Wheelworld

by Harry Harrison

  The Hradil spat in his face, the spittle striking him on the cheek, running down across his mouth. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and fought to control his anger.

  “You will do as we say,” she ordered him. “There will be no more talk from you about do this do that. We are the Family Heads and we will be obeyed. There will not be another trip. You will …”

  “You stupid old woman, can you not understand me? Are you so ignorant that you do not know that nothing will move until I permit it? I have parts of all the machines and they will not run until the parts are replaced. I will destroy these parts now and we will all die the quicker. I will do this at once if you do not permit the return trip for the corn. You do this and I promise to ask no more of you. When we return you are in charge as always. You issue the orders and everyone obeys. Is that agreeable?”

  “No! You cannot tell us what to do.” The Hradil would accept no compromises.

  “I’m telling you nothing. I’m asking you first.”

  “It is not too bad a plan,” Ivan Semenov said. “We lose nothing if they go back for the corn. And we did promise …”

  “Ask for a vote, Ivan,” Jan said. “Or does this cow frighten you all?”

  Then she was calm, just that suddenly. The unabated hatred was still there in her eyes, but not in her voice. “All right, we will argue no more. The trains will leave as soon as possible. I am sure you all agree.”

  They were confused, not understanding her sudden change. But Jan knew. She was not ready for a showdown now. And she did not really care if the trains went or not. What she wanted was his death, preferably a long and painful one. From now on he walked with that danger and accepted it.

  “I know you will all agree with Ivan and The Hradil,” Jan said. “We leave as soon as the corn is emptied. We will need all the new drivers … .”

  “No,” The Hradil said. “There will be only men. It is not permitted for young girls to be alone with so many. None of the girls will be allowed to go. Alzbeta will not go.”

  She threw this last out as a challenge and for a moment he almost accepted it. Then realized he could lose everything if he insisted. He matched her cold calmness with his own.

  “All right then, just male drivers. Get out of here and issue the orders to cooperate with me. Make it clear to everyone what is happening. No more lies.”

  “You should not say that …” Ivan complained.

  “Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? Secret meetings, secret trials, secret execution plans, more lying so that fool Ritterspach takes the blame. I do not trust one of you out of my sight. Leave and go to your families and tell them what is to be done. Only when everyone is sure what is happening will the machines be made operable again …”

  “Seize him now and kill him,” Taekeng screamed.

  “You can—but someone else will destroy the cables.”

  “It is Hyzo,” Ledon said. “He defied me like this one.”

  “We will issue the orders,” The Hradil said. “Go at once and do it.”

  Thirteen

  The trains were ready to go, had been for almost two hours, standing quiet in the darkness. The drivers were in their seats waiting for orders. Food and supplies for the trip were in the house car, along with an unhappy doctor-in-training, Savas Tsiturides. Doctor Rosbagh said that his assistant was not completely trained, not able to be on his own. Tsiturides had fervently agreed. He had come anyway. Jan could not risk his men on this trip without some kind of medical aid. The last details had been seen to, the off-duty drivers were already asleep, and he could not make excuses much longer.

  “Back in five minutes,” he said, ignoring the questioning looks of his crew. He climbed down from tank six, he would lead the tanks himself on the return trip, and walked back along the trains. This was the spot—but no one was here. It had been a risk to send the first message, madness to follow it up with a second. But he had had to do it. The Central Way was silent, it was the middle of the sleep period.

  “Jan. Are you there?”

  He spun about and there she was, by the warehouse. He ran to her.

  “I didn’t know if you were coming.”

  “I had the message, but I couldn’t leave until now, when they were all asleep. She has them watching me.”

  “Come with me.”

  He had meant to build his argument logically and rationally, explaining how important it was she keep the bit of independence gained. To perfect her technical skills. It was a good argument. He wasn’t going to mention how he loved her and needed her. Yet at the sight of her he had forgotten it all and just blurted out the words. Alzbeta recoiled, shocked.

  “I couldn’t do that. There are only men.”

  “We’re not animals. You won’t be hurt, touched. It is important for you, for both of us.”

  “The Hradil would never permit it.”

  “Of course. That is why you must leave without permission. Everything is changing and we must make it change faster. If the ships don’t come all of us have only a few more years to live. When summer comes and we can’t make the trip—we burn. I want those years with you, I can’t bear losing one day of them.”

  “Of course, I know.”

  She was in his arms, and he was holding her tightly, hard to his body, and she was not resisting or pulling away. Over her shoulder he saw Ritterspach and two Proctors running towards them. All the men carried clubs.

  At trap, that’s why Alzbeta had been late. They had intercepted his message, planned to catch them together. The Hradil must have arranged it all, was gloating now at her success.

  “No!” Jan shouted, pushing Alzbeta away from him, crouching in defense, hands extended. The clubs were to beat him with, not kill him, bring him back for her justice. “No!” shouted even louder still as he dived under the swing of the first Proctor’s club.

  The swing missed and he hit the Proctor hard, hearing the air rush from his chest, slapping his forearm hard against the man’s throat as he whirled to face the others.

  A club caught him on the side of his head, slammed down onto his shoulder. Jan shouted aloud with pain and grabbed the man, caught his neck in an armlock, pulled him about as a shield between himself and Ritterspach. Luckily the big man was still coward enough to hesitate, to let the other two take the punishment. Now he could wait no longer. He swung wildly, afraid to close, striking the Proctor Jan held so that the man cried out, swung again.

  “Don’t, please stop,” Alzbeta cried, trying to separate the struggling men. The first Proctor shoved her aside rudely and circled to take Jan from the rear. Alzbeta, crying, came forward again, just in time to step in front of Ritterspach’s wildly swinging club.

  Jan could hear the sharp, mallet-like crack as it caught her full on the side of her head. She dropped without a sound.

  He wanted to help her, but this must be finished first. In his anger he could not be stopped, tightening his arm hard so that the man he held tore at the pain in his throat, then went limp. Jan seized his club and spun the man’s body about, ignorant of the club that struck him once, twice. Throwing the limp attacker into the moving one, following up with is own club, battering until both were still, turning about and going for Ritterspach.

  “Don’t …” Ritterspach said, striking out wildly in defense. Jan did not answer, his club speaking for him, thudding into the other’s arm so the fingers went limp and the club fell. Hitting again, catching the back of the Proctor Captain’s head when he turned to flee.

  “What is it?” a voice shouted. One of the mechanics running down the train.

  “They attacked me, hit her, get the doctor, Assistant Tsiturides. Quickly.”

  Jan bent and picked up Alzbeta gently, bending his face to hers, afraid of what he would find. More afraid not to know. There was blood, dark on her pale skin. Her breath slow, but regular.

  He carried her carefully to the nearest car and took her inside, putting her down gently on the filthy rug.

  “Where
are you?” a voice called out. “What has happened.”

  It was Tsiturides, bent over the men on the ground. He straightened up from Ritterspach, his face shocked. “That other one is unconscious. This one—dead.”

  “All right then, there’s nothing you can do for him. Alzbeta is in here, struck by that pig. Take care of her.”

  The doctor pushed by and Jan watched while he opened his bag at her side. There were more running footsteps. Jan closed the door and looked at it, then took the keys from his belt and locked it.

  “The fun’s over,” he said, turning to the men as they came up. “They jumped me and I took care of them. Now let us roll these trains before there are any more difficulties.”

  It was a stupid, impulsive thing to do. But it was done. He had tried to do it by law, by asking The Hradil, by suffering the indignities of her rejection. Now he would do it his own way. There would be no going back from this either.

  Buffers clanked together, the cars moved slowly at first, then faster and faster. Jan turned and ran toward his tank, waiting impatiently until the train had rumbled by, then hurrying over almost under the wheels of the next engine.

  “Let’s go,” he said, closing the hatch behind him. “Move out ahead of the trains.”

  “And about time,” Otakar said, gunning the engine

  Jan did not relax until the Central Way changed into the rock surface of the Road, until the warehouses had grown small and vanished behind the last car of the train. Then the fence posts were gone as well and the last of the farms and he still kept watching the monitor screen. They could not be followed—so what was he watching for? The one engine left behind was immobilized as a power station. Who was he running from?

  Fourteen

  Jan decided that they would have to travel for at least four hours before they could make a stop. But he could not force himself to wait that long. Even three hours was too much; he had to know how Alzbeta was. It hadn’t seemed too hard a blow, but she had been unconscious when he left. She might still be unconscious—or dead. The thought was unbearable; he had to find out. At the end of the second hour of driving he admitted defeat.

  “All units,” he ordered. “A short rest stop. Change drivers if you want to. Begin your slowdown now.”

  Even as he issued the command he pulled the tank out of line, spun it 180 degrees on its treads and went thundering back along the line of still moving trains. He found the car in which he had left Alzbeta and the doctor, reversed, and swung alongside it, slowing when it slowed, jumping down the instant they had stopped. The right key was ready in his hand and he unlocked the door and threw it open to face an angry Doctor Tsiturides.

  “This is an insult, locking me in the way you did … .”

  “How is she?”

  “This car is dusty, uncleaned, with no proper facilities.”

  “I said—how is she?”

  The cold anger in his voice penetrated the doctor’s complaints and he took a step backwards. “She is doing well, as well as can be expected under the conditions. She is asleep now. Mild concussion, no more than that I am sure. It is safe to leave her alone and that is what I am doing.”

  He picked up his bag and hurried away. Jan wanted to look in, but was afraid to waken her. It was then that Alzbeta spoke.

  “Jan? Are you there?”

  “Yes, here I come.”

  She was propped up on a nest of blankets the doctor had put together, a white bandage around her head. Enough light came through the uncurtained window to show her face almost as pale as the cloth.

  “Jan, what happened? I remember we talked, then little else.”

  “The Hradil set a trap for me—with you as bait. Ritterspach and some of his men. Capture me or kill me, I don’t know. Whatever they had planned misfired when you got in the way. I’m afraid I … lost my temper.”

  “Is that a bad thing to do?”

  “Yes, for me it is. I didn’t mean it to end that way—but Ritterspach is dead.”

  She gasped at this, a stranger to violence of any kind, and he felt her hand withdraw from his.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sorry that anyone had to die.”

  “You didn’t mean to do it.” She said it, but she did not sound convinced.

  “No, I didn’t mean to. But I would do it all over again if I had to. Exactly the same way. I’m not trying to excuse myself, just explain. He hit you and you dropped, dead for all I knew. They had the clubs, three against one, and I defended myself. It ended like that.”

  “I do understand, but death by violence, it is … strange to me.”

  “May it stay that way. I can’t force you to understand, or feel the way I do. Do you want me to go?”

  “No!” The word burst out of her. “I said that I found it hard to understand. But that doesn’t mean that I feel any different about you. I love you, Jan, and I will always love you.”

  “I hope so. I have acted irrationally, perhaps stupidly. That I did it because I love you is little excuse.” Her hands were cold in his. “I can understand if you blame me for what I did next. Putting you in this train and taking you away. We were talking about it when they attacked me. I never heard your answer.”

  “Didn’t you?” She smiled for the first time. “There can be only one answer. I will obey The Hradil always. But now that she is no longer here to give orders it is not a matter of obeying or disobeying. I can love you as I have always wanted to, be with you always.”

  “Jan,” the voice called from outside, then twice again before he heard it. He felt he was smiling like a fool and held her gently for a long moment, beyond words, then pulled away and stood up.

  “I have to go. I can’t tell you how I feel … .”

  “I know. I’m going to sleep now. I am much better.”

  “Do you want some food, something to drink?”

  “Nothing. Just you. Come back as soon as you can.”

  The co-driver of the tank was leaning out of the hatch. “Jan, got a message,” he said. “Semenov wants to know why the stop and when we can go on?”

  “Just the man I want to see. Tell him we move on as soon as I join him in his engine. Let’s go.”

  Ivan Semenov was still Trainmaster. With the families and all their problems left behind, Jan had relinquished the lead engine to him. Any problems that came up now would probably be with the Road and he could handle them better from the lead tank. Jan climbed the ladder to the driver’s compartment and Ivan started the trains forward as soon as he had closed the door.

  “What is the delay about?” Semenov asked. “Every hour is important now, as you keep saying.”

  “Come into the engine room and I’ll tell you.” Jan was silent until the engineer had left and the hatch was shut. “I would like to get married.”

  “I know, but that is between you and The Hradil. I can speak to her if you like, the law isn’t that exact as to which families the girl cannot marry into. A decision could be made. But it is up to The Hradil.”

  “You misunderstand. You are a Family Head which means you can perform marriages. I’m asking you to do just that. Alzbeta is here, aboard a train.”

  “It cannot be!”

  “It certainly is. So what are you going to do?”

  “The Hradil would never permit it.”

  “The Hradil is not here to stop it. So think for yourself, just once. Make your own mind up. Once it is done there can be no going back. And there is nothing that evil old woman can do to you.”

  “It is not that. There is the law … .”

  Jan spat disgustedly on the floor then rubbed the spittle into the steel plating with the sole of his boot. “That for your law. It is an invention, don’t you know that? There are no such things as Families and Family Heads on Earth, or taboos about marriage between chosen groups. You so-called laws are works for fiction written by hireling anthropologists. Societies to order. They scratch around in the textbooks and put together bits and pieces of vanished societies and brew
up one that will keep a population docile and obliging and hardworking—and stupid.”

  Semenov did not know whether to be shocked or angry; he shook his head unbelievingly, a physicist with the basic laws of energy threatened.

  “Why do you say these things? You can’t mean them, you’ve never said anything before.”

  “Of course not. It would have been suicide. Ritterspach was a police spy—among his other endearing traits. He would have reported anything I said when the ships came, and I would be dead as soon as they found out. But with the ships not coming it doesn’t matter now. Everything’s changed. I can tell you about dear old Earth … .”

  “I’ll hear no more lies.”

  “Truths, Semenov, for the first time in your life. Let me tell about cultures. Mankind created them. They are an artifact, invented the same way the wheel was invented. Many different ones, all working one way or another if they were to survive. But that is all a matter of history now, with just two classes left on Earth—the rulers and the ruled. And quick death for anyone who tries to change things. And this final and monolithic society has even been transported to the stars. To all the fat and wealthy worlds that mankind has discovered. But not to all of the planets—just the comfortable ones. When there is a need to occupy a really uncomfortable planet, like this one, then the tame professors are called in and given their assignment. Supply us with a stable and docile culture, because any problems would slow food production, and plenty of nourishing and cheap food is needed. A nice ignorant culture, because farmers can still be stupid and get their work done. But technical skills will be needed as well, so allowance must be made for that. So a bit here, a bit there, choose and select and balance and stir them all together and you have Beta Aurigae III. This planet. Patient factory farmers, slaving their lives away in dim stupidity—”

  “Stop this, I won’t hear any more of your lies.” Semenov was shocked, numbed.