Deathworld: The Complete Saga

by Harry Harrison

  “I like this knife,” Temuchin said. “I will keep it.”

  “I was about to present it to you,” Jason said, bowing to hide his scowl. He should have realized that this would happen. Well, it was just a knife.

  “Do your people know much of the old science?” Temuchin asked, dropping the knife for a servant to pick up and clean. Jason was instantly on his guard.

  “No more, or less, than other tribes,” he said.

  “None of them can make iron like this.”

  “It is an old secret, passed on from father to son.”

  “There could be other old secrets.” His voice was as hard and cold as the steel itself.

  “Perhaps.”

  “There is a lost secret then that you may have heard of. Some call it flamepowder and others gunpowder. What do you know of this?”

  Indeed, what do I know of this? Jason thought, trying to read something from the other’s fixed expression. What could a barbarian jongleur know of such things?

  And if this was a trap what should Jason tell him?

  TO BE CONTINUED

  SYNOPSIS

  JASON DIN ALT knows that the city dwellers on Pyrrus are doomed if they do not leave their planet. Their continuing hatred has generated an endless—and escalating—war with the telepathic life forms that inhabit this world. The Pyrrans, after centuries of battling for their lives in the doubled gravity, are undoubtedly the galaxy’s fastest and best warriors. JASON convinces them that they should try to open a mining colony on the planet FELICITY, despite the deadly and barbaric nomads who rule there now. A small expedition is mounted, but JASON is kidnapped by the nomads as soon as the spaceship lands. He is taken to TEMUCHIN, warlord of all the nomads, who interviews him briefly—then orders him killed.

  JASON manages to escape and returns to the landing site, but finds the spaceship gone. He is attacked by nomads, but is saved by META in the ship’s launch. She takes him to the mountains where the spaceship and the other Pyrrans are hidden. JASON now has a plan to gain control of this high plateau where they must dig mines.

  The Pyrrans will disguise themselves as another tribe of nomads and, led by KERK, they will beat the tribesmen at their own game. They will be better barbarians, better warriors—and KERK will eventually take over TEMUCHIN’s position as warlord. While they are doing this RHES will go to the lowlands, below the continent-wide cliff that separates the nomads from the more civilized cultures, and will organize a trading expedition. When KERK has gained control, the trading expedition will board ship and land on the northern coast. They will be permitted to land and will start a settlement, that will eventually cover the mining operations.

  JASON goes to the plains ahead of the others, with META and the boy GRIF. He is disguised as a jongleur, a minstrel who travels from tribe to tribe with entertainment and news. TEMUCHIN hears about him and the Pyrran tribe, and orders the disguised JASON before him. After a first clash of personalities they reach an agreement. Then TEMUCHIN asks JASON how much he knows about gunpowder. What does this mean? What can TEMUCHIN, an illiterate, iron-age barbarian, know about gunpowder? Does he suspect that Jason is an off-worlder? Is it a trap?

  Part 2

  IX

  Meta made no protest as Jason washed the dirt from her cuts and sprayed them with dermafoam. The medikit had sewn fourteen stitches into the cut on her skull, but he had done this while she was still unconscious and had covered the shaved area with a bandage. She had come to right after this, but had not moved or complained when he had put two more stitches in her split upper lip.

  Grif breathed a hoarse snore from the mound of furs where Jason had placed him. The boy’s wounds were mostly superficial and the medikit had advised sedation, which suggestion Jason had complied with.

  “It’s all over now,” Jason said. “You had better get some rest.”

  “There were too many of them,” Meta said, “but we did the best we could. Let me have a mirror. They surprised me, going for the boy first, but it was a wise plan. He went down at once. Then they came at me and I could not talk to you any more.” She took the polished steel mirror from Jason, had one brief glance and handed it back. “I look terrible. It must have been a quick fight. I don’t remember too clearly. Some of them had clubs, the women, and they tried to hit my legs. I know I killed at least three or four, one of the women, before I went down. What happened then?”

  Jason took the achadh skin and worked the hidden valve on the mouthpiece that sealed off the fermented milk and opened the reservoir of spiced alcohol that the Pyrrans favored.

  “Drink?” he asked, but she shook her head no. He joined himself and had a long one. “Skipping the finer detail for the moment, I managed to send some of the troopers after you. They brought back both of you, and a few rat survivors—all of whom are now dead. I killed the unwounded one myself in true Pyrran-vengeance fashion, for which I do not feel too ashamed. But I had to give my knife to Temuchin who instantly spotted the advanced level of technology. I’m very glad now that I hand-forged it and that the tool marks can still be seen. Right away he asked me if we Pyrrans knew anything about gunpowder, which rocked me. I played it slippery, told him I knew nothing—just the name—but perhaps others in the tribe knew more. He bought that for the time being—I think. You just can’t tell with that guy. But he wants us to move in. At dawn we have to truck our camach into the camp next to his, and say good-bye to Shanin and his rats, whom we shall not miss. And in case we should change our minds there is a squad of Temuchin’s boys waiting outside. I still haven’t decided whether we are prisoners or not.”

  “I know I look terrible this way,” she said, her head nodding.

  “You’ll always look good to me,” Jason told her cheeringly, then realized that he meant it. He twisted the medikit to full sedation and pressed it to her arm. She did not protest. With more than a small amount of guilt, and the feeling that he alone was responsible for their danger and pain, Jason laid her down on the furs next to the boy and covered them both. What bit of insane stupidity was it that had permitted him to involve a woman and a child in this murderous business? Then he remembered that conditions here were still far better than they were on Pyrrus, and he had probably saved their lives by getting them away. He looked at their bruises and shuddered, and wondered if they would thank him for it.

  In the morning the two wounded Pyrrans had just enough strength to stumble out of the camach so that Jason could supervise its dismantling by the soldiers. They grumbled about woman’s work, but Jason would allow none of Shanin’s tribes-people near any of his belongings. After all the recent deaths he was sure that his feud had widened its boundaries until it took in a good portion of the tribe. It was only after Jason had lubricated their spirits with a large skin of high-proof achadh that the soldiers buckled down to finish the job and to load the escung. Jason strapped Meta and Grif in under the furs, in much the same way that he had been carried after his capture, and the small caravan set out. Hurried on its way by many dark looks.

  In Temuchin’s own camp there were enough females who could be drafted for the degrading labor so that the men could stand and watch, which was their normal contribution. Jason could not stay to supervise, he left this to Meta, because a message arrived demanding his instant appearance before Temuchin.

  The two guards at the entrance to the warlord’s camach stood aside when Jason approached. At least he had some prestige among the enlisted men. Temuchin was alone, holding Jason’s knife which was drenched with blood. Jason stopped, then relaxed when Temuchin seized the point and, with a quick snap of his wrist, sent it whistling through the air to sink deep into the carcass of a goat that he was using for a target.

  “This knife has good balance,” Temuchin said. “Throws well.”

  Jason nodded silently since he knew that he had not been summoned to an audience just to hear that.

  “Tell me all you know about gunpowder,” Temuchin said, bending over to retrieve the knife.

&nbs
p; “There is very little to tell . . .”

  Temuchin straightened and his eyes caught Jason’s, as he tapped the hilt of the knife against the calloused palm of his hand. “Tell me everything you know. Instantly. If you had gunpowder, could you make it blow up with the big noise instead of burning with smoke?”

  This was the clinch. If Temuchin thought that he were lying that big knife would sink into his gut as easily as it went into the goat’s. The warlord had some very specific ideas about the physical nature of gunpowder, so he was not bluffing. Time to take a chance.

  “Though I have never seen gunpowder, I know what is said about it. I have heard how to make it explode.”

  “I thought you might.” The knife thunked as it sank deep into the goat’s flesh. “I think you know other things that you are not telling me.”

  “Men have secrets that they swear never to reveal. But Temuchin is my master and I will help him in every way that I can.”

  “Good. Don’t forget that. Now tell me what you know about the people in the lowlands.”

  “Why—nothing,” Jason said, astonished. The question had come as a complete surprise.

  “You and everyone else. That is changing now. I know some things about the lowlanders and I am going to learn more. I am going to raid the lowlands and you are coming with me. I can use some of this gunpowder. Prepare yourself. We leave at midday. You are the only one who knows it is not a simple hunting expedition, so talk of the matter only at the risk of your life.”

  “I would rather die than speak a word of this to anyone.”

  Jason returned to his camach, deep in thought, and instantly told Meta everything he had just learned.

  “This sounds very strange,” she said, hobbling to the fire, her muscles stiffened by the beating she had undergone. “I am hungry and cannot make this fire burn.”

  Jason fanned the fire, and coughed and averted his head when he caught a lungful of pungent smoke. “I don’t think you are using first-rate morope chips here. They have to be well dried to burn evenly. It sounded strange to me, too. How can he get down a vertical cliff over ten kilometers high? Yet he knows about gunpowder, and he certainly never found out about that here on the plateau.” He coughed again then kicked sand over the fire. “Enough of that. You and Grif need something more nutritious than goat stew in any case. I’ll crack out a couple of meal packs.”

  Meta picked up a war ax and stood by the entrance to make sure that Jason was not disturbed when he opened the lockbox. He took out the meal packs and unsealed them, then pointed to the radio.

  “Report to Kerk at midnight, let him know everything that is happening. You should be safe enough here, but if it looks like there will be any difficulty tell him to pull you out.”

  “No. We will stay here until you return.” She plunged her spoon into the food and ate hungrily. Grif took the other pack and Jason stood guard at the entrance.

  “Put the empty cans into the lock-box until we find a safer spot to bury them. I wish there was more I could do . . .”

  “Don’t worry about us. We know how to take care of ourselves,” Meta told him firmly.

  “Yes,” Grif agreed, unsmiling. “This planet is very soft after Pyrrus. Only the food is bad.”

  Jason looked at them both, battered yet undefeated, opened his mouth—then closed it because there was really nothing that he could say. He packed a leathern bag with the supplies he might need for the trip, extra clothing, and a microminiaturized transceiver that slipped into the hollow handle of his war ax. This, and a short sword, were his only weapons. He had tried using the laminated horn bows, but he was so improficient that he was better off not having one of the things around. Slinging a shield from his left arm he waved good-bye and left.

  When Jason rode up on his morope he saw that a small force of less than fifty men had assembled for the expedition. They carried no extra equipment or supplies and it was obvious that it would not be a prolonged trip. Only after Jason had intercepted a number of cold glances did he realize that he was the only outsider there. All the others were either high-ranking officers and close associates of Temuchin, or members of his own tribe.

  “I can keep secrets, too,” Jason told Ahankk who rode close, scowling, but he only received a fine selection of grating curses in return.

  As soon as the warlord appeared,” they rode off in a double column, following his lead.

  It was hard riding and Jason was thankful for the weeks he had spent in the saddle. At first they started towards the foothills to the east, but s as soon as they were hidden from sight of the camp, and sure that they were not observed by stragglers, they turned and moved so that a ground-eating pace. The mountains rose up on all sides of them it as they rode from valley to valley, climbing steadily. Jason, breathing through his fur neckpiece, could not believe that throat-hurting air could be so cold, yet it did not seem it to bother anyone else. They grabbed a quick, unheated meal at sunset, then kept on going.

  Jason could see the sense in this; he had almost frozen to the ground during their brief halt. They were in single file now. The trail was so narrow that Jason, like many of the others, dismounted to lead his mount, in an attempt to warm him itself above the congealing point with the exertion. The cold light of the star-filled sky lit their way. Coming to a junction of two valleys Jason looked to his right, at the gray sea spreading out in the distance beyond the nearly vertical cliffs. Sea? He stopped so suddenly that his morope trod on his heels n and he had to jump aside to avoid being trampled.

  No, it couldn’t be the sea, they were in the middle of the continent—and too high up. Realization came late—he was looking at a sea rightly enough, the top of a sea of clouds. Jason watched until a turn in the trail took them from sight. The trail was dipping downwards now as he knew it must. He halted his morope so that he could climb back into the saddle. Somewhere up ahead was the edge of the world.

  Here the domain of the nomads ended at the continent-spanning cliff, a solid wall of rock reaching up from the plains below. Here, also, was where the weather ended. The warm southern winds blowing north struck the cliff, were forced upwards and condensed as clouds, to then bring their burden of water back to the land below as rain. Jason wondered if they ever saw the sun at all this close to the escarpment. A glistening dusting of snow in the hollows showed that severe storms even pushed over the top of this natural barrier.

  As the trail dropped it passed through a narrow pass and, once inside, Jason saw a stone hut under an overhang of rock, where guards stood and stoically watched them pass. Whatever their destination was, it must be close. A short while later they halted and word was passed back to Jason to wait on Temuchin. He shuffled to the head of the procession as fast as his numbed muscles would permit.

  Temuchin was chewing steadily on a resistant piece of dried meat, and Jason had to wait until he had washed this morsel down with some of the half frozen achadh. The sky was lightening in the east and by the traditional nomad test it was almost dawn, the moment when a black goat’s hair could be told from a white.

  “Bring my morope,” Temuchin commanded as he strode away. Jason grabbed the reins of the tired, snapping beast, and dragged it after the warlord. Three officers followed after him. The trail took two more sharp turnings and opened out onto a broad ledge, the farther side of which was the sheer edge of the cliff. Temuchin walked over and stared down at white-massed clouds not far below. But it was the rusty chunk of machinery that fascinated Jason.

  The most impressive part was the massive A frame that was seated deep into the living rock at the cliff’s edge, projecting outwards and overhanging the abyss below. This had been hand-forged, all eight meters of its length, and what a prodigious labor that must have been. It was stabilized with crossbrace rods and rested against a ridge of rock at the lip of the drop, that raised it to a forty-five degree angle. The entire frame was pitted and scratched with rust although some attempt had been made to keep it greased. A length of flexible, black materia
l led over a pulley wheel at the point of the A and back through a hole in a buttress of rock behind. Obsessed now by curiosity, Jason went around the rock to admire the device behind it.

  In its own way, this engine, though smaller, was more spectacular than the supporting frame on the cliff. The black, ropelike material came through the hole and wound around a drum. This drum, on an arm-thick shaft, was held to the back of the vertical rock face by four sturdy legs. It could obviously take an immense strain since there was nothing to uproot: all of the pressure would be carried directly to the rock face, seating the legs even more firmly. A meterwide gear wheel, fitted to the end of the drum, meshed with a smaller pinion gear that could be turned by a long crank handle. This was apparently made of wood, but Jason did not draw attention to the fact. A number of pawls and ratchets made sure that nothing could slip.

  It did not take a mechanical genius to understand what the device was for. Jason turned to Temuchin, forcefully controlling the tendency for one eyebrow to lift, and said: “Is this the mechanism by which we are supposed to descend to the lowlands?”

  The warlord seemed about as impressed by the machine as Jason was himself.

  “It is. It does not appear to be the sort of thing one would usually risk one’s life with, but we have no choice. The tribe which built and operated it, a branch of the stoat clan, have sworn that they used it often to raid the lowlands. They told many tales, and had wood and gunpowder to prove it. The survivors are here and they will operate the thing. They will be killed if there is any trouble. We will go first.”

  “That won’t help us very much if something goes wrong.”

  “Man is born to die. Life consists only of a daily putting off of the inevitable.”

  Jason had no answer to this one. He looked up as, with pained cries, a group of men and squat women were driven down the hill towards the winch.