Hesitantly, one by one, the voices checked in, while Weiks activated the hull scanners and looked at the milling fury below.
“Seventeen—that’s all,” the radio operator said with shocked unbelief, his hand over the microphone. He passed the list to the second officer who looked at it bleakly, then slowly reached for the microphone.
“This is the bridge,” he said. “I am taking command. Run the engines up to ready. . .”
“Aren’t we going to help them?” a voice broke in. “We can’t just leave them out there.”
“There is no one out there to leave,” Weiks said slowly. “I’ve checked on all the screens and there is nothing visible down there except these . . . attackers and their beasts. Even if there were I doubt if there is anything we could do to help. It would be suicide to leave the ship. And we have only a bare skeleton flight crew aboard as it is.”
The frame of the ship shivered as if to add punctuation to his words.
“One of the screens is out—there goes another—they hit it with something. And they’re fixing lines to the landing legs. I don’t know if they can pull us over—and I don’t want to find out. Secure to blast in sixty-five seconds.”
“They’ll burn in our jets, everything, everyone down there,” the radio operator said, snapping his harness tight.
“Our people won’t feel it,” the pilot said grimly, “and . . . let’s see how many of the others we can get.”
When the spacer rose, spouting fire, it left a smoking, humped circle of death below it. But, as soon as the ground was cool enough, the waiting riders pressed in and trampled through the ash. More and more of them, appearing out of the darkness. There seemed no end to their teeming numbers.
II
“Pretty stupid to get hit by a sawbird,” Brucco said, helping Jason dinAlt to pull the ripped metalcloth jacket off over his head.
“Pretty stupid to try and eat a peaceful meal on this planet,” Jason snapped back, his words muffled by the heavy cloth. He pulled the jacket free and winced as sharp pain cut into his side. “I was just trying to enjoy some soup, and the bowl got in the way when I had to fire.”
“Only a superficial wound,” Brucco said, looking at the red gash on Jason’s side. “The saw bounced off the ribs without breaking them. Very lucky.”
“You mean lucky I didn’t get killed. Whoever heard of a sawbird in the messhall?”
“Always expect the unexpected on Pyrrus, even the children know that.” Brucco sloshed on antiseptic and Jason ground his teeth together tightly. The phone pinged and Meta’s worried face appeared on the screen.
“Jason—I heard you were hurt.”
“Dying,” he told her, grimacing. Brucco sniffed loudly. “Nonsense. Superficial wound, fourteen centimeters in length, no toxins.”
“Is that all,” Meta said, and the screen went dark.
“Yes, that’s all,” Jason said bitterly. “A liter of blood and a kilo of flesh, nothing more bothersome than a hangnail. What do I have to do to get some sympathy around here—lose a leg?”
“If you lost a leg in combat there might be sympathy,” Brucco said coldly, pressing an adhesive bandage into place. “But, if you lost a limb to a sawbird in the messhall, you would expect only contempt . . .”
“Enough,” Jason said sharply, pulling his jacket back on. “Don’t take me so literally and, yes, I know all about the sweet consideration I can expect from you friendly Pyrrans. I don’t think I’ll ever miss this planet, not for five minutes.”
“You’re leaving?” Brucco asked, brightening up. “Is that what the meeting is about?”
“Don’t sound so wildly depressed at the thought. Try to control your impatience until 1500 hours when the others will be here. I play no favorites. Except myself that is,” he added, walking out stiffly, trying to move his side as little as possible.
It was time for a change, he thought, looking out of a high window across the perimeter wall, to the deadly jungle beyond. Some light sensitive cells must have caught the motion because a tree branch whipped forward and a sudden flurry of thorndarts rattled against the transparent metal of the window. His reflexes were so well trained by now that he did not move a muscle.
Past time for a change. Every day on Pyrrus was another spin of the wheel. Winning was just staying even, and when your number came up it was certain death. How many people had died since he had first come here? He was beginning to lose track, to become as indifferent to death as any Pyrran.
If there were going to be any changes made, he was the one who would have to make them. He had thought once that he had solved this planet’s deadly problems, when he had proved to them that the relentless, endless war was their own doing. Yet it still went on. Knowledge of the truth does not always mean acceptance of it.
The Pyrrans who were capable of accepting the reality of existence here had left the city, and had gone far enough away to escape the pressure of physical and mental hatred that still engulfed it. Because, although the remaining Pyrrans might give lip-service to the concept that their own emotions were keeping the war going, they did not really believe that this was true. And each time they looked out at the world that they hated, the enemy gained fresh strength and pressed the attack anew.
When Jason thought of the only possible end for the city he grew depressed. There were so many of the people left who would not accept the change—or help of any kind. They were as much a part of this war, and as adapted to the war as the hyperspecialized life forms outside. Molded in the same way, by the same generations of mixed hatred and fear.
There was one more change coming. He wondered how many of them would accept it.
It was 1520 hours before Jason made his appearance in Kerk’s office: he had been delayed by a last minute exchange of messages on the jump-space communicator. Everyone in the room shared the same expression: cold anger. Pyrrans had very little patience and even less tolerance for a puzzle or a mystery. They were so alike—yet so different.
Kerk, gray-haired and stolid, able to control his expression better than the others. Practice, undoubtedly, from dealing so much with off-worlders. This was the man whom it was most important to convince because, if the slap-dash, militaristic Pyrran society had any leader at all, he was the one.
Brucco, hawk faced and lean, his features set in a perpetual expression of suspicion. The expression was justified. As physician, researcher and ecologist, he was the single authority on Pyrran life forms. He had to be suspicious.
Though at least there was one thing in his favor: he was scientist enough to be convinced by reasoned fact.
And Rhes, leader of the outsiders, the people who had adapted successfully to this deadly planet. He was not possessed by the reflex hatred that filled the others, and Jason counted upon him for help.
Meta, sweet and lovely, stronger than most men, whose graceful arms could clasp with passion—or break bones. Does your coldly practical mind—hidden in that beautiful female body—know what love is? Or is it just pride of possession you feel towards the off-worlder, Jason dinAlt? Tell him some time, he would like to know. But not right now. You look just as impatient and deadly as the others.
Jason closed the door behind him and smiled insincerely.
“Hello there everybody,” he said. “I hope you didn’t mind my keeping you waiting?” He went on quickly, ignoring the angry growls from all sides.
“I’m sure that you will all be pleased to hear that I am broke, financially wiped out, and sunk.”
Their expressions cleared as they considered the statement. One thought at a time—that was the Pyrran way.
“You have millions in the bank,” Kerk said, “and no way of gambling and losing them.”
“When I gamble I win,” Jason informed him with calm dignity. “I am broke because I have spent every last credit. I have purchased a spaceship, and it is on its way here now.”
“Why?” Meta asked, speaking the question that was foremost in all their minds.
“Because I am leaving this planet and I’m taking you—and as many others as possible—with me.”
Jason could read their mixed feelings easily. For better or for worse—and it was certainly worse than any other planet in the known galaxy—this was their home.
Deadly and dangerous, but still theirs. He had to make his idea attractive, to gain their enthusiasm and make them forget any second thoughts that they might have. The appeal to their intelligence would come later, first he must appeal to their emotions. He knew well this single chink in their armor.
“I’ve discovered a planet that is far more deadly than Pyrrus.”
Brucco laughed with cold disbelief, and they all nodded in agreement with him.
“Is that supposed to be attractive?” Rhes asked, the only Pyrran present who had been born outside the city, and was, therefore, immune to their love of violence. Jason gave him a long, slow wink to ponder over while he went on to convince the others.
“I mean deadly because it contains the most deadly life form ever discovered. Faster than a stingwing, more vicious than a horndevil, more tenacious than a clawhawk—there’s no end to the list. I have found the planet where these creatures abide . . .”
“You are talking about men, aren’t you?” Kerk said, quicker to understand than the others, as usual.
“I am. Men who are more deadly than the ones here, because Pyrrans have been bred by natural selection to defend themselves against any dangers. Defend. What would you think of a world where men have been bred for some thousands of years to attack, to kill and destroy, without any thought of the consequences? What do you think the survivors of this genocidal conflict would be like?”
They considered it, and from their expressions they did not think very much of the idea. They had taken sides, united against a common enemy in their thoughts, and Jason hurried on while he had them in agreement.
“I’m talking about a planet named Felicity, apparently called this to sucker in the settlers, or for the same reason that big men are called Tiny. I read about it some months back in a newsfax, just a small item about an entire mining settlement being wiped out. This is a hard thing to do, mining operation teams are tough and ready for trouble—and John Company is the toughest. Also—and equally important—John Company does not play for small stakes. So I got in touch with some friends and sent them some money to spread around, and they managed to contact one of the survivors. It cost me a good deal more to get accurate information from him, but it was well worth it. Here it is.” He paused for dramatic effect and held up a sheet of paper.
“Well read it, don’t just wave it at us,” Brucco said, tapping the table irritably.
“Have patience,” Jason told him. “This is an engineer’s report, and it is very enthusiastic in a restrained, engineering way. Apparently Felicity has a wealth of heavy elements, near the surface, and confined to a relatively restrained area. Opencut mining should be possible and, from the way this engineer talks, the uranium ore sounds like it is rich enough to run a reactor without any refining . . .”
“That’s impossible,” Meta broke in. “Uranium ore in a free state could not be so radioactive that it could . . .”
“Please,” Jason said, holding both hands in the air. “I was just making a small exaggeration to emphasize a point. The ore is rich, let it go at that. The important thing now is that, in spite of the quality of the ore, John Company is not returning to Felicity. They had their fingers burned once, badly, and there are plenty of other planets they can mine with a lot less effort. Without having to face dragonriding barbarians who appear suddenly out of the ground and attack in endless waves, destroying everything they come near.”
“What is all that last bit supposed to mean?” Kerk asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine. This is the way the survivors described the massacre. The only thing we can be sure about is that they were attacked by mounted men, and that they were licked.”
“And this is the planet you wish us to go to,” Kerk said. “It does not sound attractive. We can stay here and work our own mines.”
“You’ve been working your mines for centuries, until some of the shafts are five kilometers deep and producing only second-rate ore—but that’s not the point. I’m thinking about the people here, and what is going to happen to them. Life on this planet has been irreversibly changed. The Pyrrans who were capable of making an adjustment to the new conditions have done so. Now—what about the others?”
Their only answer was a protracted silence.
“It’s a good question, isn’t it? And a pertinent one. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen to the people left in this city. And when I tell you, try not to shoot me. I think you have all outgrown that kind of instant reflex to a difference of opinion. At least I hope that everyone in this room has. I wouldn’t tell this to the people out there in the city. They would probably kill me rather than hear the truth. They don’t want to find out that they are all condemned to certain death by this planet.”
There was the thin whine of an electric motor as Meta’s gun sprang halfway out of its power holster, then slipped back. Jason smiled at her and waggled his finger: she turned away coldly. The others controlled their trigger reflexes better.
“That is not true,” Kerk said. “People are leaving the city . . .”
“And returning in about the same numbers. Argument invalid. The ones who were able to leave have done so, only the hard core is left.”
“There are other possible solutions,” Brucco said. “Another city could be constructed . . .”
The rumble of an earthquake interrupted him. They had been feeling tremors for some time, so commonplace on Pyrrus that they were scarcely aware of them, but this one was much stronger. The building moved under them and a jagged crack appeared on the wall, showering down cement dust. The crack intersected the window frame and, although the single pane was made of armorglass, it fractured under the strain and crashed out in jagged fragments. As though on cue, a stingwing dived at the opening, ripping through the protective netting inside. It dissolved in a burst of flame as their guns surged from their power holsters and four shots fired as one.
“I’ll watch the window,” Kerk said, shifting his chair so he could face the opening. “Go on.”
The interruption, the reminder of what life in this city was really like, had thrown Brucco off his pace. He hesitated a moment, then continued.
“Yes . . . well, what I was saying . . . other solutions are possible. A second city, quite distant from here, could be constructed, perhaps at one of the mine sites. Only around this city are the life forms so deadly. This city could be abandoned and . . .”
“And the new city would recapitulate all the sins of the old. The hatred of the remaining Pyrrans would recreate the same situation. You know them better than I do, Brucco, isn’t that what would happen?”
Jason waited until Brucco had nodded a reluctant yes.
“We’ve been over this ground before and there is only one possible solution. Get those people off Pyrrus and to a world where they can survive without a constant, decimating war. Any place would be an improvement over Pyrrus. You people are so close to it that you seem to have forgotten what a hell this planet really is. I know that it’s all that you have, and that you’re adjusted to it, but it is really not very much. I’ve proven to you that all of the life forms here are telepathic to a degree, and that your hatred of them keeps them warring upon you. Mutating and changing and constantly getting more vicious and deadly. You have admitted that. But it doesn’t change the situation. There are still enough of you Pyrrans hating away to keep the war going. Sanity save me—but you are a pigheaded people! If I had any brains, I would be well away from here and leave you to your deadly destiny. But I’m involved, like it or not. I’ve kept you alive and you’ve kept me alive and our futures run on the same track. Besides that, I like your girls.” Meta’s sniff was loud in the listening silence.
“So—jokes and argu
ments aside, we have a problem. If your people stay here, they will eventually die. All of them. To save them you are going to have to get them away from here, to a more friendly world. Habitable planets with good natural resources are not always easy to find, but I’ve found one. There may be some differences of opinion with the natives, the original settlers, but I think that should make the idea more interesting to Pyrrans rather than the other way around. Transportation and equipment are on the way. Now who is in with me? Kerk? They look to you for leadership. Now—lead!”
Kerk squinted his eyes dangerously at Jason and tightened his lips with distaste. “You always seem to be talking me into doing things I do not really want to do.”
“A measure of maturity,” Jason said blandly. “The ego rising triumphant over the id. Does that mean that you will help?”
“It does. I do not want to go to another planet and I do not enjoy the thought. Yet I can see no other way to save the people in the city from certain extinction.”
“Good. And you, Brucco? We’ll need a surgeon.”
“Find another one. My assistant, Teca, will do. My studies of the Pyrran life forms are far from complete. I am staying in the city as long as it is here.”
“It could mean your life.”
“It probably will. However my records and observations are indestructible.”
No one doubted that he meant it—or attempted to argue with him. Jason turned to Meta.
“We’ll need you to pilot the ship after the ferry crew has been returned.”
“I’m needed here to operate our Pyrran ship.”
“There are other pilots, you’ve trained them yourself. And, if you stay here, I’ll have to get myself another woman . . .”
“I’ll kill her if you do. I’ll pilot the ship.”
Jason smiled and blew her a kiss that she pretended to ignore. “That does it then,” he said. “Brucco will stay here, and I guess Rhes will also stay to supervise the settling of the city Pyrrans with his people.”
Deathworld: The Complete Saga Page 32