still burning with the heat of summer. He had his shirt off and under his head as a pillow, yet he still dripped with sweat. It must be a 100 or over in the small storeroom. They must have prepared this even before holding the meeting to accuse him; he could see the marks where the stored parts had rested before being dragged away. There was no window. The light, high above, burned continually. The metal door locked from the outside. There was a gap between the door and the stone and a flow of cooler air came through it. He lay with his face pressed close to it and wondered how long he had been here and if they would ever bring him some water.

  Someone had to care about him—but no one had appeared. It seemed incredible that he could be Trainmaster one day, in charge of all the people and all of the resources of the planet, and a forgotten prisoner the next.

  The Hradil. They did what she wanted. Her cooperation to have him bring the trains south had been a temporary expediency. She knew he could do the job. She also knew that she had to bring him low and humble him when the trip was over. He stood for too much change and too much freedom of choice and she would not have that. Nor would the others. They would take no convincing to connive in his downfall.

  No!

  Too much had changed, too much was changing to let her win. If she had her way they would plant the seed corn they had brought, hold the rest of the corn to turn over to the ships when they arrived. With an abject knuckling of the forehead no doubt, a happy sinking back to the o
ld ways, the ways they had always known.

  No! Jan pulled himself slowly to his feet. That was not the way it was going to be at all. If the ships never came they would all be dead and nothing else would matter. But if they did come then they would not go back to the old ways. He kicked and kicked at the metal door until it rattled in its frame.

  “Shut up in there,” a voice finally called out.

  “No. I want some water. Open this at once.”

  He kicked, again and again until his head began to swim with the strain, until there was finally a rattling of bolts. When the door opened Hein stood there with a drawn gun, the other Proctor at his side. He still wore the cast and he held that arm towards Jan, waving it before him.

  “You did that and you thought you could get away with it. Well, it’s not going to happen that way. You’ve been condemned …”

  “Without a trial?”

  “You had a trial; it was all very fair. I was there.” He giggled. “The evidence was conclusive. You have been condemned to die for your crimes. So why should we waste good water on you?”

  “You cannot.” Jan swayed, dizzy, and leaned against the door frame.

  “It’s all over for you, Kulozik. Why don’t you crawl, beg me to help you? I might consider that.”

  He waggled the gun in Jan’s face. Jan shuddered back, too weak to stand, sliding toward the floor … .

  Seizing Hein’s ankles and pulling them out from under the big man, sending him crashing back against the other Proctor. Jan had learned about dirty infighting from his karate teacher who had made a hobby of it; these men knew nothing about the nastier kinds of personal combat.

  The gun was clumsy in Hein’s left hand and Jan pushed it aside as Hein pulled the trigger. There was just the single shot and then Hein screamed as Jan’s knee came up full into his groin. The other Proctor fared no better. The fist in his ribs drove the air from his lungs. His gun was still in its holster when he was battered into unconsciousness by the savage chops to his neck.

  Hein was not unconscious, but glassy-eyed, rolling in agony, clutching himself, his mouth a round O of pain. Jan took his gun as well—then kicked him solidly in the side of the head.

  “I want you both to be quiet for a while,” he said. He dragged the still forms into the storeroom and locked them in.

  What came next? He was free for the moment—but there was no place to flee to. And he wanted more than freedom. They needed that corn and the trains would have to make the return trip. But the Family Heads had decided against this. He could appear before them, but knew that would accomplish nothing. They had condemned him to death in absentia, they certainly would not listen to him now. If The Hradil were not there he might convince them—no, he knew that would make no difference. Killing her would accomplish nothing.

  The only thing that would make any difference, save his life and possibly the lives and futures of everyone on this planet, would be some major changes. But what changes—and how could they be brought about? He could think of no easy answers. First things first—a drink of water. There was a bucket in the corner filled with water where the Proctors had been cooling beer. Jan took out the few remaining bottles and raised the bucket to his lips, drinking and drinking until he could drink no more. He poured the rest over his head, gasping with pleasure at the cooling shock. Only then did he click open the ceramic stopper on a beer bottle and sip from it. The rudiments of a plan were beginning to form. Yet he could do nothing alone. But who would help him? Doing anything at all would necessitate going against the will of the Family Heads. Or had they overreached themselves this time? If his trial and verdict had been reached in secret he might very well get some cooperation. He needed information before he could do anything else.

  The guns that he had taken from the Proctors were pushed inside an empty seed sack, the butt of one of them close enough to reach in a hurry. There was only silence from the cell: it would be some time before there was trouble from that flank. Now—what was happening outside?

  Jan eased the outside door open a crack and looked through. Nothing. An empty street, dusty and drab under the twilight sky. He opened the door wide and stepped through, then strode steadily toward the silent trains.

  And stopped. Had there been a massacre? Bodies everywhere. Then he smiled at his black thoughts. They were sleeping, of course. Free of the trains, safely arrived, rest after the storm; they had all eaten and drunk themselves into near extinction. Then, instead of getting back into the jammed and noisome cars, they had sprawled and slept where they dropped. This was wonderful; it could not have been better if it had been planned. The Family Heads must be asleep as well and they were the only ones he had to worry about at the moment. Moving quickly and quietly, he walked down the lengths of the trains until he came to the Ciou family. As always, things were still neatly organized here, the sleeping mats laid out in neat rows, women and children together to one side. He went past them to the still forms of the men, stepping lightly, until he found Lee Ciou. His face was calm in sleep, the worried crease always present between his eyes now erased for the first time to Jan’s knowledge. He knelt and shook Lee lightly by the shoulder. Dark eyes slowly opened and the crease between them reappeared instantly as soon as Jan put a silencing finger to his lips. Lee obeyed the pantomime signals to rise silently and follow. Ho followed Jan up the ladder of the nearest engine and watched as he closed the door.

  “What is it? What do you want?”

  “I have your tapes, Lee. Your illegal ones.”

  “I should have destroyed them—I knew it!” The words were a cry of pain.

  “Don’t conern yourself with them. I came to you because you are the only person I know of on this planet with the guts to break the law. I need your help.”

  “I don’t want to get involved. I never should have …”

  “Listen to me. You don’t even know what I want yet. Do you know anything about my trial?”

  “Trial … ?”

  “Or that I was condemned to death?”

  “What are you talking about, Jan? Are you tired? All that has happened since we arrived is that we ate and drank too much and all fell asleep. It was wonderful.”

  “Do you know about a meeting of the Family Heads?”

  “I guess so. They’re always meeting. I know they had the pressure dome erected before they would release the beer. I guess they were all in there. It was a better party without them. Could I have a drink of water?”

  “There’s a dispenser right inside that door.”

  So the trial had been a secret! Jan smiled at the thought. This was the lever he needed. Their mistake. If they had killed him at once there might have been some grumbling, nothing more. Well it was too late for them to do that. Lee came back in looking slightly more awake.

  “Here is a list of names,” Jan said, writing quickly on an order form. “The men from my own engine crew, all good men. And Lajos, he learned to think for himself when he took over command of the tanks from Hein. That should be enough.” He handed the list to Lee. “I don’t want to take a chance of being seen. Would you take this list, find these men and tell them to meet me here? They are to come quietly and quickly on a matter of the utmost importance … .”

  “What?”

  “Trust me for a bit longer, Lee. Please. I’ll tell you all together what has happened. And it is important. But it is urgent that they all get here as soon as possible.”

  Lee took a deep breath as though to protest—then let it out slowly. “Only for you, Jan. Only for you,” he said and turned and left.

  They arrived, one by one, and Jan controlled his impatience and their curiosity until Lee was back and the door closed again.

  “Is anyone stirring yet?” he asked.

  “Not really,” Otakar said. “Maybe a few stumbling about to take a leak, but they’re going back to sleep. That was quite a boozeup. Now—what is this all about?”

  “I’ll tell you, but I want some facts straight first. Before t
his drive started I had some heated words with Hein Ritterspach. He claims I struck him at that time. He is lying. There was a witness to all that. Lajos Nagy.”

  Lajos tried to move away from their eyes as they all turned towards him. There was no escape.

  “Well, Lajos?” Jan asked.

  “Yes … I was there. I didn’t hear everything said … .”

  “I’m not asking that. Did I hit Hein, just tell us that.”

  Lajos did not want to get involved—but he was. In the end he had to shake his head. “No, you did not strike him. For a while I thought someone would be struck, you were both very angry. But you did not hit him,”

  “Thank you. Now there is one more thing that is not quite that simple. Some children died, of insect bites, when we were passing through the jungle. You all know about it. I had a difficult decision to make. I did not stop the trains so the doctor could attend to them. Perhaps I was wrong. Stopping might have saved them. But I put the safety of all ahead of the few. It is on my conscience. If we had stopped the doctor might have been able to do something …”

  “No!” Otakar said loudly. “He could do nothing. I heard him. Old Becker had him in and was shouting at him. But he is a Rosbagh and they only get pigheaded when shouted at. He was shouting back saying that he could have done nothing to save the children, other than administer the anti-toxin, which already had been done. He blamed the people who permitted the windows to be open, even Becker himself.”

  “Wish I could have listened to that!” Eino said.

  “You and me both,” Hyzo agreed warmly.

  “Thank you. I appreciate hearing that,” Jan said. “For a number of reasons. You’ve now heard the details of the two charges against me. I think they are false accusations. But if the Family Heads want me to stand trial on them, I will.”

  “Why trial?” Otakar asked. “An investigation perhaps, but a trial only after the charges have been substantiated. That is the only fair thing.”