 11 Recealing the cellar they carried the box back to Jason's new office. Only after spraying with decontaminant did they examine it closely. S.T. Pollock's Victory. That must be the name of the space or this log came from, but I don't recognize the class or whatever it is the initials S.T. stand for. Stellar Transport Jason told her as he tried the lock mechanism. I've heard of them, but I've never seen one. They were built during the last wave of galactic expansion. Really nothing more than gigantic metal containers put together in space. After they were loaded with people, machinery, and supplies, they would be towed to whatever planetary system had been chosen. These same tugs and one-shot rockets would break the S.T.s in for a landing, then leave them there. The hull was a ready source of metal and the colonists could start right in building their new world. And they were big. All of them held at least 50,000 people. Only after he had said it did he realize the significance of his words. Met his deadly stare drove at home. There were now less people on Pyrus than had been in the original settlement. And human population without rigid birth controls usually increased geometrically. Jason Den Ault suddenly remembered Metta's itchy trigger finger. But we can't be sure how many people were aboard this one, he said heredly, or even if this is the log of the ship that settled Pyrus. Can you find something to pry this open with? The lock is corroded into a single lump. Metta took her anger out on the box. Her fingers managed to force a gap between lid and bottom. She wrenched at it. Rusty metal screached and tore. The lid came off in her hands and a heavy book thudded to the table. The cover legend destroyed all doubt. Log of S.T. Pollock's victory outward bounds Satani to Pyrus, 55,000 settlers aboard. Metta couldn't argue now. She stood behind Jason with tight clenched fists and read over his shoulder as he turned the brittle yellowed pages. He quickly skipped through the opening part that covered the sailing preparations and trip out. Only when he had reached the actual landing did he start reading slowly. The impact of the ancient words leaped out at him. Here it is, Jason shouted, proof positive that we're on the right trail. Even you will have to admit that. Read it. Right here. Second day since the tugs left. We are completely on our own now. The settlers still haven't grown used to the planet, though we have orientation talks every night, as well as the morale agents who I have working twenty hours a day. I suppose I really can't blame the people. They all lived in the underways of Satani and I doubt if they saw the sun once a year. This planet has weather with a vengeance worse than anything I've seen on a hundred other planets. Was I wrong during the original planning stages not to insist on settlers from one of the agrarian worlds, people who could handle the outdoors? These citified Satanis are afraid to go out in the rain. But of course they have adapted completely to their native 1.5 gravity, so the 2G here doesn't bother them much. That was the factor that decided us. Anyway, too late now to do anything about it. Or about the unending cycle of rain, snow, hail, hurricanes and such. Answer will be to start the mines going, sell the metals, and build completely enclosed cities. The only thing on this forsaken planet that isn't actually against us are the animals. A few large predators at first, but the guards made short work of them. The rest of the wildlife leaves us alone. Glad of that. They have been fighting for existence so long that I have never seen a more deadly looking collection. Even the little rodents no bigger than a man's hand are armored like tanks. I don't believe a word of it met a broken. That can't be piracy's writing about. Her words died away as Jason wordlessly pointed to the title on the cover. He continued scanning the pages, flipping them quickly. A sentence caught his eye and he stopped, jamming his finger against the place he read aloud. And the troubles keep piling up. First Har Palo with his theory that the volcanism is so close to the surface that the ground keeps warm and the crops grow so well. Even if he is right, what can we do? We must be self-dependent if we intend to survive. And now this other thing. It seems that the forest fire drove a lot of new species our way. Animals, insects and even birds have attacked the people. Note for Har. Check if possible seasonal migration might explain attacks. There have been fourteen deaths from wounds and poisoning. We'll have to enforce the rules for insect lotion at all times, and I suppose build some kind of perimeter defense to keep the larger beasts out of the camp. This is the beginning, Jason said. At least now we are aware of the real nature of the battle we are engaged in. It doesn't make pyrus any easier to handle or make the life-forms less dangerous to know that they were once better disposed towards mankind. All this does is point the way. Something took the peaceful life-forms, shook them up, and turned this planet into one big death-trap for mankind. That something is what I want to uncover. Of Chapter 11 of Death World by Harry Harrison. Further reading of the log produced no new evidence. There was a good deal more information about the early animal and plant life and how deadly they were as well as the first defenses against them. Interesting historically, but of no use whatsoever in countering the menace. The Captain apparently never thought that the life-forms were altering on pyrus, believing instead that dangerous beasts were being discovered. He never lived to change his mind. The last entry in the log less than two months after the first attack was very brief and in a different handwriting. Captain Kerkowski died today of poisoning following an insect bite. His death is greatly mourned. The why of the planetary revulsion had yet to be uncovered. Kirk must see this book, Jason said. He should have some idea of the progress being made. Can we get transportation or do we walk to City Hall? Walk, of course, Metta said. Then you bring the book. At two Gs I find it very hard to be a gentleman and carry the packages. They had just entered Kirk's outer office when a shrill screaming burst out of the phone screen. It took Jason a moment to realize that it was a mechanical signal, not a human voice. What is it, he asked? Kirk burst through the door and headed for the street entrance. Everyone else in the office was going the same way. Metta looked confused, leaning towards the door, then looking back at Jason. What does it mean? Can't you tell me? He shook her arm. Sector alarm, a major breakthrough of some kind at the perimeter. Everyone but other perimeter guards has to answer. Well, go then, he said. Don't worry about me. I'll be all right. His words acted like a trigger release. Metta's gun was in her hand and she was gone before he had finished speaking. Jason sat down wearily in the deserted office. The unnatural silence in the building began to get on his nerves. He shifted his chair over to the phone screen and switched it on to receive. The screen exploded with color and sound. At first Jason could make no sense of it at all, just a confused jumble of faces and voices. It was a multi-channel set designed for military use. A number of images were carried on the screen at one time. Rows of heads or hazy backgrounds where the user had left the field of view. Many of the heads were talking at the same time and the babble of their voices made no sense whatsoever. After examining the controls and making a few experiments, Jason began to understand the operation. Though all stations were on the screen at all times, their audio channels could be controlled. In that way two, three, or more stations could be hooked together in a link-up. They would be in round robin communication with each other, yet never out of contact with the other stations. Identification between voice and sound was automatic. Whenever one of the picture images spoke, the image would glow red. By trial and error Jason brought in the audio for the stations he wanted and tried to follow the course of the attack. Very quickly he realized this was something out of the ordinary. In some way, no one made it clear, a section of the perimeter had been broken through and emergency defenses had been thrown up to encapsulate it. Kirk seemed to be in charge, at least he was the only one with an override transmitter. He used it for general commands. The many tiny images faded and his face appeared on top of them filling the entire screen. All perimeter stations, send 25% of your complement to Area 12. The small images reappeared and the babble increased, red lights flickering from face to face. Abandon the first floor. Acid bombs can't reach. If we hold, we'll be cut off, but salient has passed us on the west flank. Request support. Don't, Merv. It's useless. And the napalm tanks are almost gone. Orders. The truck is still there. Get it to the supply warehouse. You'll find replacements. Out of the welter of talk only the last two fragments made any sense. Jason had noticed the signs below when he came in. The first two floors of the building below him were jammed with military supplies. This was his chance to get into the act. Just sitting and watching was frustrating, particularly when it was a desperate emergency. He didn't overvalue his worth, but he was sure there was always room for another gun. By the time he had dragged himself down to the street level, a turbo truck had slammed to a stop in front of the loading platform. Two pyrons were rolling out drums of napalm with reckless disregard for their own safety. Jason didn't dare enter that maelstrom of rolling metal. He found he could be of use tugging the heavy drums into position on the truck while the others rolled them up. They accepted his aid without acknowledgment. It was exhausting, sweaty work, hauling the leadened drums into place against the heavy gravity. After a minute, Jason worked by touch through a red haze of hammering blood. He realized the job was done only when the truck suddenly leaped forward and he was thrown to the floor. He lay there, his chest heaving as the driver hurled the heavy vehicle along all Jason could do was bounce around in the bottom. He could see well enough but was still gasping for breath when they braked at the fighting zone. To Jason it was a scene of incredible confusion. Guns firing, flames, men and women running on all sides, the napalm drums were unloaded without his help and the truck vanished for more. Jason leaned against a wall of half-destroyed building and tried to get his bearings. It was impossible. There seemed to be a great number of small animals. He killed two that attacked him. Other than that he couldn't determine the nature of the battle. A pyre in tan face white with pain and exertion stumbled up. His right arm wet with raw flesh and dripping blood hung limply at his side. It was covered with freshly applied surgical foam. He held his gun in his left hand, a stump of control cable dangling from it. Jason thought the man was looking for medical aid. He couldn't have been more wrong. Clenching the gun in his teeth the pyre and clutched the barrel of napalm with his good hand and hurled it over on its side. Then with the gun once more in his hand he began to roll the drum along the ground with his feet. It was slow, cumbersome work, but he was still in the fight. Jason pushed through the hurrying crowd and bent over the drum. Let me do it, he said. You can cover us both with your gun. The man wiped the sweat from his eyes with the back of his arm and blinked at Jason. He seemed to recognize him. When he smiled it was a grimace of pain, empty of humor. Do that. I can still shoot. Two half men. Maybe we equal one whole. Jason was laboring too hard to even notice the insult. An explosion had blasted a raw pit in the street ahead. Two people were at the bottom digging it even deeper with shovels. The whole thing seemed meaningless. Just as Jason and the wounded man rolled up the drum the diggers leaped out of the excavation and began shooting down into its depths. One of them turned, a young girl barely in her teens. Praise per perimeter she breathed. They found the napalm. One of the new horrors is breaking through towards thirteen. We just found it. Even as she talked she swiveled the drum around, kicked the easy off plug, and began dumping the jellied contents into the hole. When half of it had gurgled down she kicked the drum itself in. Her companion pulled a flare from his belt, lit it, and threw it after the drum. Quick! They don't like heat, he said. This was putting it very mildly. The napalm caught. Tongues of flame and roiling greasy smoke climbed up to the sky. Under Jason's feet the earth shifted and moved. Something black and long stirred in the heart of the flame then arched up into the sky over their heads. In the midst of the searing heat it still moved with alien jolting motions. It was immense, at least two meters thick and with no indication of its length. The flames didn't stop it at all. Just annoyed it. Jason had some idea of the thing's length as the street cracked and buckled for fifty meters on each side of the pit. Great loops of the creature began to emerge from the ground. He fired his gun as did the others, not that it seemed to have any effect. More and more people were appearing armed with a variety of weapons. Flamethrowers and grenades seemed to be the most effective. Clear the area. We're going to saturate it. Fall back! The voice was so loud it jarred Jason's ear he turned and recognized Kirk who had arrived with truckloads of equipment. He had a power speaker on his back. The mic hung in front of his lips. His amplified voice brought an instant reaction from the crowd. They began to move. There was still doubt in Jason's mind what to do. Clear the area. But what area? He started towards Kirk before he realized that the rest of the Pirans were going in the opposite direction. Even under two gravities they moved. Jason had a naked feeling of being alone on the stage. He was in the center of the street and the others had vanished. No one remained except the wounded man Jason had helped. He stumbled towards Jason waving his good arm. Jason couldn't understand what he said. Kirk was shouting orders again from one of the trucks. They had started to move too. The urgency struck home and Jason started to run. It was too late. On all sides the earth was buckling, cracking as more loops of the underground thing forced its way into the light. Safety lay ahead. Only in front of it rose an arch of dirt and crusted gray. There are seconds of time that seem to last an eternity. A moment of subjective time that is grabbed and stretched to an infinite distance. This was one of those moments. Jason stood frozen. Even the smoke in the sky hung unmoving. The high-standing loop of alien life was before him. Every detail piercingly clear. Thick as a man, ribbed in gray as old bark. Tendrils projected from all parts of it, pallet in twisting length that writhed slowly with snake-like life. Shaped like a plant yet with the motions of an animal, and cracking, splitting. This was the worst. Scenes and openings appeared. Splintering, gaping mouths that vomited out a horde of pallet animals. Jason heard their shrieking, shrill yet remote. He saw the needle-like teeth that lined their jaws. The paralysis of the unknown held him there. He should have died. Kirk was thundering at him through the power-speaker. Others were firing into the attacking creature. Jason knew nothing. Then he was shot forward, pushed by a rock-hard shoulder. The wounded man was still there, trying to get Jason clear. Gun clenched in his jaws. He dragged Jason along with his good arm towards the creature. The others stopped firing. They saw his plan, and it was a good one. A loop of the thing arched into the air, leaving an opening between its body and the ground. The wounded Pyron planted his feet and tightened his muscles. One handed, with a single thrust, he picked Jason off the ground and sent him hurtling under the living arch. Moving Tendrils brushed fire along his face. Then he was through, rolling over and over on the ground. The wounded Pyron leapt after him. It was too late. There had been a chance for one person to get out. The Pyron could have done it easily. Instead, he had pushed Jason first. The thing was aware of movement when Jason brushed its Tendrils. It dropped and caught the wounded man under its weight. He vanished from sight as the Tendrils wrapped around him and the animals swarmed over. His trigger must have pulled back to full automatic because the gun kept firing a long time after he should have been dead. Jason crawled. Some of the fanged animals ran towards him but were shot. He knew nothing about this. Then rude hands grabbed him up and pulled him forward. He slammed into the side of a truck and Kirk's face was in front of his, flushed and angry. One of the giant fists closed on the front of Jason's closed and he was lifted off his feet, shaken like a limp bag of rags. He offered no protest and could not have, even if Kirk had killed him. When he was thrown to the ground, someone picked him up and slid him into the back of the truck. He did not lose consciousness as the truck bounced away, yet he could not move. In a moment the fatigue would go away and he would sit up. That was all he was, just a little tired. Even as he thought this, he passed out. CHAPTER XIII. Just like old times, Jason said, when Brucko came into the room with a tray of food. Without a word Brucko served Jason and the wounded men in the other beds then left. Thanks, Jason called after his retreating back. A joke. A twist of a grin. Like it always was. Sure. But even as he grinned and his lips shaped a joke, Jason felt them like a veneer on the outside. Something plastered on with a life of its own. Inside he was numb and immovable. His body was stiff and his eyes still watched that arch of alien flesh descend and smother the one-armed Pyran with its million burning fingers. He could feel himself under the arch. After all, hadn't the wounded man taken his place? He finished the meal without realizing that he ate. Ever since that morning when he had recovered consciousness it had been like this. He knew that he should have died out there in that battle-torn street. His life should have been snuffed out for making the mistake of thinking that he could actually help the battling Pyran's instead of being underfoot and in the way. If it hadn't been for Jason the man with the wounded arm would have been brought here to the safety of the reorientation buildings. He knew he was lying in the bed that belonged to that man. The man who had given his life for Jason's. The man whose name he didn't even know. There were drugs in the food and they made him sleep. The medicated pads soaked the pain and rawness out of the burns where the tentacles had seared his face. When he awoke the second time his touch with reality had been restored. A man had died so he could live. Jason faced the fact. He couldn't restore that life no matter how much he wanted to. What he could do was make the man's death worthwhile, if it can be said that any death was worthwhile. He forced his thoughts from that track. Jason knew what he had to do. His work was even more important now. If he could solve the riddle of this deadly world he could repay in part the debt he owed. Sitting up made his head spin and he held to the edge of the bed until it slowed down. The others in the room ignored him as he slowly and painfully dragged on his clothes. Bruko came in, saw what he was doing, and left again without a word. Dressing took a long time but it was finally done. When Jason finally left the room he found Kirk waiting for him. Kirk, I want to tell you. Tell me nothing. The thunder of Kirk's voice bounced back from the ceiling and walls. I'm telling you. I'll tell you once and that will be the end of it. You're not wanted on Pyrus, Jason Dinalt. Neither you nor your precious off-world schemes are wanted here. I let you convince me once with your twisted tongue, helped you at the expense of more important work. I should have known what the result of your logic would be. Now I've seen. Wealth died so you could live. He was twice the man you will ever be. Wealth? Was that his name? Jason asked stumblingly. I didn't know. You didn't even know? Kirk's lips pulled back from his teeth and a grimace of disgust. You didn't even know his name, yet he died that you might continue your miserable existence. Kirk spat as if the words gave a vile flavor to his speech and stamped towards the exit lock. Almost as an afterthought he turned back to Jason. You'll stay here in the sealed buildings until the ship returns in two weeks. Then you will leave this planet and never come back. If you do, I will kill you instantly with pleasure. He started through the lock. Wait, Jason shouted. You can't decide like that. You haven't even seen the evidence I've uncovered. Ask Metta! The lock thumped shut and Kirk was gone. The whole thing was just too stupid. Anger began to replace the feudal despair of a moment before. He was being treated like an irresponsible child. The importance of his discovery of the lock completely ignored. Jason turned and saw for the first time that Brucho was standing there. Did you hear that, Jason asked him? Yes, and I quite agree. You can consider yourself lucky. Lucky! Jason was the angry one now. Lucky to be treated like a moronic child with contempt for everything I do. I said, Lucky! Brucho snapped. Wealth was Kirk's only surviving son. Kirk had high hopes for him, was training him to take his place eventually. He turned to leave, but Jason called after him. Wait! I'm sorry about Wealth. I can't be any sorryer knowing that he was Kirk's son. But at least it explains why Kirk is so quick to throw me out, as well as the evidence I have uncovered. The log of the ship. I know. I've seen it, Brucho said. Metta brought it in. Very interesting historical document. That's all you can see it as? A historical document? The significance of the planetary change escapes you? It doesn't escape me, Brucho answered briefly, but I cannot see that it has any relevancy to-day. The past is unchangeable, and we must fight in the present. That is enough to occupy all of our energies. Jason felt too exhausted to argue the point anymore. He ran into the same stone wall with all the pirates. Theirs was a logic of the moment. The past and the future unchangeable, unknowable, and uninteresting. How's the perimeter battle going, he asked, wanting to change the subject? Finished. Or in the last stages, at least. Brucho was almost enthusiastic as he showed Jason some stereos of the attackers. He did not notice Jason's repressed shudder. This was one of the most serious breakthroughs in years, but we caught it in time. I hate to think what would have happened if they hadn't been detected for a few weeks more. What are those things, Jason asked, giant snakes of some kind? Don't be absurd, Brucho snorted. He tapped the stereo with his thumb now. Roots. That's all. Greatly modified, but still roots. They came in under the perimeter barrier, much deeper than anything we'd had before. Not a real threat in themselves as they have very little mobility. Die soon after being cut. The danger came from their being used as access tunnels. They're bored through and through with animal runs, and two or three species of beasts live in a sort of symbiosis inside. Now we know what they are and can watch for them. The danger was they could have completely undermined the perimeter and come in from all sides at once. Not much we could have done, then. The edge of destruction. Living on the lip of a volcano, the pyrons took satisfaction from any day that passed without total annihilation. There seemed no way to change their attitude. Jason let the conversation die there. He picked up the log of the Pollock's victory from Brucho's quarters and carried it back to his room. The wounded pyrons there ignored him as he dropped onto the bed and opened the book to the first page. For two days he did not leave his quarters. The wounded men were soon gone and he had the room to himself. Page by page he went through the log until he knew every detail of the settlement of Pyrus. His notes and cross-references piled up. He made an accurate map of the original settlement superimposed over a modern one. They didn't match at all. It was a dead end. With one map held over the other what he had suspected was painfully clear. The descriptions of terrain and physical features in the log were accurate enough. The city had obviously been moved since the first landing. Whatever records had been kept would be in the library and he had exhausted that source. Anything else would have been left behind and long since destroyed. Rain lashed against the thick window above his head, lit suddenly by a flare of lightning. The unseen volcanoes were active again, vibrating the floor with their rumblings deep in the earth. The shadow of defeat pressed heavily down on Jason, rounding his shoulders and darkening even more the overcast day. CHAPTER XIV Jason spent one depressed day living on his bunk, counting rivets, forcing himself to accept defeat. Kirk's order that he was not to leave the sealed building tied his hands completely. He felt himself close to the answer, but he was never going to get it. One day of defeat was all he could take. Kirk's attitude was completely emotional, untempered by the slightest touch of logic. This fact kept driving home until Jason could no longer ignore it. Emotional reasoning was something he had learned to mistrust early in life. He couldn't agree with Kirk in the slightest, which meant he had to utilize the ten remaining days to solve the problem. If it meant disobeying Kirk, it would still have to be done. He grabbed up his notepad with a new enthusiasm. His first sources of information had been used up, but there must be others. Chewing the scriber and needling his brain he slowly built up a list of other possibilities. Any idea, no matter how wild, was put down. When the plate was filled he wiped the long shots and the impossibles, such as consulting off-world historical records. This was a pyrin problem and had to be settled on this planet or not at all. The list worked down to two probables, either old records, notebooks, or diaries that individual pyrins might have in their possession, or verbal histories that had been passed down the generations by word of mouth. The first choice seemed to be the most probable, and he acted on it at once. After a careful check of his med kit and gun he went to see Brucco. What's new and deadly in the world since I left, he asked. Brucco glared at him. You can't go out. Kirk has forbidden it. Did he put you in charge of guarding me to see if I obeyed? Jason's voice was quiet and cold. Brucco rubbed his jaw and frowned and thought. Finally he just shrugged. No. I'm not guarding you nor do I want the job. As far as I know this is between you and Kirk and it can stay that way. Leave whenever you want and get yourself killed quietly someplace so there will be an end to the trouble you cause once and for all. I love you too, Jason said. Now brief me on the wildlife. The only new mutation that routine precautions wouldn't take care of was a slate-colored lizard that spit a fast nerve poison with deadly accuracy. Death took place in seconds if the saliva touched any bare skin. The lizards had to be looked out for and shot before they came within range. An hour of lizard-blasting in the training chamber made him proficient in the exact procedure. Jason left the sealed buildings quietly and no one saw him go. He followed the map to the nearest barracks, shuffling tiredly through the dusty streets. It was a hot, quiet afternoon broken only by the rumblings from the distance and the occasional crack of his gun. It was cool inside the thick walled barracks buildings and he collapsed into a bench until the sweat dried and his heart stopped pounding. Then he went to the nearest recreation room to start his search. Before it began, it was finished. None of the pyrons kept old artifacts of any kind and thought the whole idea was very funny. After the twentieth negative answer, Jason was ready to admit defeat in this line of investigation. There was as much chance of meeting a pyrone with old documents as finding a bundle of grandfather's letters in a soldier's kit bag. This left a single possibility. Verbal histories. Again Jason questioned with the same lack of results. The fun had worn off the game for the pyrons and they were beginning to growl. Jason stopped while he was still in one piece. The commissary served him a meal that tasted like plastic paste and wood pulp. He ate it quickly, then sat brooding over the empty tray, hating to admit another dead end. Who could supply him with answers? All the people he had talked to were so young they had no interest or patience for storytelling. That was an old folks' hobby, and there were no oldsters on Pyrus. With one exception that he knew of, the librarian Polly. It was a possibility. A man who worked with records and books might have an interest in some of the older ones. He might even remember reading volumes now destroyed. A very slim lead indeed, but one that had to be pursued. Walking to the library almost killed Jason. The torrential rains made the footing bad and in the dim light it was hard to see what was coming. A snapper came in close enough to take out a chunk of flesh before he could blast it. The antitoxin made him dizzy and he lost some blood before he could get the wound dressed. He reached the library exhausted and angry. Polly was working on the guts of one of the catalog machines. He didn't stop until Jason had tapped him on the shoulder. Switching on his hearing aid, the pyrin stood quietly, crippled and bent, waiting for Jason to talk. Have you any old papers or letters that you have kept for your personal use? A shake of the head. No. What about stories, you know, about great things that have happened in the past that someone might have told you when you were young? Negative. Results? Negative. Every question was answered by a shake of Polly's head and very soon the old man grew irritated and pointed to the work he hadn't finished. Yes, I know you have work to do, Jason said, but this is important. Polly shook his head and angry, no, and reached to turn off his hearing aid. Jason groped for a question that might get a more positive answer. There was something tugging in his mind a word he had heard and made a note of to be investigated later, something that Kirk had said. That's it. It was right there on the tip of his tongue. Just a second, Polly. Just one more question. What is a grubber? Have you ever seen one or know what they do or where they can be found? The words were cut off as Polly whirled and lashed the back of his good arm into Jason's face. Though the man was aged and crippled, the blow almost fractured Jason's jaw, sending him sliding across the floor. Through a daze he saw Polly hobbling towards him, making thick bubbling noises in his ruined throat. What remained of his face twisted and worked with anger. This was no time for diplomacy. Moving as fast as he could with the high G foot-slapping shuffle, Jason headed for the sealed door. He was no match for any pyrin in hand-to-hand combat, young and small or old and crippled. The door thunked open as he went through and barely closed in Polly's face. Outside the rain had turned to snow and Jason trudged wearily through the slush, rubbing his sore jaw and turning over the only fact he had. Grubber was a key. But to what? And who did he dare ask for more information? Kirk was the man he had talked to best, but not any more. That left only Metta as a possible source. He wanted to see her at once, but sudden exhaustion swept through him. It took all of his strength to stumble back to the school buildings. In the morning he ate and left early. There was only a week left. It was impossible to hurry, and he cursed as he dragged his double-weight body to the assignment center. Metta was on night perimeter duty and should be back to her quarters soon. He shuffled over there and was lying on her bunk when she came in. Get out, she said in a flat voice, or do I throw you out. Patience, please, he said as he sat up. Just resting here until you came back. I have a single question, and if you will answer it for me, I'll go and stop bothering you. What is it, she asked, tapping her foot with impatience, but there was also a touch of curiosity in her voice. Jason thought carefully before he spoke. Now, please, don't shoot me. You know I'm an off-worlder with a big mouth, and you have heard me say some awful things without taking a shot at me. Now I have another one. Will you please show your superiority to the other people of the galaxy by holding your temper and not reducing me to component atoms? His only answer was a tap of the foot, so he took a deep breath and plunged in. What is a grubber? For a long moment she was quiet, unmoving. Then she curled her lips back in disgust. You find the most repulsive topics. That may be so, he said, but it still doesn't answer my question. It's—well, the sort of thing people just don't talk about. I do, he assured her. Well, I don't. It's the most disgusting thing in the world, and that's all I'm going to say. Talk to Cranon, but not to me. She had him by the arm while she talked, and he was half dragged into the hall. The door slammed behind him, and he muttered, Lady Wrestler, under his breath. His anger ebbed away as he realized that she had given him a clue in spite of herself. Next step, find out who or what Cranon was. Assignment Center listed a man named Cranon and gave his shift number and work location. It was close by, and Jason walked there—a large cubicle and windowless building with a single word—food—next to each of the sealed entrances. The small entrance he went through was a series of automatic chambers that cycled him through ultrasonics, ultraviolet, anti-biospray, rotating brushes, and three final rinses. He was finally admitted, damper, but much cleaner, to the central area. Men and robots were stacking crates, and he asked one of the men for Cranon. The man looked him up and down coldly and spat on his shoes before answering. Cranon worked in a large storage bay by himself. He was a stocky man in patched coveralls whose only expression was one of intense gloom. When Jason came in, he stopped hauling bales and sat down on the nearest one. The lines of unhappiness were cut into his face and seemed to grow deeper while Jason explained what he was after. All the talk of ancient history on Pyrus bored him as well, and he yawned openly. When Jason finished, he yawned again and didn't even bother to answer him. Jason waited a moment, then asked again, I said, do you have any old books, papers, recordings, that sort of thing? You sure picked the right guy to bother off, Worlder, was his only answer. After talking to me, you're going to have nothing but trouble. Why is that, Jason asked? Why? For the first time he was animated with something besides grief. I'll tell you why. I made one mistake, just one, and I get a life sentence. For life! How would you like that? Just me alone, being by myself all the time, even taking orders from Grubbers. Jason controlled himself, keeping the elation out of his voice. Grubbers? What are Grubbers? The enormity of the question stopped Cranon. It seemed impossible that there could be a man alive who had never heard of Grubbers. Happiness lifted some of the gloom from his face as he realized that he had a captive audience who would listen to his troubles. Grubbers are traitors. That's what they are. Traitors to the human race, and they ought to be wiped out, living in the jungle, the things they do, with the animals. You mean they're people? Pirans like yourself, Jason broke in? Not like me, mister. Don't make that mistake again if you want to go on living. Maybe I dozed off on guard once so I got stuck with this job. That doesn't mean I like it or like them. They stink, really stink. And if it wasn't for the food we get from them they'd all be dead tomorrow. That's the kind of killing job I could really put my heart into. If they supply you with food you must give them something in return. Trade goods, beads, knives, the usual things. Supply sends them over in cartons and I take care of the delivery. How? Jason asked. By armored truck to the delivery site, then I go back later to pick up the food they've left in exchange. Can I go with you on the next delivery? Cranon frowned over the idea for a minute. Yeah, I suppose it's all right if you're stupid enough to come. You can help me load. They're between harvests now, so the next trip won't be for eight days. But that's after the ship leaves. It'll be too late. Can't you go earlier? Don't tell me your troubles, mister, Cranon grumbled climbing to his feet. That's when I go and the date's not changing for you. Jason realized that he had got as much out of the man as was possible for one session. He started for the door, then turned. One thing he asked, just what do these savages, the grubbers, look like? How do I know Cranon snapped? I trade with them. I don't make love to them. If I ever saw one, I'd shoot him down on the spot. He flexed his fingers and his gun jumped in and out of his hand as he said it. Jason quietly let himself out. Lying on his bunk, resting his gravity-weary body, he searched for a way to get Cranon to change the delivery date. His millions of credits were worthless on this world without currency. If the man couldn't be convinced, he had to be bribed. With what? Jason's eyes touched the locker where his off-world clothing still hung and he had an idea. It was morning before he could return to the food warehouse and one day closer to his deadline. Cranon didn't bother to look up from his work when Jason came in. Do you want this? Jason asked, handing the outcast a flat gold case in set with a single large diamond. Cranon grunted and turned it over in his hands. A toy, he said. What's it good for? Well, when you press this button you get a light. A flame appeared through a hole in the top. Cranon started to hand it back. What do I need a little fire for? Here, keep it. Wait a second, Jason said. That's not all it does. When you press the jewel in the center, one of these comes out. A black pellet the size of his fingernail dropped into his palm. A grenade, made of solid ultranite. Just squeeze it hard and throw. Three seconds later it explodes with enough force to blast open this building. This time Cranon almost smiled as he reached for the case. Destructive and death-dealing weapons are like candy to a pyrin. While he looked at it, Jason made his offer. The case and bombs are yours if you move the date of your next delivery up to tomorrow and let me go with you. Be here at 0500 Cranon said. We leave early. End of Chapter 14 of Death World by Harry Harrison. Chapter 15 of Death World by Harry Harrison. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Reading by Greg Marguerite. Death World by Harry Harrison. Chapter 15. The truck rumbled up to the perimeter gate and stopped. Cranon waved to the guards through the front window then closed a metal shield over it. When the gates swung open, the truck, really a giant armored tank, ground slowly forward. There was a second gate beyond the first that did not open until the interior one was closed. Jason looked through the second driver's periscope as the outer gate lifted. Automatic flamethrowers flared through the opening, cutting off only when the truck reached them. A scorched area ringed the gate. Beyond that, the jungle began. Unconsciously Jason shrank back in his seat. All the plants and animals he had seen only specimens of existed here in profusion. Thorn-ringed branches and vines laced themselves into a solid mat through which the wildlife swarmed. A fury of sound hurled at them, thuds and scratchings rang on the armor. Cranon laughed and closed the switch that electrified the outer grid. The scratchings died away as the beasts completed the circuit to the grounded hull. It was slow-speed, low-gear work tearing through the jungle. Cranon had his face buried in the periscope mask and silently fought the controls. With each mile the going seemed to get better, until he finally swung up the periscope and opened the window armor. The jungle was still thick and deadly, but nothing like the area immediately around the perimeter. It appeared as if most of the lethal powers of Pyrus were concentrated in the single area around the settlement. Why? Jason asked himself, why this intense and planetary hatred? The motors died and Cranon stood up, stretching. We're here, he said. Let's unload. There was bare rock around the truck, a rounded hillock that projected from the jungle, too smooth and steep for vegetation to get a hold. Cranon opened the cargo hatches and they pushed out the boxes and crates. When they finished, Jason slumped down exhausted onto the pile. Get back in. We're leaving, Cranon said. You are. I'm staying right here. Cranon looked at him coldly. Get in the truck or I'll kill you. No one stays out here. For one thing you couldn't live an hour alone. But worse than that the grubbers would get you. Kill you at once, of course, but that's not important. But you have equipment that we can't allow into their hands. You want to see a grubber with a gun? While the Pyron talked, Jason's thoughts had rushed ahead. He hoped that Cranon was as thick of head as he was fast of reflex. Jason looked at the trees, let his gaze move up through the thick branches. Though Cranon was still talking he was automatically aware of Jason's attention. When Jason's eyes widened and his gun jumped into his hand, Cranon's own gun appeared and he turned in the same direction. There, in the top, Jason shouted, and fired into the tangle of branches. Cranon fired, too. As soon as he did, Jason hurled himself backwards, curled into a ball rolling down the inclined rock. The shots had covered the sounds of his movements and before Cranon could turn back the gravity had dragged him down the rock into the thick foliage. Crashing branches slapped at him but slowed his fall. When he stopped moving he was lost in the tangle. Jason's shots came too late to hit him. Lying there, tired and bruised, Jason heard the pyre in cursing him out. He stamped around the rock, fired a few shots but knew better than to enter the trees. Finally he gave up and went back to the truck. The motor gunned into life and the treads clanked and scraped down the rock and back into the jungle. There were muted rumblings and crashes that slowly died away. Then Jason was alone. Up until that instant he hadn't realized quite how alone he would be. Surrounded by nothing but death, the truck already vanished from sight he had to force down an overwhelming desire to run after it. What was done was done. This was a long chance to take but it was the only way to contact the Grubbers. They were savages but still they had come from human stock and they hadn't sunk so low as to stop barter with the civilized pirates. He had to contact them, befriend them, find out how they had managed to live safely on this madhouse world. If there had been another way to lick the problem he would have taken it. He didn't relish the role of martyred hero but Kirk and his deadline had forced his hand. The contact had to be made fast and this was the only way. There was no telling where the savages were or how soon they would arrive. If the woods weren't too lethal he could hide there, pick his time to approach them. If they found him among the supplies they might skewer him on the spot with a typical pirate reflex. Walking warily he approached the line of trees. Something moved on a branch but vanished as he came near. None of the plants near a thick trunked tree looked poisonous so he slipped behind it. There was nothing deadly in sight and it surprised him. He let his body relax a bit leaning against the rough bark. Something soft and choking fell over his head. His body was seized in a steel grip. The more he struggled the tighter it held him until the blood thundered in his ears and his lungs screamed for air. Only when he grew limp did the pressure let up. His first panic ebbed a little when he realized that it wasn't an animal that attacked him. He knew nothing about the grubbers but they were human so he still had a chance. His arms and legs were tied, the power holster ripped from his arm. He felt strangely naked without it. The powerful hands grabbed him again and he was hurled into the air to fall face down across something warm and soft. Fear pressed in again. It was a large animal of some kind and all pirate animals were deadly. When the animal moved off carrying him panic was replaced by a feeling of mounting elation. The grubbers had managed to work out a truce of some kind with at least one form of animal life. He had to find out how. If he could get that secret and get it back to the city it would justify all his work and pain. It might even justify wealth death if the age old war could be slowed or stopped. Jason's tightly bound limbs hurt terribly at first but grew numb with the circulation shut off. The jolting ride continued endlessly. He had no way of measuring the time. A rainfall soaked him then he felt his clothes steaming as the sun came out. The ride was finally over. He was pulled from the animal's back and dumped down. His arms dropped free as someone loosed the bindings. The returning circulation soaked him in pain as he lay there struggling to move. When his hands finally obeyed him he lifted them to his face and stripped away the covering. A sack of thick fur. Light blinded him as he sucked in breath after breath of clean air. Blinking against the glare he looked around. He was lying on a floor of crude planking. The setting sun shining into his eyes through the doorless entrance of the building. There was a ploughed field outside stretching down the curve of hill to the edge of the jungle. It was too dark to see much inside the hut. Something blocked the light of the doorway. A tall animal-like figure. On second look Jason realized it was a man with long hair and thick beard. He was dressed in furs. Even his legs were wrapped in fur leggings. His eyes were fixed on his captive while one hand fondled an axe that hung from his waist. "'Poor you! What do you want?' the bearded man asked suddenly. Jason picked his word slowly, wondering if this savage shared the same hair-trigger temper as the city dwellers. "'My name is Jason. I come in peace. I want to be your friend. Lies!' the man grunted and pulled the axe from his belt. Junk man tricks. I saw you hide. Wait to kill me. Kill you first!' He tested the edge of the blade with a horny thumb, then raised it. "'Wait!' Jason said desperately. You don't understand!' The axe swung down. "'I'm from Off World!' and a solid thunk shook him as the axe buried itself in the wood next to his head. At the last instant the man had twitched it aside. He grabbed the front of Jason's clothes and pulled him up until their faces touched. "'It's true,' he shouted. "'You from Off World?' his hand opened and Jason dropped back before he could answer. The savage jumped over him towards the dim rear of the hut. "'Rice must know of this,' he said as he fumbled with something on the wall. Light sprang out. All Jason could do was stare. The hairy fur-covered savage was operating a communicator. The calloused dirt-encrusted fingers deftly snapped open the circuits and dialed a number. It made no sense. Jason tried to reconcile the modern machine with the barbarian and couldn't. Who was he calling? The existence of one communicator meant there was at least another. Was Reese a person or a thing? With a mental effort he grabbed hold of his thoughts and break them to a stop. There was something new here—factors he hadn't counted on. He kept reassuring himself that there was an explanation for everything once you had the facts straight. Jason closed his eyes, shutting out the glaring rays of the sun where it cut through the treetops and reconsidered his facts. They separated evenly into two classes—those he had observed for himself and those he had learned from the city dwellers. This last class of facts he would hold, to see if they fitted with what he learned. There was a good chance that most or all of them would prove false. Get up, the voice jarred into his thoughts. We're leaving. His legs were still numb and hardly usable. The bearded man snorted in disgust and hauled him to his feet, propping him against the outer wall. Jason clutched the knobby bark of the logs when he was left alone. He looked around, soaking up impressions. It was the first time he had been on a farm since he had run away from home, a different world with a different ecology, but the similarity was apparent enough to him. A new sown field stretched down the hill in front of the shack, plowed by a good farmer, even well-cast furrows that followed the contour of the slope. Another large log building was next to this one, probably a barn. There was a snuffling sound behind him, and Jason turned quickly and froze. His hand called for the missing gun and his fingers tightened down on a trigger that wasn't there. It had come out of the jungle and padded up quietly behind him. It had six thick legs with clawed feet that dug into the ground. The two-meter long body was covered with matted yellow and black fur, all except the skull and shoulders. These were covered with overlapping horny plates. Jason could see all this because the beast was that close. He waited to die. The mouth opened, a frog-like division of the hairless skull revealing double rows of jagged teeth. Here, Fido, the bearded man said, coming up behind Jason and snapping his fingers at the same time. The thing bounded forward, brushing past the dazed Jason and rubbed his head against the man's leg. Nice doggy, the man said, his fingers scratching under the edge of the carapace where it joined the flesh. The bearded man had brought two of the riding animals out of the barn, saddled and bridled. Jason barely noticed the details of smooth skin and long legs as he swung up on one. His feet were quickly lashed to the stirrups. When they started, the skull-headed beast followed them. Nice doggy, Jason said, and for no reason started to laugh. The bearded man turned and scowled at him until he was quiet. By the time they entered the jungle it was dark. It was impossible to see under the thick foliage and they used no lights. The animals seemed to know the way. There were scraping noises and shrill calls from the jungle around them, but it did not bother Jason too much. Perhaps the automatic manner in which the other man undertook the journey reassured him, or the presence of the dog that he felt rather than saw. The trip was a long one, not too uncomfortable. The regular motion of the animal and his fatigue overcame Jason and he dozed into a fitful sleep, waking with a start each time he slumped forward. In the end he slept sitting up in the saddle. Hours passed this way until he opened his eyes and saw a square of light before them. The trip was over. His legs were stiff and galled with saddle-sores. After his feet were untied, getting down was an effort and he almost fell. A door opened and Jason went in. It took his eyes some moments to get used to the light until he could make out the form of a man on the bed before him. Come over here and sit down. The voice was full and strong, accustomed to command. The body was that of an invalid. A blanket covered him to the waist. Above that the flesh was sickly white, spotted with red nodules and hung loosely over the bones. There seemed to be nothing left of the man except skin and skeleton. Not very nice the man on the bed said, but I've grown used to it. His tone changed abruptly. Naxa said you were from off-world. Is that true? Jason nodded yes and his answer stirred the living skeleton to life. The head lifted from the pillow and the red-rimmed eyes sought his, with a desperate intensity. My name is Reese and I'm a grubber. Will you help me? Jason wondered at the intensity of Reese's question, all out of proportion to the simple content of its meaning. Yet he could see no reason to give anything other than the first and obvious answer that sprang to his lips. Of course I'll help you in whatever way I can as long as it involves no injury to anyone else. What do you want? The sick man's head had fallen back, limply, exhausted, as Jason talked, but the fire still burned in his eyes. Feel assured. I want to injure no others, Reese said. Quite the opposite. As you see I am suffering from a disease that our remedies will not stop. Within a few more days I will be dead. Now I have seen the city people using a device. They press it over a wound or an animal bite. Do you have one of these machines? That sounds like a description of the med kit. Jason touched the button at his waist that dropped the med kit into his hand. I have mine here. It analyzes and treats most. Would you use it on me? Reese broke in, his voice suddenly urgent. I'm sorry, Jason said. I should have realized. He stepped forward and pressed the machine over one of the inflamed areas on Reese's chest. The operation light came on and the thin shaft of the analyzer probe slid down. When it withdrew, the device hummed, then clicked three times as three separate hypodermic needles lanced into the skin. Then the light went out. Is that all? Reese asked as he watched Jason stow the med kit back in his belt. Jason nodded, then looked up and noticed the wet marks of tears on the sick man's face. Reese became aware at the same time and brushed at them angrily. When a man is sick, he growled the body and all its senses become traitor. I don't think I've cried since I was a child, but you must realize it's not for myself I'm crying for. It's the untold thousands of my people who have died for lack of that little device you treat so casually. Surely you have medicines, doctors of your own. Herb doctors and witch doctors, Reese said, consigning them all to oblivion with a chop of his hand. The few hard-working and honest men are hampered by the fact that the faith-healers can usually cure better than their strongest potion. The talking had tired Reese. He stopped suddenly and closed his eyes. On his chest the inflamed areas were already losing their angry color as the injections took effect. Jason glanced around the room, looking for clues to the mystery of these people. Floors and walls were made of wood lengths fitted together, free of paint or decoration. They looked simple and crude fit only for the savages he had expected to meet. Or were they crude? The wood had a sweeping, flame-like grain. When he bent close, he saw that wax had been rubbed over the wood to bring out this pattern. Was this the act of savages or of artistic men seeking to make the most of simple materials? The final effect was far superior to the drab paint and riveted steel rooms of the city-dwelling pyrons. Wasn't it true that both ends of the artistic scale were dominated by simplicity? The untutored aborigine made a simple expression of a clear idea and created beauty. At the other extreme, the sophisticated critic rejected over elaboration and decoration and sought the truthful clarity of uncluttered art. At which end of the scale was he looking now? These men were savages. He had been told that. They dressed in furs and spoke a slurred and broken language, at least Naxa did. Reese admitted he preferred faith-healers to doctors, but if all this were true, where did the communicator fit into the picture? Or the glowing ceiling that illuminated the room with soft light? Reese opened his eyes and stared at Jason as if seeing him for the first time. Who are you, he asked, and what are you doing here? There was a cold menace in his words, and Jason understood why. The city-pyrons hated the grubbers, and without a doubt the feeling was mutual. Naxa's acts had proved that. Naxa had entered silently while they talked and stood with his fingers touching the half of the same ax. Jason knew his life was still in jeopardy until he gave an answer that satisfied these men. He couldn't tell the truth. If they suspected he was spying among them to aid the city-people, it would be the end. Nevertheless, he had to be free to talk about the survival problem. The answer hit him as soon as he had stated the problem. All this had only taken an instant to consider as he turned back to face the invalid and he answered it once, trying to keep his voice normal and unconcerned. I'm Jason Din Ault, an ecologist, so you see I have the best reasons in the universe for visiting this planet. What's an ecologist, re-sbroke in? There was nothing in his voice to indicate whether he meant the question seriously or as a trap. All traces of the ease of their earlier conversation were gone. His voice had the deadliness of a sting-wing's poison. Jason chose his words carefully. Simply stated, it is that branch of biology that considers the relations between organisms and their environment, how climatic and other factors affect the life-forms and how the life-forms in turn affect each other and the environment. That much Jason knew was true, but he really knew very little more about the subject, so he moved on quickly. I heard reports of this planet and finally came here to study at first hand. I did what work I could in the shelter of the city, but it wasn't enough. The people there think I'm crazy, but they finally agreed to let me make a trip out here. What arrangements have been made for your return? Naxx has snapped. None, Jason told him. They seemed quite sure that I would be killed instantly and had no hope of me coming back. In fact, they refused to let me go, and I had to break away. This answer seemed to satisfy Reese, and his face cracked into a mirthless smile. They would think that those junk men can't move a meter outside their own walls without an armor-plated machine as big as a barn. What did they tell you about us? Again, Jason knew a lot depended on his answer. This time he thought carefully before speaking. Well, perhaps I'll get that ax in the back of my neck for saying this, but I have to be honest. You must know what they think. They told me you were filthy and ignorant savages who smelled, and you, well, had curious customs you practiced with the animals. In exchange for food they traded you beads and knives. Both pyrons broke into a convulsion of laughter at this. Reese stopped soon from weakness, but Naxxl laughed himself into a coughing fit and had to splash water over his head from a gore to jug. That, I believe well enough, Reese said. It sounds like the stupidity they would talk. Those people know nothing of the world they live in. I hope the rest of what you said is true, but even if it is not, you are welcome here. You are from off-world, that I know. No junkman would have lifted a finger to save my life. You are the first off-worlder my people have ever known, and for that you are doubly welcome. We will help you in any way we can. My arm is your arm. These last words had a ritual sound to them, and when Jason repeated them, Naxxl nodded at the correctness of this. At the same time, Jason felt that they were more than empty ritual. Interdependence meant survival on pyrus, and he knew that these people stood together to the death against the mortal dangers around them. He hoped the ritual would include him in that protective sphere. That's enough for tonight, Reese said. The spotted sickness has weakened me, and your medicine has turned me to jelly. You will stay here, Jason. There is a blanket, but no bed, at least for now. Enthusiasm had carried Jason this far, making him forget the 2G exertions of the long day. Now fatigue hit him a physical blow. He had dim memories of refusing food and rolling in the blanket on the floor. After that, oblivion. End of Chapter 16 of Death World by Harry Harrison. Chapter 17 of Death World by Harry Harrison. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Death World by Harry Harrison Chapter 17 Every square inch of his body ached where the doubled gravity had pressed his flesh to the unyielding wood of the floor. His eyes were gummy and his mouth was filled with an indescribable taste that came off in chunks. Sitting up was an effort and he had to stifle a groan as his joints cracked. Good day, Jason, Reese called from the bed. If I didn't believe in medicine so strongly, I would be tempted to say there is a miracle in your machine that has cured me overnight. There was no doubt that he was on the mend. The inflamed patches had vanished and the burning light was gone from his eyes. He sat propped up on the bed, watching the morning sun melt the night's hail storm into the fields. There's meat in the cabinet there, he said, and either water or visc to drink. The visc proved to be a distilled beverage of extraordinary potency that instantly cleared the fog from Jason's brain, though it did leave a slight ringing in his ears. And the meat was a tenderly smoked joint, the best food he had tasted since leaving Darkon. Taken together, they restored his faith in life and the future. He lowered his glass with a relaxed sigh and looked around. With the pressures of immediate survival and exhaustion removed, his thoughts returned automatically to his problem. What were these people really like and how had they managed to survive in the deadly wilderness? In the city he had been told they were savages, yet there was a carefully tended and repaired communicator on the wall. And by the door, a crossbow, that fired machined metal bolts, he could see the tool marks still visible on their shanks. The one thing he needed was more information. He could start by getting rid of some of his misinformation. Reese, you laughed when I told you what the city people said about trading you trinkets for food. What did they really trade you? Anything within certain limits, Reese said, small manufactured items such as electronic components for our communicators, rustless alloys we can't make in our forges, cutting tools, atomic electric converters that produce power from any radioactive element, things like that. Within reason they'll trade anything we ask that isn't on the forbidden list. They need the food badly. And the items on the forbidden list? Weapons of course, or anything that might be made into a powerful weapon. They know we make gunpowder so we can't get anything like large castings or seamless tubing we could make into heavy gun barrels. We drill our own rifle barrels by hand. Though the crossbow is quiet and faster in the jungle. Then they don't like us to know very much, so the only reading matter that gets to us are tech maintenance manuals, empty of basic theory. The last band category you know about, medicine. This is the one thing I cannot understand that makes me burn with hatred with every death they might have prevented. I know their reasons, Jason said. Then tell me because I can think of none. Survival, it's just that simple. I doubt if you realize it, but they have a decreasing population. It is just a matter of years before they will be gone. Whereas your people at least must have a stable, if not slightly growing population to have existed without their mechanical protections. So in the city they hate you and are jealous of you at the same time. If they gave you medicine and you prospered, you would be winning the battle they have lost. I imagine they tolerate you as a necessary evil to supply them with food. Otherwise, they wish you were all dead. It makes sense, re-scroud, slamming his fist against the bed. The kind of twisted logic you expect from junk men. They use us to feed them, give us the absolute minimum in return, and at the same time cut us off from the knowledge that will get us out of this hand-to-mouth existence. Worse, far worse, they cut us off from the stars and the rest of mankind. The hatred on his face was so strong that Jason unconsciously drew back. Do you think we are savages here, Jason? We act and look like animals because we have to fight for existence on an animal level. Yet we know about the stars. In that chest over there sealed in metal are over thirty books, all we have. Fiction most of them with some history and general science thrown in. Enough to keep alive the stories of the settlement here and the rest of the universe outside. We see the ships land in the city and we know that up there are worlds we can only dream about and never see. Do you wonder that we hate these beasts that call themselves men and would destroy them in an instant if we could? They are right to keep weapons from us. For sure as the sun rises in the morning we would kill them to a man if we were able and take over the things they have withheld from us. It was a harsh condemnation, but essentially a truthful one, at least from the point of view of the outsiders. Jason didn't try to explain to the angry man that the city pyrons looked on their attitude as being the only possible and logical one. How did this battle between your two groups ever come about, he asked? I don't know, reset. I've thought about it many times, but there are no records of that period. We do know that we are all descended from colonists who arrived at the same time. Somewhere, at some time, the two groups separated. Perhaps it was a war. I've read about them in the books. I have a partial theory, though I can't prove it, that it was the location of the city. Location? I don't understand. Well, you know the junk men, and you've seen where their city is. They managed to put it right in the middle of the most savage spot on this planet. You know they don't care about any living thing except themselves. Shoot and kill is their only logic, so they wouldn't consider where to build their city and manage to build it in the stupidest spot imaginable. I'm sure my ancestors saw how foolish this was and tried to tell them so. That would be reason enough for a war, wouldn't it? It might have been if that's really what happened, Jason said, but I think you have the problem turned backwards. It's the war between native pyre and life in humans. Each fighting to destroy the other. The life forms change continually, seeking that final destruction of the invader. Your theory is even wilder than mine, Rhys said. That's not true at all. I admit that life isn't too easy on this planet if what I have read in the books about other planets is true. But it doesn't change. You have to be fast on your feet and keep your eyes open for anything bigger than you, but you can always survive. Anyway, it doesn't really matter why. The junkmen always look for trouble and I'm happy to see that they have enough. Jason didn't try to press the point. The effort of forcing Rhys to change his basic attitudes wasn't worth it, even if possible. He hadn't succeeded in convincing anyone in the city of the lethal mutations even when they could observe all the facts. Rhys could still supply information, though. I suppose it's not important who started the battle, Jason said, for the other man's benefit, not meaning a word of it. But you'll have to agree that the city people are permanently at war with all the local life. Your people, though, have managed to befriend at least two species that I have seen. Do you have any idea how this was done? Naxa will be here in a minute, Rhys said, pointing to the door. As soon as he's taken care of the animals, ask him. He's the best talker we have. Talker, Jason asked. I had the opposite idea about him. He didn't talk much, and what he did say was, well, a little hard to understand at times. Not that kind of talking, Rhys broke in impatiently. The talkers look after the animals. They train the dogs in Durham, and the better ones like Naxa are always trying to work with other beasts. They dress crudely, but they have to. I've heard them say that the animals don't like chemicals, metal, or tanned leather, so they wear untanned furs, for the most part. But don't let the dirt fool you. It has nothing to do with his intelligence. Dorms? Are those your carrying beasts, the kind we rode coming here? Rhys nodded. Dorms are more than pack animals. They're really a little bit of everything. The large males pull the plows and other machines, while the younger animals are used for meat. If you want to know more, ask Naxa. You'll find him in the barn. I'd like to do that, Jason said, standing up, only I feel undressed without my gun. Take it, by all means. It's in that chest by the door. Only, watch out what you shoot around here. Naxa was in the rear of the barn, filing down one of the spade-like toenails of a dorm. It was a strange scene, the fur-dressed man with the great beast, and the contrast of a beryllium copper file and electroluminescent plates lighting the work. The dorm opened its nostrils and pulled away when Jason entered. Naxa patted its neck and talked softly until it quieted and stood still, shivering slightly. Something stirred in Jason's mind, with the feeling of a long, unused muscle being stressed. A hauntingly familiar sensation. Good morning, Jason said. Naxa grunted something and went back to his filing. Watching him for a few minutes, Jason tried to analyze this new feeling. It itched and slipped aside when he reached for it, escaping him. Whatever it was, it had started when Naxa had talked to the dorm. Could you call one of the dogs in here, Naxa? I'd like to see one closer up. Without raising his head from his work, Naxa gave a low whistle. Jason was sure it couldn't have been hurt outside the barn. Yet, within a minute, one of the pyrone dogs slipped in quietly. The talker rubbed the beast's head, mumbling to it, while the animal looked intently into his eyes. The dog became restless when Naxa turned back to work on the dorm. It prowled around the barn, sniffing, then moved quickly toward the open door. Jason called it back. At least he meant to call it back. At the last moment he said nothing. Nothing allowed. On sudden impulse he kept his mouth closed. Only he called the dog with his mind, thinking the words, come here. Directing the impulse at the animal with all the force and direction he had ever used to manipulate Dice. As he did it he realized it had been a long time since he had even considered using his sigh powers. The dog stopped and turned back towards him. It hesitated, looking at Naxa, then walked over to Jason. Seeing this closely, the beast was a nightmare hound. The hairless protective plate's tiny red-rimmed eyes and countless saliva-dripping teeth did little to inspire confidence. Yet Jason felt no fear. There was a rapport between man and animal that was understood. Without conscious thought he reached out and scratched the dog along the back where he knew it itched. Didn't know you're a talker, Naxa said, as he watched them. There was friendship in his voice for the first time. I didn't know either until just now, Jason said. He looked into the eyes of the animal before him, scratched the ridged and ugly back, and began to understand. The talkers must have well-developed sigh facilities. That was obvious now. There was no barrier of race or alien form when two creatures share each other's emotions. Empathy first, so there would be no hatred or fear. After that, direct communication. The talkers might have been the ones who first broke through the barrier of hatred on Pyrus and learned to live with the native life. Others could have followed their example. This might explain how the community of grubbers had been formed. Now that he was concentrating on it, Jason was aware of the soft flow of thoughts around him. The consciousness of the dorm was matched by other-like patterns from the rear of the barn. He knew without going outside that more of the big beasts were in the field back there. This is all new to me, Jason said. Have you ever thought about it, Naxa? What does it feel like to be a talker? I mean, do you know why it is you can get the animals to obey you while other people have no luck at all? Thinking of this sort troubled Naxa. He ran his fingers through his thick hair and scowled as he answered. Never thought about it. Just do it. Just get to know the beast real good. Then you can guess what they're going to do. That's all. It was obvious that Naxa had never thought about the origins of his ability to control animals. And if he hadn't, probably no one else had. They had no reason to. They simply accepted the powers of talkers as one of the facts of life. Ideas slipped towards each other in his mind like the pieces of a puzzle joining together. He had told Kirk that the native life on Pyrus had joined in battle against mankind. He didn't know why. Well, he still didn't know why, but he was getting an idea of how. About how far are we from the city, Jason asked. Do you have an idea how long it would take us to get there by Durham? Half a day there, half back. Why? You want to go? I don't want to get into the city, not yet, but I would like to get close to it, Jason told him. See what Rhys says, was Naxa's answer. Rhys granted instant permission without asking any questions. They saddled up and left at once in order to complete the round trip before dark. They had been traveling less than an hour before Jason knew they were going in the direction of the city. With each minute the feeling grew stronger. Naxa was aware of it too, stirring in the saddle with unvoiced feelings. They had to keep touching and reassuring their mounts which were growing skittish and restless. This is far enough, Jason said. Naxa gratefully pulled to a stop. The wordless thought beat through Jason's mind filling it. He could feel it on all sides, only much stronger ahead of them in the direction of the unseen city. Naxa and the Dorms reacted in the same way, restless, uncomfortable, not knowing the cause. One thing was obvious now. The Pyrene animals were sensitive to sigh radiation. Probably the plants in lower life forms as well. Perhaps they communicated by it, since they obeyed the men who had a strong control of it. And in this area was a wash of sigh radiation such as he had never experienced before. Though his personal talent specialized in psychokinesis, the mental control of inanimate matter, he was still sensitive to most mental phenomenon. Watching a sports event, he had many times felt the unanimous accord of many minds expressing the same thought. What he felt now was like that. Only terribly different. A crowd exalted at some success on the field or groaned at a failure. The feeling fluxed and changed as the game progressed. Here the wash of thought was unending, strong, and frightening. It didn't translate into words very well. It was part hatred, part fear, and all destruction. Kill the enemy. It was as close as Jason could express it. But it was more than that. An unending river of mental outrage and death. Let's go back now, he said, suddenly battered and sickened by the feelings he had let wash through him. As they started the return trip, he began to understand many things. His sudden unspeakable fear when the pirate animal had attacked him that first day on the planet, and his recurrent nightmares that had never completely ceased, even with drugs. Both of these were his reaction to the hatred directed at the city, though for some reason he hadn't felt it directly up to now. Enough had reached through to him to get a strong emotional reaction. Reese was asleep when they got back, and Jason couldn't talk to him until morning. In spite of his fatigue from the trip he stayed awake late into the night going over in his mind the discoveries of the day. Could he tell Reese what he had found out? Not very well. If he did that he would have to explain the importance of his discovery and what he meant to use it for. Nothing that aided the city dwellers would appeal to Reese in the slightest. Best to say nothing until the entire affair was over. After breakfast he told Reese that he wanted to return to the city. Then you've seen enough of our barbarian world and wished to go back to your friends to help them wipe us out, perhaps? Reese said it lightly, but there was a touch of cold malice behind his words. I hope you don't really think that, Jason told him. You must realize that the opposite is true. I would like to see this civil war ended, and your people getting all the benefits of science and medicine that have been withheld. I'll do everything I can to bring that about. They'll never change, Reese said gloomily, don't waste your time, but there's one thing you must do for your protection and ours. Don't admit or even hint that you've talked to any grubbers. Why not? Why not? Suffering death, are you that simple? They will do anything to see that we don't rise too high and would much prefer to see us all dead. Do you think they would hesitate to kill you if they as much as suspected you had contacted us? They realize, even if you don't, that you can single-handedly alter the entire pattern of power on this planet. The ordinary junkman may think of us as being only one step above the animals, but the leaders don't. They know what we need and what we want. They could probably guess just what it is I'm going to ask you. Help us, Jason Denult. Get back among those human pigs and lie. Say you never talked to us that you hid in the forest and we attacked you and you had to shoot to save yourself. We'll supply some recent corpses to make that part of your story sound good. Make them believe you, and even after you think you have them convinced, keep on acting the part because they will be watching you. Then tell them you have finished your work and are ready to leave. Get safely off Pyrus to another planet, and I promise you anything in the universe, whatever you want, you shall have power, money, anything. This is a rich planet, the junkman would mine and sell the metal, but we could do it much better. Bring a spaceship back here and land anywhere on this continent. We have no cities, but our people have farms everywhere. They will find you. We will then have commerce, trade, on our own. This is what we all want, and we will work hard for it, and you will have done it. Whatever you want, we will give. That is a promise, and we do not break our promises. The intensity and magnitude of what he described rocked Jason. He knew that Rhys spoke the truth, and the entire resources of the planet would be his if he did as asked. For one second he was tempted, savoring the thought of what it would be like. Then came realization that it would be a half answer, and a poor one at that. If these people had the strength they wanted, their first act would be the attempted destruction of the city men. The result would be bloody civil war that would probably destroy them both. Rhys's answer was a good one, but only half an answer. Jason had to find a better solution, one that would stop all the fighting on this planet and allow the two groups of humans to live in peace. I will do nothing to injure your people, Rhys, and everything in my power to aid them, Jason said. This half answer satisfied Rhys, who could see only one interpretation of it. He spent the rest of the morning on the communicator arranging for the food supplies that were being brought to the trading site. The supplies are ready, and we have sent the signal, he said. The truck will be there tomorrow, and you will be waiting for it. Everything is arranged, as I told you. You'll leave now with Naxa. You must reach the meeting spot before the trucks. CHAPTER XIX Trucks almost here. You know what to do, Naxa asked. Jason nodded and looked again at the dead man. Some beast had torn his arm off, and he had bled to death. The severed arm had been tied into the shirt sleeve, so from a distance it looked normal. Seen close up, this limp arm plus the white skin and shocked expression on the face gave Jason an unhappy sensation. He liked to see his corpses safely buried. However, he could understand its importance today. Here they are. Wait until his backs turned, Naxa whispered. The armored truck had three powered trailers in tow this time. The train ground up the rock slope in wine to a stop. Cranon climbed out of the cab and looked carefully around before opening up the trailers. He had a lift robot along to help him with the loading. NOW! Naxa hissed. Jason burst into the clearing running, shouting Cranon's name. There was a crackling behind him as two of the hidden men hurled the corpse through the foliage after him. He turned and fired without stopping, setting the thing afire in mid-air. There was a crack of another gun as Cranon fired. His shot jarred the twice-dead corpse before it hit the ground. Then he was lying prone, firing into the trees behind the running Jason. Just as Jason reached the truck, there was a whirring in the air and hot pain ripped into his back, throwing him to the ground. He looked around as Cranon dragged him through the door and saw the metal shaft of a crossbow sticking out of his shoulder. Lucky, the pirate said, an inch lower would have got your heart. I warned you about those grubbers. You're lucky to get off with only this. He lay next to the door and snapped shots into the now quiet wood. Taking out the bolt hurt much more than it had going in. Jason cursed the pain as Cranon put on a dressing and admired the singleness of purpose of the people who had shot him. They had risked his life to make his escape look real and also risked the chance that he might turn against them after being shot. They did a job completely and thoroughly, and he cursed them for their efficiency. Cranon climbed warily out of the truck after Jason was bandaged. Finishing the loading quickly, he started the train of trailers back towards the city. Jason had an anti-pain shot and dozed off as soon as they started. While he slept, Cranon must have radioed ahead because Kirk was waiting when they arrived. As soon as the truck entered the perimeter, he threw open the door and dragged Jason out. The bandage pulled and Jason felt the wound tear. He ground his teeth together. Kirk would not have the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. I told you to stay in the buildings until the ship left. Why did you leave? Why did you go outside? You talked to the grubbers, didn't you? With each question he shook Jason again. I didn't talk to anyone. Jason managed to get the words out. They tried to take me. I shot too. Hit out until the trucks came back. Got another one then, Cranon said. I saw it. Good shooting. Think I got some too. Let him go, Kirk. They shot him in the back before he could reach the truck. That's enough explanations, Jason thought to himself. Don't overdo it. Let him make up his mind later. Now's the time to change the subject. There's one thing that will get his mind off the grubbers. I've been fighting your war for you, Kirk, while you stayed safely inside the perimeter. Jason leaned back against the side of the truck as the other loosened his grip. I found out what your battle with this planet is really about, and how you can win it. Now let me sit down and I'll tell you. More pirates had come up while they talked. None of them moved now, like Kirk. They stood frozen looking at Jason. When Kirk talked, he spoke for all of them. What do you mean? That's what I said. Pirates is fighting you. Actively and consciously. Get far enough out from this city and you can feel the waves of hatred that are directed at it. No, that's wrong. You can't because you've grown up with it, but I can. And so could anyone else with any sort of sigh sensitivity. There is a message of war being beamed against you constantly. The lifeforms of this planet are sigh sensitive and respond to that order. They attack and change and mutate for your destruction and they'll keep on doing so until you're all dead, unless you can stop the war. How? Kirk snapped the word and every face echoed the question. By finding whoever or whatever is sending that message, the lifeforms that attack you have no reasoning intelligence. They are being ordered to do so. I think I know how to find the source of these orders. After that, it will be a matter of getting across a message, asking for a truce and an eventual end to all hostilities. The dead silence followed his words as the pyrons tried to comprehend the ideas. Kirk moved first, waving them all away. Go back to your work. This is my responsibility and I'll take care of it. As soon as I find out what truth there is here, if any, I'll make a complete report. The people drifted away silently, looking back as they went. CHAPTER XX From the beginning now, Kirk said, and leave out nothing. There is very little more I can add to the physical facts. I saw the animals, understood the message, I even experimented with some of them, and they reacted to my mental commands. What I must do now is track down the source of the orders that keep this war going. I'll tell you something that I have never told anyone else. I'm not only lucky at gambling. I have enough psi ability to alter probability in my favor. It's an erratic ability that I have tried to improve for obvious reasons. During the past ten years I managed to study at all of the centers that do psi research. Compared to other fields of knowledge it's amazing how little they know. Basic psi talents can be improved by practice and some machines have been devised that act as psionic amplifiers. One of these, used correctly, is a very good directional indicator. You want to build this machine, Kirk asked. Exactly. Build it and take it outside the city and the ship. Any signal strong enough to keep this century's old battle going should be strong enough to track down. I'll follow it, contact the creatures who are sending it and try to find out why they're doing it. I assume you'll go along with any reasonable plan that will end this war. Anything reasonable, Kirk said coldly. How long will it take you to build this machine? Just a few days if you have all the parts here, Jason told him. Then do it. I'm canceling the flight that's leaving now and I'll keep the ship here ready to go. When the machine is built I want you to track the signal and report back to me. Agreed, Jason said standing up, as soon as I have this hole in my back looked at I'll draw up a list of things needed. A grim, unsmiling man named Scop was assigned to Jason as a combination guide and guard. He took his job very seriously and it didn't take Jason long to realize that he was a prisoner at large. Kirk had accepted his story, but that was no guarantee that he believed it. At a single word from him, the guard could turn executioner. The chill thought hit Jason that undoubtedly this was what would happen, whether Kirk accepted the story or not, he couldn't afford to take a chance. As long as there was the slightest possibility Jason had contacted the Grubbers, he couldn't be allowed to leave the planet alive. The woods people were being simple if they thought a plan this obvious might succeed, or had they just gambled on the very long chance that it might work. They certainly had nothing to lose by it. Only half of Jason's mind was occupied with the work as he drew up a list of materials he would need for the psionic direction finder. His thoughts plotted in tight circles, searching for a way out that didn't exist. He was too deeply involved now to just leave. Kirk would see to that, unless he could find a way to end the war and settle the grubber question he was marooned on pyrus for life, a very short life. When the list was ready he called supply. With a few substitutions everything he might possibly need was in stock and would be sent over. Scott sank into an apparent doze in his chair and Jason, his head propped against a pull of gravity by one arm, began a working sketch of his machine. Jason looked up suddenly, aware of the silence. He could hear machinery in the building and voices in the hall outside. What kind of silence then? Mental silence. He had been so preoccupied since his return to the city that he hadn't noticed the complete lack of any kind of sigh sensation. The constant wash of animal reactions was missing as was the vague tactile awareness of his p.k. With sudden realization he remembered that it was always this way inside the city. He tried to listen with his mind and stopped almost before he began. There was a constant press of thought about him that he was made aware of when he reached out. It was like being in a vessel far beneath the ocean with your hand on the door that held back the frightening pressure. Touching the door without opening it you could feel the stresses, the power pushing in and waiting to crush you. It was this way with the sigh pressure on the city. The unvoiced hate-filled screams of pyrus could instantly destroy any mind that received them. Some function of his brain acted as a sigh circuit breaker, shutting off awareness before his mind could be blasted. There was just enough leak through to keep him aware of the pressure and supply the raw materials for his constant nightmares. There was only one fringe benefit. The lack of thought pressure made it easier for him to concentrate. In spite of his fatigue the diagram developed swiftly. Meta arrived late that afternoon bringing the parts he had ordered. She slid the long box onto the workbench, started to speak but changed her mind and said nothing. Jason looked up at her and smiled. Confused, he asked. I don't know what you mean, she said. I'm not confused, just annoyed. The regular trip has been canceled and our supply schedule will be thrown off for months to come. And instead of piloting or perimeter assignment all I can do is stand around and wait for you. Then take some silly flight following your directions. Do you wonder that I'm annoyed? Jason carefully set the parts out on the chassis before he spoke. As I said, you're confused. I can point out how you're confused, which will make you even more confused. A temptation that I frankly find hard to resist. She looked across the bench at him frowning, one finger unconsciously curling and uncurling a short lock of hair. Jason liked her this way. As a pirate operating at full blast she had as much personality as a gear in a machine. Once out of that pattern she reminded him more of the girl he had known on that first flight to Pyrus. He wondered if it was possible to really get across to her what he meant. I'm not being insulting when I say confused, Meta. With your background you couldn't be any other way. You have an insular personality. Admittedly, Pyrus is an unusual island with a lot of high-power problems that you are an expert at solving. That doesn't make it any less of an island. When you face a cosmopolitan problem you are confused or even worse when your island problems are put into a bigger context. That's like playing your own game only having the rules change constantly as you go along. You're talking nonsense, she snapped at him. Pyrus isn't an island and battling for survival is definitely not a game. I'm sorry, he smiled. I was using a figure of speech and a badly chosen one at that. Let's put the problem on more concrete terms. Take an example. Suppose I were to tell you that over there hanging from the door frame was a sting wing. Meta's gun was pointing at the door before he finished the last word. There was a crash as the guard's chair went over. He had jumped from a half-dose to full alertness in an instant, his gun also searching the door frame. That was just an example, Jason said. There's really nothing there. The guard's gun vanished and he scowled a look of contempt at Jason as he righted the chair and dropped into it. You both have proved yourself capable of handling a pyrin problem, Jason continued, but what if I said that there is a thing hanging from the door frame that looks like a sting wing, but is really a kind of large insect that spins a fine silk that can be used to weave clothes. The guard glared from under his thick eyebrows at the empty door frame. His gun wind part way out, then snapped back into the holster. He growled something inaudible at Jason, then stamped into the outer room, slamming the door behind him. Meta frowned in concentration and looked puzzled. It couldn't be anything except a sting wing, she finally said. Nothing else could possibly look like that, and even if it didn't spin silk it would bite if you got near so you would have to kill it. She smiled with satisfaction at the indestructible logic of her answer. Wrong again, Jason said. I just described the mimic spinner that lives on Stover's planet. It imitates the most violent forms of life there. It does such a good job that it has no need for other defenses. It'll sit quietly on your hand and spin for you by the yard. If I dropped a shipload of them here on Pyrus, you never could be sure when to shoot, could you? But they are not here now, Meta insisted. Yet they could be quite easily, and if they were all the rules of your game would change. Getting the idea now? There are some fixed laws and rules in the galaxy, but they're not the ones you live by. Your rule is war, unending, with the local life. I want to step outside your rulebook and end that war. Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't you like an existence that was more than just an endless battle for survival? A life with a chance for happiness, love, music, art, all the enjoyable things you have never had time for. All the pyrinth sternness was gone from her face as she listened to what he said, letting herself follow these alien concepts. He had put his hand out automatically as he talked and had taken hers. It was warm and her pulse fast to the touch. Meta suddenly became conscious of his hand and snapped hers away, rising to her feet at the same time. As she started blindly towards the door, Jason's voice snapped after her. The guard, Scop, ran out because he didn't want to lose his precious two-value logic. It's all he has. But you've seen other parts of the galaxy, Meta. You know there is a lot more to life than kill and be killed on Pyrus. You feel it is true even if you won't admit it. She turned and ran out the door. Jason looked after her, his hand scraping the bristle on his chin thoughtfully. Meta, I have the faint hope that the woman is winning over the pyrin. I think that I saw, perhaps for the first time in the history of this bloody war-torn city, a tear in one of its citizens' eyes. CHAPTER XXI Drop that equipment and Kirk will undoubtedly pull both your arms off, Jason said. He's over there now looking as sorry as possible that I ever talked him into this. Scop cursed under the bulky mass of the side-detector, passing it up to Meta who waited in the open port of the spaceship. Jason supervised the loading and blasted all the local life that came to investigate. Horn devils were thick this morning and he shot four of them. He was last aboard and closed the lock behind him. Where are you going to install it, Meta asked. You tell me, Jason said, I need a spot for the antenna where there will be no dense metal in front of the bowl to interfere with the signal. Thin plastic will do, or if worse comes to worse, I can mount it outside the hull with a remote drive. You may have to, she said. The hull is an unbroken unit. We do all viewing by screen and instruments. I don't think—wait, there is one place that might do. She led the way to a bulge in the hull that marked one of the life-boats. They went in through the always open lock, scops struggling after them with the apparatus. These life-boats are half-buried in the ship, Meta explained. They have transparent front ports covered by friction shields that withdraw automatically when the boat is launched. Can we pull back the shields now? I think so, she said. She traced the launching circuits to a junction box and opened the lid. When she closed the shield relay manually, the heavy plates slipped back into the hull. There was a clear view since most of the viewport projected beyond the parent ship. Perfect, Jason said. I'll set up here. Now, how do I talk to you in the ship? Right here, she said, there's a pre-tuned setting on this communicator. Don't touch anything else, and particularly not this switch. She pointed to a large pull handle set square into the center of the control board. Emergency launching. Two seconds after that is pulled, the life-boat is shot free, and it so happens this boat has no fuel. Hands off for sure, Jason said. Now, have Husky there run me in a line with ship's power and I'll get this stuff set up. The detector was simple, though the tuning had to be precise. A dish-shaped antenna pulled in the signal for the delicately balanced detector. There was a sharp fall-off on both sides of the input so direction could be precisely determined. The resulting signal was fed to an amplifier stage. Unlike the electronic components of the first stage, this one was drawn in symbols on white paper. Carefully glued on input and output leads ran to it. When everything was ready and clamped into place, Jason knotted to met his image on the screen. Take her up and easy please, none of your 9G specials. Go into a slow circle around the perimeter until I tell you differently. Under steady power the ship lifted and grabbed for altitude, then eased into its circular course. They made five circuits of the city before Jason shook his head. The thing seems to be working fine, but we're getting too much noise from all the local life. Get 30 kilometers out of the city and start a new circuit. The results were better this time. A powerful signal came from the direction of the city, confined to less than a degree of arc. With the antenna fixed at a right angle to the direction of the ship's flight the signal was fairly constant. There rotated the ship on its main axis until Jason's lifeboat was directly below. Going fine now, he said, just hold your controls as they are and keep the nose from drifting. After making a careful mark on the setting circle, Jason turned the receiving antenna through 180 degrees of arc. As the ship kept to its circle he made a slow collecting sweep of any signals beamed at the city. They were half way around before he got a new signal. It was there all right, narrow but strong. Just to be sure he let the ship complete two more sweeps and he noted the direction on the gyro compass each time. They coincided. The third time around he called to Metta. Get ready for a full right turn or whatever you call it. I think I have our bearing. Get ready. Now! It was a slow turn and Jason never lost the signal. A few times it wavered, but he brought it back on. When the compass settled down Metta pushed on more power. They set their course towards the native pyrons. An hour's flight at close to top atmospheric speed brought no change. Metta complained but Jason kept her on course. The signal never varied and was slowly picking up strength. They crossed the chain of volcanoes that marked the continental limits, the ship bucking in the fierce thermals. Once the shore was behind and they were over water, Scott joined Metta in grumbling. He kept his turret spinning, but there was very little to shoot at this far from land. When the islands came over the horizon the signal began to dip. Slow now, Jason called, those islands ahead look like our source. A continent had been here once, floating on Pyrus's liquid core. Pressures changed, land masses shifted and the continent had sunk beneath the ocean. All that was left now of the teeming life of that land mass was confined to a chain of islands once the mountain peaks of the highest range of mountains. These islands whose sheer sides rose straight from the water held the last inhabitants of the lost continent. The weeded out descendants of the victors of uncountable violent contests. Here lived the oldest native pyrons. Come in lower, Jason signaled, towards that large peak the signals seemed to originate there. They swooped low over the mountain but nothing was visible other than the trees and sun-blasted rock. The pain almost took Jason's head off, a blast of hatred that drove through the amplifier and into his skull. He tore off the phones and clutched his skull between his hands. Through watering eyes he saw the black cloud of flying beasts hurdle up from the trees below. He had a single glimpse of the hillside beyond, before meta-blasted power to the engines and the ship leaped away. We found them, her fierce exaltation faded as she saw Jason through the communicator Are you all right? What happened? Feel burned out. I've felt a side-blast before, but nothing like that. I had a glimpse of an opening, looked like a cave-mouth just before the blast hit, seemed to come from there. Lie down, meta-said. I'll get you back as fast as I can. I'm calling ahead to Kirk. He has to know what happened. A group of men were waiting in the landing-station when they came down. They stormed out as soon as the ship touched, shielding their faces from the still-hot tubes. Kirk burst in as soon as the port was cracked, peering around until he spotted Jason stretched out on an acceleration couch. Is it true, he barked? You traced the alien criminals who started this war? Slow, man, slow, Jason said. I've traced the source of the sigh message that keeps your war going. I found no evidence as to who started this war and certainly wouldn't go so far as to call them criminals. I'm tired of your wordplay, Kirk broke in. You've found these creatures and their location has been marked? On the chart, meta-said, I could fly there blindfolded. Fine. Fine, Kirk said, rubbing his hands together so hard they could hear the harsh rasp of the calluses. It takes a real effort to grasp the idea that after all these centuries the war might be coming to an end. But it's possible now, instead of simply killing off these self-renewing legions of the damned that attack us, we can get to the leaders, search them out, carry the war to them for a change, and blast their stain from the face of this planet. Nothing of the sort, Jason said, sitting up with an effort. Nothing doing. Since I came to this planet I have been knocked around and risked my life ten times over. Do you think I have done this just to satisfy your bloodthirsty ambitions? It's peace I'm after, not destruction. You promised to contact these creatures, attempt to negotiate with them. Aren't you a man of honor who keeps his word? I'll ignore the insult, though I'd have killed you for it at any other time, Kirk said. You've been of great service to our people, and we are not ashamed to acknowledge an honest debt. At the same time, do not accuse me of breaking promises that I never made. I recall my exact words. I promised to go along with any reasonable plan that would end this war. That is just what I intend to do. Your plan to negotiate a peace is not reasonable. Therefore, we are going to destroy the enemy. Think first, Jason called after Kirk who had turned to leave. What is wrong with trying negotiation or an armistice? Then, if it fails, you can try your way. The compartment was getting crowded as other pyrons pushed in. Kirk almost to the door turned back to face Jason. I'll tell you what's wrong with armistice, he said. It's a coward's way out. That's what it is. It's all right for you to suggest it. You're from off-world and don't know any better. But do you honestly think I could entertain such a defeatist notion for one instant? When I speak, I speak not only for myself, but for all of us here. We don't mind fighting, and we do know how to do it. We know that if this war was over, we could build a better world here. At the same time, if we have the choice of continued war or a cowardly peace, we vote for war. This war will only be over when the enemy is utterly destroyed. The listening pyrons shouted in agreement, and when Kirk pushed out through the crowd some of them padded his shoulders as he went by. Jason slumped back on the couch, worn out by his exertions and exhausted by the attempt to win the violent pyrons over to a peaceful point of view. When he looked up, they were gone, all except Metta. She had the same look of bloodthirsty elation as the others, but it drained away when she glanced at him. What about it, Metta? He asked bitterly, no doubts? Do you think that destruction is the only way to end this war? I don't know, she said. I can't be sure. For the first time in my life I find myself with more than one answer to the same question. Congratulations, he said. It's a sign of growing up. End of Chapter 21 of Death World