“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.
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 t
hing, 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.”
VIII
“What I do not understand is why you must have the other slave?” Narsisi whined. “To have the woman of course is natural, as well as to have quarters of your own, my father has given his permission. But he also said that I and my brothers are to help you, that the secrets of the engine are to be revealed to no one else.”
“Then trot right over to him and get permission for the slave Mikah to join me in the work. You can explain that he comes from the same land that I do, and that your secrets are mere children’s toys to him. And if dad wants any other reasons tell him that I need skilled aid, someone who knows how to handle tools and who can be trusted to follow directions exactly as given. You and your brothers have entirely too many ideas of your own about how things should be done, and a tendency to leave details up to the gods and have a good bash with the hammer if things don’t work the way they should.”
Narsisi retired, seething and mumbling to himself while Jason huddled over the oil stove planning the next step. It had taken most of the day to lay down logs for rollers and to push the sealed engine out into the sandy valley, far from the well site; open space was needed for any experiments where a mistake could release a cloud of war gas. Even Edipon had finally seen the sense of this, though all of his tendencies were to conduct the experiments with great secretiveness behind locked doors. He had granted permission only after skin walls had been erected to form an enclosure that could be guarded; it was only incidental that they acted as a much-appreciated windbreak.
And after much argument the dangling chains and shackles had been removed from Jason’s arms and light-weight leg-irons substituted. He had to shuffle when he walked but his arms were completely free, a great improvement over the chains, even though one of the brothers kept watch with a cocked crossbow as long as Jason wasn’t fastened down. Now he had to get some tools and some idea of the technical knowledge of these people before he could proceed, which would necessarily entail one more battle over their precious secrets.
“Come on,” he called to his guard, “let’s find Edipon and give his ulcers another twinge.”
After his first enthusiasm the leader of the D’zertanoj was getting very little pleasure out of his new project.
“You have quarters of your own,” he grumbled, “and the slave woman to cook for you, and I have just given permission for the other slave to help you. Now more requests — do you want to drain all the blood from my body?”
“Let’s not dramatize too much. I simply want some tools to get on with my work, and a peek at your machine shop or wherever it is you do your mechanical work. I have to have some idea of the way you people solve mechanical problems before I can go to work on that box of tricks out there in the desert.”
“Entrance is forbidden — ”
“Regulations are snapping like straws today, so we might as well go on and finish off a few more. Will you lead the way?”
The guards were reluctant to open the refinery building gates to Jason, and there was much rattling of keys and worried looks. A brace of elderly D’zertanoj, stinking of oil fumes, emerged from the interior and joined in a shouted argument with Edipon whose will finally prevailed. Chained again, and guarded like a murderer, Jason was begrudgingly led into the dark interior, the contents of which was depressingly anticlimactic.
“Really from rubeville,” Jason sneered and kicked at the boxful of hand-forged and clumsy tools. The work was of the crudest, the product of a sort of neolithic machine age. The distilling retort had been laboriously formed from sheet copper and clumsily riveted together. It leaked mightily as did the soldered seams on the hand-formed pipe. Most of the tools were blacksmith’s tongs and hammers for heating and beating out shapes on the anvil. The only things that gladdened Jason’s heart were the massive drill press and lathe that worked off the slave-power drive belts. In the tool holder of the lathe was clamped a chip of some hard mineral that did a good enough job of cutting the forged iron and low-carbon steel. Even more cheering was the screw-thread advance on the cutting head that was used to produce the massive nuts and bolts that secured the caroj wheels to their shafts. It could have been worse. Jason sorted out the smallest and handiest tools and put them aside for his own use in the morning. The light was almost gone and there would be no more work this day.
***
They left, in armed procession, as they came, and a brace of brothers showed him to the kennellike room that was to be his private quarters. The heavy bolt thudded shut in the door behind him and he winced at the thick fumes of half-burnt kerosene through which the light of the single-wick lamp barely penetrated. Ijale crouched over the small oil stove cooking something in a pottery bowl. She looked up and smiled hesitatingly at Jason, then turned back to the stove. Jason walked over, sniffed and shuddered.
“What a feast! Krenoj soup, and I suppose followed by fresh krenoj and krenoj salad. Tomorrow I see about getting a little variety into the diet.”
“Ch’aka is great,” she whispered without looking up. “Ch’aka is powerful….”
“Jason is the name, I lost the Ch’aka job when they took the uniform away.”
“… Jason is powerful to work charms on the D’zertanoj and makes them do what he will. His slave thanks you.”
He lifted her chin and the dumb obedience in her eyes made him wince. “Can’t we forget about the slavery bit? We are in this thing together and we’ll get out of it together.”
“We will escape, I knew it. You will kill all the D’zertanoj and release your slaves and lead us home again where we can march and find krenoj far from this terrible place.”
“Some girls are sure easy to please. That is roughly what I had in mind, except when we get out of here we are going in the other direction, as far away from your krenoj crowd as I can get.”
Ijale listened attentively, stirring the soup with one hand and scratching inside her leather wrappings with the other. Jason found himself scratching as well, and realized from sore spots on his hide that he had been doing an awful lot of this since he had been dragged out of the ocean of this inhospitable planet.
“Enough is enough!” he exploded and went over and hammered on the door. “This place is a far cry from civilization as I know it, but that is no reason why we can’t be as comfortable as possible.” Chains and bolts rattled outside the door and Narsisi pushed his gloom-ridden face in.
“Why do you cry out? What is wrong?”
“I need some water, lots of it.”
“But you have water,” Narsisi said, puzzled, and pointed to a stone crock in the corner. “There is water there enough for days.”
“By your standards, Nars old boy, not mine. I want at least ten times as much as that and I want it now. And some soap, if there is such stuff in this barbaric place.”
There was a good deal of argument involved, but Jason finally got
his way with the water by explaining it was needed for religious rites to make sure that he would not fail in the work tomorrow. It came in a varied collection of containers along with a shallow bowl full of powerful soft soap.
“We’re in business,” he chortled. “Take your clothes off, I have a surprise for you.”
“Yes, Jason,” Ijale said, smiling happily.
“You’re going to get a bath. Do you know what a bath is?”
“No,” she said, and shuddered. “It sounds evil.”
“Over here and off with the clothes,” he ordered, poking at a hole in the floor. “This should serve as a drain, at least the water went away when I poured some into it.”
The water was warm from the stove, yet Ijale still crouched against the wall and shuddered when he poured it over her. She screamed when he rubbed the slippery soap into her hair, and he continued with his hand over her mouth so that she wouldn’t bring in the guards. He rubbed the soap into his own head, too, and it tingled delightfully as it soaked through to his scalp. Some of it was in his ears, muffling them, so the first intimation he had that the door was opened was the sound of Mikah’s hoarse shout. He was standing in the doorway, finger pointed and shaking with wrath. Narsisi was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder with fascination at this weird religious rite.
“Degradation!” Mikah thundered. “You force this poor creature to bend to your will, humiliate her, strip her clothes from her and gaze upon her though you are not united in lawful wedlock.” He shielded his eyes from sight with a raised arm. “You are evil, Jason, a demon of evil and must be brought to justice — ”
“Out!” Jason roared, and spun Mikah about and started him through the door with one of his practiced Ch’aka kicks. “The only evil here is in your mind, you snooping scut. I’m giving the girl the first scrubbing of her life and you should be giving me a medal for bringing sanitation to the natives instead of howling like that.” He pushed them both out the door and shouted at Narsisi. “I wanted this slave, but not now! Lock him up until morning then bring him back.” He slammed the door and made a mental note to get hold of a bolt to be placed on this side as well.
The Ethical Engineer (the deathworld series) Page 8